If there was one thing I learned about Grandma, it was that she kept her word. As soon as I got home from school on Monday, she took me by the arm and hauled me over to the Sullivans' house. I put up a good fight. Made her drag me every step of the way, but she was strong enough to do it.
Grandma must have told Mrs. Sullivan we were coming because the door opened right away. There was snotty William in his wheelchair, trying to look tough but failing miserably. His mother stood beside him in the hall, as fierce as a she-bear with a cub to defend.
"This is my grandson, Gordon Smith," said Grandma. "He's come to tell you he's sorry for his rude behavior."
I didn't look at either one of them. "I'm sorry," I muttered to the floor, wishing I could sink right through the wood, I was so ashamed of myself for giving in to Grandma.
Grandma's grip tightened until her nails bit into my arm. "Gordon, please look at Mrs. Sullivan and William."
I flashed them the meanest scowl I could muster and returned my gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry."
Those fingernails felt like daggers stabbing me. "This will not do, Gordon. Look Mrs. Sullivan and William in the eye while you apologize. Use their names. Sound as if you mean it."
Lord, Grandma didn't want much, did she? Keeping my eyes as cold and hard as two steel BBs, I stared at William and his mother. Mrs. Sullivan matched me ice for ice but William was smiling, which made me sore as you-know-what. The little cripple was enjoying this. I'd get him later, I thought.
"I'msorrylwasrudeMrsSullivanandWilliam," I said, running the words together so they sounded like the longest vocabulary word any teacher ever invented.
Grandma sighed. "I believe that's the best we can expect, Shirley," she said to Mrs. Sullivan.
I turned to the door, thinking I was free to go, but Grandma didn't loosen her grip on my arm. "Mrs. Sullivan has invited us to sit and visit awhile," she said in that no-nonsense voice of hers. "For some reason, William has expressed an interest in becoming better acquainted with you."
I tried to pull free and run, but Grandma held me all the tighter. I guess she'd expected me to make a break for it.
There was nothing to do but follow Mrs. Sullivan and William into the living room. I sat on the edge of the sofa and looked around. It wasn't the kind of place you could relax in. There were knickknacks everywhere, fancy little china and glass things that would break if you breathed on them. No dust anywhere. No shoes or papers or sweaters scattered around. No toys. The place reminded me of a funeral parlor. The only thing missing was a stiff in a coffin.
A maid brought us a plate decorated with an arrangement of teeny-tiny cookies. She served glasses of milk to William and me. Grandma and Mrs. Sullivan had tea. Everyone but me took tiny bites and little sips. I expected Grandma to say something about my manners, but she was chatting with Mrs. Sullivan about the weather, which was cold for March. William and I just sat there. Even though I wasn't looking at him, I knew he was looking at me. Probably thinking I was a moron who'd been brought up in a barn.
Finally I leaned close to him and whispered, "Quit looking at me."
"I was admiring your black eye," William said. "Who gave it to you?"
"None of your beeswax."
"I bet it was Jerry Langerman."
"Maybe it was Adolph Hitler."
William grinned. "I hope you gave Jerry two black eyes."
I stared at him. "I probably busted his nose."
That actually made William laugh. "Good for you," he said, sounding a lot friendlier. "I hate Jerry. He's the worst kid in Grandville."
Not anymore, I thought, not with Gordy Smith in town. Compared to me, Jerry Langerman was just some rich doctor's kid cutting up. An amateur juvenile delinquent. I was the real thing.
"I never met anybody with polio before," I said. "Does it hurt?"
William shrugged. "Sometimes."
"Are you going to be crippled all your life?"
"I hope not."
Just then William's mother reached over and patted his head like he was a little pet or something. "William tires easily," she said softly. "Maybe you should say good-bye to Gordon and go lie down, dear."
William frowned. It seemed to me he pulled away just a little bit from his mother's hand. "I'm not tired," he said.
"Yes, you are." His mother went on talking in that soft voice as if she knew more about how William felt than he did. I'd have told her to leave me be if I'd been William, but he just sat there like a prisoner. What he needed was some backbone.
"Can Gordon come back tomorrow?" he asked, not looking at me but at his mother. "We could go up to my room and play with my toys."
"Well," Mrs. Sullivan said slowly, "Gordon might have other things to do, William."
Mrs. Sullivan was giving me an excuse, probably because she was hoping she'd seen the first and last of me. It was real plain she didn't like me. Didn't want me in her house, didn't want me playing with her precious William.
That's all it took to make me say, "I don't mind coming over."
Mrs. Sullivan turned to me. No smile, just as cold-eyed as could be. "You must be careful not to tire William. Excitement's bad for him. He needs rest, peace, quiet."
I figured folks got enough of that when they died, but I just nodded my head like I understood.
Grandma stood up. "Thank you for a lovely treat, Shirley," she said. "I hate to leave, but I have to go home and start dinner." Turning to me, she added, "Tell William good-bye, Gordon. You can talk more tomorrow."
Once we were outside, Grandma said, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"William's okay," I admitted. "But I don't think his mother likes me."
Grandma gave me one of her looks, but she didn't say anything. Instead she marched me inside, sat me down at the kitchen table, and told me to write that note to Great-aunt Mavis. While she bustled around cooking dinner, I stared at the blank paper. I was not going to apologize to that witch. One apology was more than enough for today.
In the living room I heard the gong that meant my second favorite radio show, "Terry and the Pirates," was starting. Next would be "Dick Tracy," then "Jack Armstrong," and "Captain Midnight" after that. I never missed those four shows.
"Can I listen to the radio and then do this?" I asked Grandma. "I got to know what's going to happen to Terry. Friday he was tied up in this boat that was sinking and—"
Grandma leaned over me. "Write the note first. The faster you do it, the faster you can join the others in the living room."
I scowled at her. "It's not fair. You said yourself that old bag had no business talking to Mama like that."
"I don't remember using words to that effect," Grandma said.
"That was the gist of it."
"Write the note, Gordon. Now."
"You're worse than Hitler and Hirohito and Mussolini all rolled into one."
I thought for sure she'd slap me for that but she just said, "I don't care what you think of me. Write the note."
Gunshots and shouts came from the radio. Victor said something and June shushed him. The music got fast and scary. It sounded like Terry was in real trouble, but even though I strained my ears I couldn't quite hear what was going on.
"Write," Grandma said.
I picked up the pencil. "Deer Grate Ant Maviz," I scrawled. "Im sory I was rood. Yor nefue Gordy." I pressed so hard the pencil point broke on the y in my name.
Grandma took the note and read it. "Well," she said, looking at me sharp as a hawk, "at least you know how to spell your own name."
I started to leave but she grabbed my arm. "Is this the best you can do, Gordon?"
"I didn't call you a moron."
"Maybe not, but you did say William might have had a reason for calling me a moron. Which, if you ask me, is the same as saying it yourself."
On the stove, a pot lid began bouncing up and down like the potatoes inside were making one last try to escape. Grandma laid the note down. "Run along, Gordon. We'll write this over again after we eat."
Like heck we would. She said to write an apology and I had. She didn't say anything about spelling and punctuation and all that dumb stuff. But I kept my thoughts to myself. No sense starting an argument. "Terry and the Pirates" was almost over. I'd worry about the stupid note later.
After dinner, Grandma and I spent two hours at the kitchen table, which meant I missed "The Lone Ranger." Not only did she make sure I spelled everything right in Great-aunt Mavis's note, she went over all my schoolwork. Nobody had ever done that before. I swear Mama hadn't cared what I did so long as nobody came to the house to complain. She was too tired out from the little kids and the old man to pay attention to what I did or didn't do in school.
It seemed to me Mama hadn't gotten over those days yet. Since we'd come to Grandville, all she'd done was sit in the living room and listen to the radio. One soap opera after another, starting with "The Romance of Helen Trent" at twelve thirty and going right on till "Young Widder Brown" ended at five and we switched stations for "Terry and the Pirates." That was a total of eighteen shows, each one dumber than the one before.
At first, Grandma did her best to make Mama take what she called "some responsibility." She tried everything from sympathy to yelling, but nothing worked. Mama just said, "Leave me alone, Mother," and went on listening to the radio, her face as blank as a gray sky in winter. She reminded me of pictures I'd seen of soldiers with battle fatigue.
After a couple of weeks, Grandma gave up. She took care of the little kids. Even persuaded Bobby to start using the toilet, which improved the atmosphere considerably.
Grandma also made sure June's dresses were ironed and her hair was braided nice and neat. She kept her shoes polished, too. Never had to nag her about school. June loved her teacher and she was soon reading better than I was. She could do some arithmetic, too. Right from the start, she'd smiled and wagged her tail, and now Grandma was smiling back. And so was everybody else. June even started bringing friends home with her, something she'd never done in College Hill, mainly because nobody's mother allowed their kids near our place. Here in Grandville, it seemed June could do no wrong.
As for me, I got more frowns than smiles both at home and at school. I didn't make any friends, either. Just enemies. But that's what I was used to, so it didn't matter.
One night we were sitting at the kitchen table, just Grandma and me. I was slaving over my arithmetic problems and she was checking my spelling words. Out of the blue, she said, "Did you know your father's on his way to California?"
I stared at her in disbelief. "I thought he was still in jail."
Grandma shook her head. "Your mother got a letter from him yesterday. Didn't she tell you?"
"Mama never tells me anything." I kicked the table leg, sorely vexed to know the old man was free as a bird. "How come they let him out of jail?"
Grandma sighed and took a sip of tea. "Your mother didn't stick around to press charges, Gordon."
Keeping my voice real low, I muttered a string of cuss words. If Grandma heard, she didn't let on.
"He's hoping to find a job in an aircraft plant in Bakersfield," she said, taking as much care as I did to avoid mentioning the old man's name. Not that she had to. We both knew who we were talking about.
"Good for him," I said, kicking the table leg harder.
"Your mother seemed happy to hear from him."
"She's nuts." With that, I slammed my arithmetic book shut and went up to my room. I expected Grandma to call me back. After all, I hadn't finished my homework. But she let me go without a word.
Not bothering to turn on the light, I flung myself on my bed and stared at the ceiling. At least the old man was heading west, not south. Maybe he'd stay in California and forget about us. I sure hoped so.