27
Aunt Rose had arranged everything for Grandma’s move. She’d hired a cleaning lady to scrub every surface of the house, to oil all the woodwork, to tidy all the rooms. A real-estate man to show it to buyers. A moving company to pack everything and load it all onto a truck. She’d thought of everything.
Everything except for how Grandma would feel about the better part of her life being handled by strangers.
“It’s all under control, Mother,” she’d say in her clipped and icy voice whenever Grandma asked where such and such a thing had gotten off to. “Trust me.”
From the way Grandma glared at her, I didn’t think she was so inclined.
It didn’t take long for a new family to buy the house. By the third week of September, Grandma was leaving with promises of trips to come and see us, provided we agreed to drive over to Grand Rapids once in a while to visit her.
I knew, for all the promises we made on both sides, we still wouldn’t see much of Grandma.
Mom had gone to bed and Joel was watching Herman’s Hermits on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. I sat on the porch swing, reading with my flashlight glowing on the page, an afghan over my lap.
I lifted my eyes from the book when I heard the tremolo of a loon coming from the direction of Old Chip. It was a faint call, dampened by the trees and houses between the lake and my front porch. Right in the middle of “Green Street Green” the television turned off.
The screen door squeaked open and Joel came out, lowering himself to sit on the top step of the porch. He reached his arms around his knees, lacing his fingers together.
“You didn’t want to listen to the Hermits anymore?” I asked.
“Nah. I wasn’t diggin’ it,” he answered. “They’re a little mellow for my taste.”
“They aren’t the kind to play guitar with their teeth, are they?”
“Not even close.” He pushed up his glasses. “The loons are noisy tonight, huh?”
“Yup.”
“When I was a kid, Mike convinced me that there was a ghost in the lake.” He shook his head. “I believed him for a long time.”
“He’s just a big bully.”
“Why do you think God made their voices sound so sad?”
“I don’t know.” I stood, holding the afghan around my waist. “Scoot over so I can sit by you.”
“I’m sure there’s some kind of scientific answer.” He moved to one side, letting me have room. “Will you share the blanket with me? Please?”
“Oh, all right, if I have to.”
We sat close, the blanket covering our legs. We listened to the loons for a few minutes, and I wondered if anyone else in the town was out doing the same as we were.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“I’m kind of sad that we can’t go over to Grandma and Grandpa’s house anymore.”
I nodded. “Me too, buddy.”
“Do you think she’ll be happy?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Aunt Rose is kind of snooty.”
“She isn’t all that bad.”
I nudged him with my elbow and snorted. “She’s horrible. Sometimes I wish I understood why she and Frank both turned out to be so selfish.”
Joel’s jaw tensed.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s kind of true, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “I thought that if I was good enough, I might be able to make him stay.”
The loons’ calls faded, seeming to recede to farther away on the lake.
“After he left the first time, I was sure it was my fault,” I whispered. “But it wasn’t. It took me a long time to figure that out. Frank left because he decided to. End of story.”
“What if he never comes back?” he asked.
“We’ll be okay. We were okay for a long time without him before. Nothing has changed.”
“But before we had Mike.” His eyes met mine. “And now we don’t.”
“For now,” I said. “In the meantime we’ll just have to be strong together. Okay?”
The loon song had gone quiet. Still, I knew they were there.
Fort Sam Houston
Texas
Dear Mom, Annie, and Joel,
It sure was a hot one here for September. I think it got up to eighty-five degrees. I complained about it to one of the doctors here who laughed right in my face. See, he got back from Vietnam a few months ago. He said I don’t know the definition of the word “hot” yet.
Oh boy. I guess I’m in for it.
Just a week and a day and I’ll be home. I sure wish I was coming home to stay instead of just for a week. It’s going to be hard to leave you all, knowing I won’t see you for a whole year.
Mom, I know you’re going to cry when I go. If you want to know a secret, I probably will too. But if any of you tell a soul, I swear I won’t bring back any souvenirs once my tour of duty is done.
Joel, you’ve got one week to get all your stuff off my bed. Especially your stuffed puppy dog. I don’t want that stinky, raggedy thing on my pillow.
Annie, you’re going to need to drink some coffee when I’m there. I’ll expect some late-night chats with you. I’ve missed those.
See you soon.
Love,
Mike