Three weeks and more phone calls to Liz Delaney later, and nothing had changed except muffins hardening on the kitchen counter. I don’t know why I hadn’t thrown them out.
I went to the West Academy and did my time there. The trio of gymnasts had gotten wise to my nerdiness and even asked for my help on a math project. I went to Dr. P for one last appointment. I read books. I read my collection of facts about the flag search. I read Denny’s book about the Titanic. I read about a man who punched a two-hundred-pound alligator that had clamped onto his son’s arm.
I did everything but actually use my voice. I’d always known I could be strange, but my silence surprised even me.
I brought our chess set into Mom’s room.
“Want to play?” I asked.
She smiled, so I went in and set everything up on top of her comforter. Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice was on the TV, and Mom muted the sound while we played.
“Tim LeMoot called,” I told her.
“Do you like him?”
“He’s okay,” I said. “Maybe he’s your Mr. Darcy.”
“What do you know of Mr. Darcy?”
“You’re kidding, right? You forced me to watch all that stuff. Plus, the dog.”
“Forced you?”
I stood up and did my best high-pitched-voice interpretation of a young English woman having a cow about some guy. “Oh my, oh my, I’m in such a state because I need a husband. I think I’ll go run across this field in the rain!”
“Wayne Howard!”
I turned my voice up a notch. “Oooh, ooooh, maybe the strong-booted Mr. LeMoot is in want of a good woman.”
“Stop it!” She tossed a pillow at my face. My face didn’t hurt anymore.
I pointed at the muted TV screen. “Look! She’s running across the field in the rain! I told you.”
After I took a bow for my performance, my audience of one was weeping. Not happy tears for my wonderful and moving portrayal of an English woman. But big, giant, sloppy tears.
“Mom?” I sat on the bed. “Hey, did you know that it was the Roman soldiers who first wore neckties? Then other armies wore them to signify their country’s colors. And much later, the French used ties as a fashion statement, but they were meant to just absorb sweat, so it’s sort of gross when you think about it.”
Mom took me by the hands and said, “I love your brain. It’s very handsome.” Then she tried to touch my eyebrow, and because she was feeling bad, I let her do her mom thing.
“Did you know that the Jewish religion has six hundred and thirteen commandments to follow, as opposed to Christianity’s ten?”
“Your scar looks better. You learned a lot from Denny.”
“I guess.”
“I missed hearing your voice.”
My new voice still surprised me. Mom never said if it surprised her, too.
“Now, Wayne, listen. I have to tell you something. About your grandfather,” she said. She couldn’t get the sentences out. She stuttered like Denny. I’d never seen her that rattled in my life, and that includes the month before we fled from the Flee.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I said. Now that Mom was going to come out and tell me, I didn’t want to hear it. Because of what a jerk I was. I didn’t think about how it was hurting her feelings, too.
“No, I need to. I need to tell you, but I don’t know how to give you more bad news.”
“What she’s trying to say is that I’m dying. Ta-da!” There was Grandpa, standing in the doorway.
“Dad! I was trying to say it gently.”
“You were saying it too slow,” Grandpa said. “The truth doesn’t take a lot of words. Sorry you had to find out this way, kid. You probably want to go eat a muffin now.” He was smiling, teasing me. But it didn’t feel right.
I waited to feel something. Something like relief. I waited for the mighty elephant to walk out of the room. But here’s what they don’t tell you about that phrase. When you do point to the elephant in the room and it finally disappears, it leaves a mighty space behind. A space so big that there’s nothing else. My throat closed up. My heart sank.
Stupid elephant.
Because to tell you the truth, I’d imagined this day already. I’d say something to Grandpa like I’ve known for a long time, and then he’d say, You’re not as stupid as you look, Kovok, and Mom would say, Cut it out, you two.
But none of what I’d imagined happened.
I didn’t say anything. No one said anything.
Not a word. It was one of those long, stupid, agonizing, awkward silences that I hated with the intensity of a hot, red August sunburn.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
“Don’t you have any questions?” Grandpa finally asked. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I even made a list of answers. I wanted to be prepared for your torrent of questions.”
“Answers? Answers to what?”
“Well, for example, question one might be”—Grandpa began reading from his paper—“How bad is it? Can’t you have surgery? and the answer to that is no, the cancer has spread to the liver.”
I guess my throat told my feet to just run. Because that was what I did. I grabbed the piece of paper from his hand as I darted past him.
And I took off and was glad I’d been wearing my Adidas. I didn’t take my phone, house keys, or anything. I went outside and jogged down Cedar, zigging and zagging all through the tree-named streets in the dark. It was a beautiful March night. Cool and moonlit.
I could tell it was the Car pulling up behind me. Just the sound of it purred like no other car on the road. But I kept running.
“How long are you going to jog?” Grandpa shouted. He’d put the soft top down on the convertible.
“Until I get tired,” I said.
“I’m tired just watching you.”
“Then go home!”
“Your mother is worried.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“Hey, nice night to go to a drive-in for a shake. I’m buying!”
I stopped and looked at him. He idled the car. “Getting a shake doesn’t solve everything,” I said.
“We can talk about this, you know, Wayne. I know it’s hard on you now that you just found out, but—”
“I’ve known for a while.”
Grandpa smiled and turned his head at me. “Well, you’re not as stupid as I thought, Kovok.”
I got inside the Car.
New topic.
We went to Sonic and ordered thick, creamy milk shakes. Then we drove all over town with the radio turned up and the top down and looked at the constellations and the full moon.
“I taught Reed to drive in this car, you know.”
Nope, didn’t know that.
“I love how this car growls,” I said.
“Son, Japanese muscle cars growl. American muscle cars rumble.”
“Okay, I like how it rumbles!”
I don’t know how long we drove, but it was long enough to finish our shakes and drive back to Sonic and get fries.
There wasn’t a better distraction in the world.
True story.