Grandfather Prescott was up early in the morning, earlier than I was. I leaped out of bed when I heard him moving around in the kitchen. I was glad of that. Part of what had kept me tossing and turning all night was my fear that something would now happen to him, that when he had gone upstairs the night before so tired and depressed, he would also have a stroke or maybe just die in his sleep. When I came out, he did look very tired.
“Why did you get up so early, Grandpa?” I asked when I entered the kitchen.
“Doctors make their rounds early in the hospital,” he said. “I want to get there right after they examine her.”
“You want me to make some oatmeal? You can’t just have toast and coffee.”
“It’s enough for now. Make yourself what you want,” he said.
I poured myself some orange juice and had a little cold cereal, eating quickly to keep up with him. I was afraid he would tell me to stay home, but he looked as if he wanted me along. We were out of the house and on our way less than fifteen minutes later.
On the way to the hospital, I was tempted to tell him, to confess, that I had gone in the forbidden bedroom and had seen how heartbroken Grandmother Myra was about my mother, how much she had wanted to cling to a happier time. I was torn between assuring him that I didn’t hate her as much as I suspected he believed I did and keeping quiet about my mother’s room so as not to admit to violating one of Grandmother Myra’s sacred commands. I decided for now to say nothing.
When we arrived at the hospital, we went to the intensive-care unit because Grandmother Myra was still there. Grandpa Prescott went in to speak with the doctors while I waited in the small lobby just outside. There was only one other person there, an elderly lady who looked very frightened. She had been crying softly to herself when I sat across from her. I thought she didn’t even know I was there, but she suddenly turned and asked, “Who is here for you?”
“My grandmother,” I said. “She had a stroke.”
She nodded. “I’m waiting for my son. My husband had a heart attack this morning. They let me ride with him in the ambulance.”
“I hope he gets better,” I said.
“Thank you. We’ve been married fifty-two years. He always says he wants to be the first to go, but when you’re married more than fifty years, you should go together. My son says that’s silly talk.”
I just smiled at her and wondered what enabled some couples to stay together so long. Whatever it was, my mother lacked it. Maybe golden-anniversary couples were a thing of the past. Maybe the only commitment anyone made today was to himself or herself. They should probably add until I get bored to the vow to have and to hold, I thought.
The woman turned away, but when Grandpa Prescott came out, she stopped dabbing at her eyes and turned back to listen.
“She’s not improved,” he said. “The doctors want to continue to evaluate her condition before they’ll tell me any more.”
“I’m sorry for your trouble,” the elderly lady said. Grandpa looked at her as if he hadn’t seen her and nodded.
“Can you talk to her?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “but she’s so angry about what happened to her that she won’t look at me.”
“Should I try to speak to her, too?”
He thought a moment. I knew he was wondering if my presence would make her even angrier. When you’re married as long as my grandparents were, you probably could anticipate what your wife or husband is feeling and thinking. You almost could go through the entire day without speaking.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe that will work. Maybe hearing your voice will get her to stop pouting and cooperate with the doctors and nurses.”
“It’s good to be angry. It keeps you alive,” the elderly lady said. We both looked at her.
“Or it eats you up alive,” Grandpa replied. He nodded at me, and I got up and followed him into the ICU. We passed other patients, two of whom were elderly men, both hooked up to monitors and breathing through oxygen leads. I wondered which was the woman’s husband. At the very end of the row, we walked around a curtain to see Grandmother Myra lying there, doing just what Grandpa Prescott had said, staring up at the ceiling as if she was staring down God.
Her face was thinner. Her mouth was twisted, and her eyes were bulging. They looked more like two small egg yolks. I didn’t touch her hand. I stepped up closer, first waiting to see if she realized I was there. I looked at Grandpa Prescott. He nodded, and I started to speak.
“I’m sorry you’re ill, Grandmother,” I began. “I hope you get better soon. I’ll take care of the house until you get better and come home. Don’t worry about Grandpa,” I added.
When I said “Grandpa,” she turned and looked at me. It was impossible for me to tell what she was thinking. Her face appeared to have lost its ability to show any new emotions. It was frozen in a distorted visage, locked by her inner rage as much as by the condition caused by the stroke. Her eyes were inflamed with the same fury she had been directing toward the ceiling. It was as if she blamed everyone and everything, even the doctors, whom she had often accused of making up illnesses to make money.
“She made a good dinner for us last night, Myra,” Grandpa Prescott told her. “She’s learned a lot from you. She’s a good girl.”
Grandmother Myra opened her mouth to speak and, after making a little effort and some difficult-to-understand sounds, closed it and turned away.
“I’ll stay close to the house and take care of things,” I added.
She shook her head.
One of the nurses came up beside us. “I think it’s better if you let her rest for now,” she said.
Grandmother Myra made another distorted sound.
My grandfather patted her hand and then leaned over to kiss her cheek. “We’ll return to see you late this afternoon, Myra. We’ll both pray for you.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes. Grandpa Prescott tapped me on the shoulder, and we walked out of the ICU. In the lobby, the elderly lady was talking to her son. He looked as if he had been yelling at her. She held her hands over her eyes, maybe hoping that when she opened them, she’d be home and all this was just a bad dream.
“Your grandmother is just very angry right now,” Grandpa Prescott told me as we walked to the elevator. “I know she thinks God deserted her. Or she thinks she’s made some sort of mistake with you, and now she’s being punished for it. That’s the way she thinks. Don’t blame yourself for anything,” he concluded before I could say anything.
We got into the elevator, and except for relating to me what the doctor had told him they would do before they even considered therapy, he said very little.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he said as soon as we entered the house. “I’m going to take a little nap. Don’t worry about my lunch or anything. Just enjoy the day, Elle. I know what,” he added with a smile. “After we visit her late this afternoon, we’ll go to another restaurant for dinner. It’s a little depressing right now eating in our house, so don’t worry about making anything.”
“Okay, Grandpa.”
I watched him start up the stairs. “Grandpa?”
He paused.
“Do you want to call my mother to tell her? Because if you do, she gave me a phone number.”
He shook his head. “It won’t matter to either of them, I’m afraid,” he said, and continued up the stairs.
I didn’t want to just run into the woods and wait for Mason or Claudine to see me on the shore. I felt I needed to be alone for a while and think, so instead, I walked out the front door and followed the route my mother and I had taken that day.
Was Grandpa Prescott right? Wouldn’t it make any difference to either my mother or my grandmother if my mother was told about what had happened? Was it really my mother’s surprise appearance that drove Grandmother Myra into her stroke? If that was true, she was still hurting both her parents, and me, for that matter. It was as though all the things she had done to disappoint them echoed for years and years.
So much anger had swirled around this house for so long, I thought, when I looked back at it. It was an unhealthy garden that grew only dark, ugly weeds. I could almost see a tornado-like cloud of rage circling the roof. If people who had most of what was necessary to love each other ended up hating each other, what hope was there for love in this world? What bond could possibly be stronger than the bond between a child and her parents? Whom could two adults love more than their only child? What adult out there could care for my mother as much as her own father and mother? How could she trust anyone? In the end, all three of them had their hearts torn. Defiance hadn’t brought my mother real happiness, and refusing to forgive her for it hadn’t brought my grandparents any real satisfaction or contentment. None of them was any better off.
I had read enough and seen enough to know that children grew up with a sense of security and optimism when they saw and felt how much their parents loved them. If their parents loved each other dearly, then they could believe they would find someone to love just as dearly. Your family was either heaven or hell. You either believed there were angels, or you believed there was only darkness, selfishness, and hate. In the end, you were what you believed you were.
Was my mother as bad as my grandmother came to believe she was? Was she a victim, or did she victimize them with her poor behavior and promiscuity? Would anything have made any difference, or did God just pass by some houses and families and not touch them with his grace? Was Grandmother Myra so angry in that hospital because she realized she had been praying to closed divine ears, or was she angry at herself for somehow bringing all this to their family doorstep? I feared I would never know the answers to any of these questions. They were the kinds of questions you took with you to the grave.
I knew I was too young and too inexperienced to fathom what was out there in the world. Soon I would make my own discoveries and turn out either more like my mother or like someone in between her and my grandmother. Maybe I would turn out to be something new but not necessarily something better. I was both afraid and excited about the day I would walk out the door and start my own journey.
I didn’t realize how far I had walked right now until I heard Mason yell, “Hey!” I looked up to see him leaning out of the driver’s side of their BMW convertible. I had reached the turnoff in the road that led to their summerhouse. Claudine was in the passenger’s seat. Both looked surprised but happy at the sight of me. I was just as surprised to see them and didn’t move. He pulled over to the side of the street, and both of them got out of the car.
“Were you coming to see us?” Claudine asked after she hurried over.
“No. I just went for a walk. I didn’t realize where I was until you shouted.”
“What’s going on? How is your grandmother?” Mason asked.
“I was there this morning with my grandfather. She still can’t talk. No change at all from yesterday,” I said. “She’s still in the intensive-care unit. Her face looks all twisted.”
“Oh,” Claudine said. “Tough.”
“She can’t move the right side of her body.”
“You mean she can only move the wrong side?” Claudine quipped.
“Shut up,” Mason told her. “You’re not funny. How’s your grandfather?”
“He’s tired, upset. I feel bad for him.”
“Sure. Anything we can do for you?”
“No.”
“If she dies, you’ll still be able to live with him, won’t you?” Claudine asked.
I looked at her sharply. That question haunted me. “Yes, I guess so,” I said.
“Maybe she won’t die, Claudine. People have strokes and live,” Mason told her.
“Yeah, but they can be paralyzed or something for the rest of their lives. You’ll really become a slave in that house,” she told me, “not only taking care of it but taking care of her. They’ll turn you into a nurse’s assistant or something, emptying bedpans.”
“You’re a great help, Claudine. Can’t you see she’s very upset? Why tell her that stuff now?”
“Sorry,” Claudine said. “I’m just thinking of you. I never met your grandmother, but from what you’ve told us about her, I have a hard time feeling sorry for her.”
Now that my grandmother was very ill, I felt guilty for revealing all that I had. The betrayal seemed that much greater. “I told you that I didn’t hate her.”
“But look how mean she’s been to you.”
“She’s the way she is because she believes she did something wrong, brought up my mother wrong.”
“If it’s the way they’re bringing you up, it’s wrong,” Claudine insisted. Mason gave her another dirty look. “Well, isn’t it? You don’t assume someone, your own grandchild, is definitely going to be bad and keep her from living a normal life, Mason. She didn’t cause her mother’s rape. We both decided that. Don’t pretend something different now that Elle is standing in front of us.”
“I’m not.” He looked at me. “She’s just very sad right now, and it’s better if we don’t make her any sadder.”
“My grandfather thinks this happened because my mother just popped in on us after all these years. It was too much of a shock.”
“Too much of a shock to see your own daughter?” Claudine asked.
“It was quite a shock to me,” I admitted. “They fought. It was very unpleasant. My grandmother was blue with rage that day.”
They were both quiet a moment.
“We’re just going downtown to pick up my mother’s dry cleaning and have some lunch. Could you come with us?” Mason asked.
I actually considered it. Grandpa Prescott had just gone up for his nap. If he came down and I wasn’t there, he would assume I had gone to the lake. He did tell me to enjoy the day and not worry about anything. Was it terrible for me to do this, especially now?
“Oh, c’mon,” Claudine said. “You’re not exactly running off or anything.”
“We’ll bring you right back after we have some lunch.”
“I probably should make my grandfather his lunch.”
“Isn’t he capable of making himself a sandwich or something?” Claudine asked. “You’re going to go to school soon. He’ll have to make his own lunches then.”
“She’s right,” Mason said. “C’mon,” he urged, tugging me toward the car.
He opened the door and pulled back his seat for me to get in.
“You can sit in front,” Claudine said. “I’ll get in the back. You never rode in a convertible, did you?”
I shook my head and stared at the passenger seat. I would never dare think of doing something like this, but how I wanted to do it. Claudine got into the back.
“Let’s go. Stop thinking about it,” she told me. “You’re going to have much bigger and more important new decisions to make very soon.”
I took a step toward it.
Mason went around and opened the passenger-side door. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady,” he said.
I glanced back toward our house and then hurried around and got into the car. I felt as if I had just gotten into a spaceship. Mason smiled, got in, and started the engine again.
“Turn up the music,” Claudine ordered. “It’s harder to hear back here.”
He did so and then pulled away, Claudine screaming with delight. The warm breeze filled me with new energy and life. I felt Claudine’s fingers on my hair and sat forward. She undid my ribbon, and my hair fell softly.
“Rock and roll!” she cried. “Get loose. Let go. You’re with the Spenser twins.”
“I’m starving all of a sudden. We’ll get some lunch first,” Mason told us. “And then stop for the dry cleaning.”
I sat back. How quickly my mood had changed. It was as if the world was opening up as we sped along and reached the village. With every new mile away from my house, I felt freer, but the freer I felt, the guiltier I felt. A voice inside me told me I should be home with my grandfather, but another, louder voice said, “You should live, too.”
Mason drove to a restaurant called Burger City. It was round, with a replica of a hamburger on the roof. There was so much, even in this small town, that I had yet to see. When Mason pulled into the parking lot, Claudine didn’t wait for me to open the door and pull back my seat. She climbed out. Then she opened my door and hooked her left arm with my right. Mason did the same on my other side, and the three of us marched toward the front of the restaurant, with them singing, “We’re off to see the Wizard . . .”
When we entered, the hostess led us to a ruby leather booth. I looked around and saw other teenagers laughing and eating. It looked like a different world, a world where no one thought about anything sad or any work there was to do. Only fun was permitted. As I watched them poke and playfully taunt each other, I realized more of what Mason and Claudine were trying to tell me. I had been kept out of my childhood, my youth, and my sweet teenage years. I was made to be older than I should be, and now I longed to go back.
The waitress brought the menus.
“Have a City Burger with all the trimmings and a malt,” Claudine suggested. “Go for it.”
“Really?”
“That’s what I’m having,” Mason said. “Claudine?”
“I prefer the chicken salad myself, but in your honor, I’ll do the same.”
We handed the waitress the menus, and Claudine began to plan all sorts of trips and adventures for us.
“We have only weeks left to the summer,” she said. “We’ve got to get as much in as we can, especially now that you’ll be free.”
“I won’t be that free,” I said.
“Sure you will. Your grandmother won’t be out of the hospital until after the summer, at least, I bet.”
“But there’ll be extra work for me to do, work she would do.”
“You can do that and still have some fun.”
“Don’t feel guilty about it,” Mason said quickly. “You don’t want to just appear on the school’s front steps without getting out and about a little first. Maybe you’ll meet some of the other students in your class. We’ll make an effort to talk to them, won’t we, Claudine?”
“Absolutely. We’ll squeeze years into these three weeks,” Claudine pledged.
Their excitement was boosting my own. Could I really do all this?
Three girls about my age started out of the restaurant, walking past our booth.
Mason held out his hand. “Excuse me, girls,” he said. They paused. “Are you all students at Lake Hurley High?”
“Yes. I’m a junior, and these two are going into their senior year.”
“My sister and I go to school in New York City, but our good friend here is going to attend Lake Hurley this fall. She’s going into the junior class, too.”
“Oh. Hi,” the girl said. “I’m Denise. This is Marjorie and Cissy.”
Mason turned to me, indicating that I should speak up.
“I’m Elle,” I said.
“You on the cheerleading team at the school you were in?” Denise asked.
“No, I . . .”
“She wasn’t, but she wants to be,” Mason said quickly. “We were just talking about that. My sister is on the cheerleading squad at our school in New York.”
I looked at Claudine. She had never mentioned anything like that.
“I showed her some of our cheers, and she picked up on them immediately. She could be terrific,” Claudine added.
“Good. Come out for it,” Denise said. “Cissy’s cheerleading captain.”
“Where are you living?” Cissy asked.
“Berne Road,” I said.
“It’s not on the way for any of us.”
“I’m fine. I’m going to walk.”
“Until you get someone to pick you up every day,” Denise said, smiling. “Until then, we’ll look out for her,” she told Mason.
“I’d appreciate your looking out for her, period,” Mason said.
“Why not?” Denise said. “See you soon, Elle,” she added, and the three walked off.
“That’s how easy it’s going to be for you, Elle. You’ll see,” Mason told me.
We were served our burgers and malts. While we ate, Claudine rattled off all sorts of advice. Some girls would be friendly, and some would be jealous, especially if the boy they liked was interested more in me. Some girls would be competitive in sports and cheerleading, and some would be competitive in grades, too.
“A new girl is interesting, but it doesn’t take long for you to know who is sincere and who is not.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ll tell you how I know. I figure out who thinks like I do and go from there. If I’m insincere with someone or about something, good chance they’ll be, too.”
“You’ll get it. It’s not rocket science,” Mason said. “Just don’t get so interested in anyone’s boyfriend too quickly,” he added, and Claudine laughed.
“He’s already planning on making weekend trips to see you,” she told me.
“Really?”
“I was hoping to tell you that myself, but someone can’t keep her mouth shut.”
“Look who’s talking,” Claudine said, and she rattled off one example after another of him saying too much to their parents.
They went at it like that for a few minutes more, and then they laughed, and we finished our lunch. I had never enjoyed one as much and told them so.
Claudine sat back as Mason paid the bill. She was staring at me differently suddenly.
“What?” I asked.
“I just hate how you’ve been taught to think about yourself as someone evil just because of what happened to your mother. That’s so stupid.” She leaned forward. “What exactly did she tell you about it?”
“I told you what I learned. She didn’t tell me that much.”
“She didn’t want to talk about it, Claudine. Why make a big deal of it now?” Mason asked.
“What exactly did she tell you about your father?”
“She didn’t tell me anything, really. His father owned a bar, and they used to drink there, and she and her girlfriends got to know him and some of his friends. They liked them more than they liked the college boys, and he took advantage of her.”
She sat back, disappointed.
“That was all she told me, Claudine. That and his name. She said she didn’t even remember what he looked like.”
She practically leaped over the table. “She told you his name?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember it?”
“Yes. Sean Barrett.”
She looked thoughtful.
“What are you plotting, Claudine?” Mason asked.
“Albany’s only about two hours from here, isn’t it?”
“So?” he asked.
“Our parents are leaving tomorrow. They won’t be back until next weekend.”
“So?”
“So why don’t we take a ride to Albany?”
“And do what, exactly?”
“See if her father is still living there. I can get on my computer and look up the bar and see if he’s running it or something.”
“Why do you want to do that?” Mason asked her. “What good will it do?”
“She should see what her father is like, don’t you think?”
“He hasn’t been her father her entire life.”
“But he is!” Claudine insisted. She turned to me. “Aren’t you in the least curious about him?”
Mason waited for me to reply. I thought about it. I was disappointed at my mother’s response when I had asked her about him.
“Maybe he’s a real creep,” Mason said when I said nothing.
“Maybe he’s the mayor,” Claudine countered.
“That’s ridiculous, Claudine. The man raped her mother.”
“Date-raped or whatever. It’s going on every day, and some of the boys doing it are now congressmen.”
“Stop it,” Mason said, but weakly.
“What do you think, Elle?” Claudine asked. “If you could see him, would you want to?”
“I suppose,” I said.
“See?” she told Mason. “It’s only natural.”
“You don’t even know if he’s still there. You’re getting her hopes up for nothing.”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know later,” she told me.
Mason looked very upset for me. I was trembling inside.
“Let’s go get the dry cleaning,” he said.
We left the restaurant and drove over to the dry cleaner’s. While he went inside to get the clothing, Claudine continued to talk about a trip to Albany.
“Chances are he never knew you were born,” she said. “Did your mother say one way or another?”
“I didn’t get to ask her that. She didn’t want to talk about it, really.”
“That’s what always happens. The girl feels ashamed, and the guy gets away with it. Your grandparents should have called the police or something.”
Knowing what they had done to keep my mother’s pregnancy a secret for as long as they could, I smiled at the very thought of that.
“Well, they should have! What kind of parents would let their daughter be so abused and not do anything more about it? They blamed her, too, and also blamed you. It was easier to do that,” she said, taking on all the anger and indignation I should be showing.
I stopped smiling.
“Call me twenty minutes after we drop you off,” she said. “By then, I should know if I can locate him. There are Web sites that will help me find him. Will you call?”
Mason came out of the dry-cleaning shop.
“Well, will you?”
“Yes,” I said. “I will.”