It was now early December in the land of BEFORE. Grandpa worked for weeks to get Uncle Reed a burial at Arlington National Cemetery. There was a waiting list for the honored dead. That might be one of the saddest facts I’d ever heard. So many soldiers needing burial that families had to wait.
While I waited I tried to be—what else?—useful. The opposite of helpless. We all did. We continued our tradition of spaghetti Tuesdays. Those were the days Grandpa came over and gave us a progress report.
“We’re moving up on the list,” he’d say.
And then we’d all sit around and try to act normal. I admit it was harder for Mom and Grandpa. They wore their grief like gray clothes. Everything reminded them of Reed. I had to choose my topics carefully.
“Did you know that if Cortés hadn’t transported tomatoes from Mexico into Europe, we might never have had spaghetti sauce?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t know that, Wayne,” Mom said.
“Good spaghetti tonight,” Grandpa said.
“Your turn to wash dishes,” Mom said to me.
“When is the dishwasher getting fixed?” I complained. It had been broken for three months.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Mom said with a wink. “Now hop to it.”
I washed dishes.
“And hey, make yourself useful and get me a cup of coffee,” Grandpa said.
I got him coffee.
“Wayne, there’s a video on the computer back there in the office,” Grandpa said. “I want you to watch it.”
“Why?”
“Why must you always ask why?” Grandpa said, irritated. “Just go look at it and you’ll understand why.”
I watched the video. A video featuring a soldier’s funeral at Arlington National Cemetery. The funeral itself made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And I didn’t even know the deceased soldier. I watched it again. The way the American flag was draped over the casket, then folded to perfection. Folded thirteen times and tucked in before it took the appearance of a cocked hat. That shape is meant to remind us of the soldiers who served under General George Washington.
I’d looked it up.
The next week, I was still thinking about that video. Still considering ways I could be useful to my family. It struck me like a flash. Something for the Wall of Honor. Something for Uncle Reed. And Mom and Grandpa. My contribution. I watched the video of the service at Arlington National Cemetery again. The flag. Something for Uncle Reed’s honor flag. So I found out where I could buy a display shelf that would hold an official honor burial flag with the dimensions five feet by nine and a half feet.
Yeah, I’d looked that up, too.
I found it. A triangular display shelf made of cherry wood. We’d all stare at the Wall of Honor together with Uncle Reed’s picture and honor flag. It was one small thing. The last thing I could do for Uncle Reed. I didn’t know if it would make Mom feel less sad. But it was better than doing nothing.
There was a small waiting list for the flag case, too. I ordered it anyway. In fact, right at the second I clicked on Confirm Your Order, Grandpa hollered at me.
“Wayne, can you come to the kitchen?”
Mom was standing by the stove, rubbing her chin.
“The date is set. Next weekend,” Grandpa said. He put both hands palm-down on the table.
Mom went back to washing a dish she’d already washed.
The doorbell rang. We all froze as if more bad news might be on our doorstep. It wasn’t bad news, though. It was Sandy Showalter. Which was really good news!
There she was. So happy. So pretty. So in my house.
“Hola, Señor Kovok. Poinsettia delivery!” she said.
Poinsettias.
New topic.
“Sandy, did you know that the red poinsettia originated in Mexico and is named after Joel Roberts Poinsett, the first United States minister to Mexico?”
“Uh, no, I didn’t know that, Wayne.”
Don’t say Frankenbuckettia! Don’t say Frankenbuckettia!
“So, if you think about it, that’s lucky, because what if his last name was Frankenbucket? Then at Christmas everyone would have to say, Here, I brought you this Frankenbuckettia.”
Sandy shoved the four plants into my arms. “You are so funny, Wayne. I told my dad that chicken fact. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” I closed the door and watched her get into her mom’s silver minivan. I turned around to face Grandpa.
“Well, Buttercup, you certainly made a square impression on her.”
“Whatever,” I said. I shoved a poinsettia into his hands.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a plant. A poinsettia I bought for… Never mind.”
“I’m going home,” Grandpa said, frowning. “I’ll arrange the tickets. We leave on Friday. Pack your good suit. Take care of your mother. No complaining about dishes. Hard work never hurt anyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
On Friday, we flew nonstop to Washington, DC. Our return trip back to Texas would take two flights.
The first of the two, fine. No problems.