It was past two in the morning when Mom got home from Grandma and Grandpa’s house. She’d stayed behind, somehow managing to get Dr. DeVries to come check over Grandpa. He didn’t usually do house calls, but for her, he made exceptions.
An hour earlier I’d driven the station wagon home, Joel snoozing in the passenger’s seat. The good doctor had offered to drive Mom home. I thought it took some nerve, the way he looked at her in front of her husband’s parents.
She stepped in through the back door and into the kitchen, kicking off her shoes as soon as she hit the linoleum and leaving them where they landed.
“What are you still doing up?” she asked, clunking her purse on the counter.
“I wanted to wait up for you,” I answered.
“Don’t you have to work in a few hours?”
I closed the book I was reading and put it on the table. “I’ll be all right.”
“You’re still young.” She sighed. “I, on the other hand, am far from it.”
She sighed again and dragged the step stool to the refrigerator, climbing on top and opening the cupboard. She reached all the way back for a dusty old coffee can that had been shoved into the far corner.
Ever since I could remember I knew that Mom kept a pack of cigarettes in that Folger’s tin. For emergencies, she claimed, and I believed her. In all the years since Frank left, I’d only caught the smell of smoke on her breath three times.
“He’ll be all right. Dr. DeVries thought it was best to take him to the hospital for observation. Just in case.” She climbed back down and sat on the other side of the small, drop-leaf table. “He needed a few stitches in his foot. Otherwise, he’s fine.”
The pack of Lucky Strikes crinkled as she pulled them out. She took one, sticking the end between her lips and reaching into the bottom of the can for the book of matches she’d thrown in at some point. It took her more than a few attempts at lighting it before a flame burst from the end of the matchstick.
“I talked to your grandmother about what she needs to do next,” she said, getting up for a saucer to catch her ashes. “She can’t take care of him anymore.”
She narrowed her eyes as she pulled on the cigarette and let out a little puff of smoke along with a cough.
“These sure are stale,” she said, crushing the cigarette into the saucer.
“What else can she do?” I asked.
“She might have to find a place for him.” She shook her head. “It’s not safe for him there anymore. He’s so big. I don’t know how she’s been getting him around that house. He needs her to help him get to the bathroom. Sometimes he doesn’t make it.”
Crossing my arms, I leaned back in my chair, letting my shoulder blades push into the hard wood. It made me feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
“She doesn’t need to be cleaning him up like that,” Mom said.
“We can take turns helping her,” I said. “I can make supper for them.”
“He needs to be in a nursing home. I told your grandmother that, but I don’t think she likes the idea too much.” She got up and emptied the ashes and hardly smoked cigarette into the trash can. “I shouldn’t have to make these decisions.”
She didn’t have to say anything for me to know that she meant that Frank should be the one to take care of his own parents. Frank and his sister, Rose.
“Should we get ahold of him?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Frank.” I sat up straighter. “He should know about this.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for him.” She drummed her fingertips on the countertop. “He could be in Siberia for all I know. All I care.”
My knee bobbed up and down, my bare heel tapping the floor. Swallowing hard, I looked up to meet my mother’s eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“What if there was a way to find him?”
“Does your grandmother know where he is? Did you talk to her about him?”
“No.” I swallowed, regretting even bringing it up. I’d made a promise to Mike.
“Did anyone call Aunt Rose?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
Mom rolled her eyes. “I did. She said she can’t come until tomorrow evening.”
It was no surprise to me that Aunt Rose didn’t get into her Lincoln or Cadillac or whatever rich women drove and come over from her enormous house in Grand Rapids to help Grandma when she was most needed.
I swallowed back the bitterness and wondered what my grandparents had done to deserve two ungrateful children.
“I’m sure your grandmother will get ahold of Frank eventually.” She took another cigarette from the pack, holding it between her fingers, unlit. “If she even knows where he is.”
“Are you upset?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Just that I brought up Frank?”
She shook her head. “No. Honey, he’s your father. No matter what he’s done. Or not done.”
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” As many times as that question had been on the tip of my tongue, I’d never asked it out loud before. “What would happen if he did?”
“I’ve asked myself that same thing for twelve years.” She dropped the unlit cigarette into the can with the rest of the pack and stood, carrying it back to her hiding spot. “He wouldn’t come here, you know. This has never been his house. He isn’t welcome.”
“Are you mad at him?”
She shrugged and wiped under her nose. “Not anymore, I don’t think. I haven’t had much time to be angry.”
“You could be.”
“But what good would that do me?” She padded her way to the door that led in the direction of her bedroom. “I can’t let something that happened twelve years ago unravel all I have to hold together today. Wait to talk to your grandmother about this until Monday, all right?”
I nodded.
“With your aunt Rose on her way here, she’ll have plenty to handle.”
She told me good night and went to her room.
After flipping the kitchen light off, I took the stairs to my room. Checking the clock, I saw that I needed to be up for work in three hours. I couldn’t decide if it would be better to sleep that little or just stay up.
The way my mind was spinning, I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep even if I tried.
Instead of lying down, I grabbed one of the books Frank had left behind, a survivor of the purge Mom had done twelve years before. Between the pages was the postcard he’d sent us just after he’d gone. I touched the letters as if I might be able to feel them carved into the paper.
I didn’t feel anything, so I shut the book and put it back on the shelf where it could stay and collect dust for all I cared.
I lay awake in my bed until my alarm went off.