When I got back from Grandma’s on Sunday, I found Winnie enthroned at the kitchen table surrounded by her subjects: biscotti, egg bread nested with real Easter eggs, caramel delights, and bunny cookies. Her Easter basket was already dismantled.
Marty must have short-circuited.
“What happened?” I asked, figuring it had something to do with Deja.
“The ’spector shut Mom down.”
“Swallow,” I said crossly.
She gulped down milk, and explained. “The inspector came to the market yesterday and told Mom to stop selling her stuff. So she had to bring it all back home. He was so snotty.” Her hands on her hips, she mimicked, ‘So open a bakery.’ That’s what Fleta said.”
“Fleta.”
“The flower child. Grandpa calls her that.”
“Oh, yeah. The hippie lady. With the braid.” Two ripped halves of a crumpled business card lay smoothed out on the table. Together they read, JULIAN R. BARRETT, R.E.H.S. Blah, blah, blah.
“I guess he never had one of her cookies. He would have changed his mind about closing her down.”
“Mom tried that. He got real mad and ’cused her of bribing him. Whatever that means. She threw a cake at him.” She drowned a bunny in milk. “He made Mom cry. I hate him.”
“She threw a cake?”
“Yeah. It was really fancy. Too good to throw at him.”
I laughed, still not convinced, because Winnie exaggerated too, just like me. “She hit him in the face?”
She shook her head. “She says she dropped it by accident and it got all over his shoes, but I think she threw it.” She licked sugar from the corner of her mouth and scrunched up her forehead. “I ’member one time when I was little, she spiked a big blob of hamburger at Dad’s feet. Like a football.”
It sounded so Deja-like. It gave me more respect for Marty. Deja was a jerk, but she didn’t let people push her around.
Deja walked through the kitchen and grabbed a handful of cookies without acknowledging that either of us existed. This huge zit-thing was hanging on the side of her nose, looking all irritated and sore. She was waiting for us to say something about it, but Winnie and I just beamed silent messages to each other with our eyes.
After Deja slammed the bedroom door, we burst into muffled giggles.
“When did she get her nose pierced?” I asked.
“Yesterday,” she said, spraying crumbs. “It looks like a big booger.”
“A big sore booger.” We laughed again, and I shushed Winnie to keep Deja from coming out.
“She can’t wear it to school,” I said. “Won’t the hole close up if she takes it out?”
Winnie shrugged. “Maybe. I bet Summer dared her.”
I put a bunny cookie in my mouth, snapping off the head and chewing. Enormous sugar crystals flaked off like diamonds. “Did Summer get her nose pierced too?”
“Naw. Summer gets people to do stuff she’s scared to do. So they get into trouble and not her.”
I studied her as she licked her finger and pressed it onto the table, collecting stray sugar crystals.
“Did you figure that out by yourself?”
She shook her head. “Deja told me.”
“What did Marty say?”
“She yelled a lot. Mostly about infection and AIDS and junk. She calmed down when Deja said at first Kendra was going to do it at her house because she’s some kind of expert pierce-person. But she wasn’t home, so they went to the mall instead.”
“Omigosh. That happened yesterday, after the inspector came? Marty must have been wearing a target.”
“Yeah. Poor Mom.” Winnie chewed slowly. She glanced over at me covertly and fingered her right earlobe. “Rae got her ears pierced for her birthday. I wanna get mine pierced too, so we can wear the same earrings.”
“That’s swell.” I got up from the table and rinsed my glass in the sink. Then I went into the living room and plopped down on the sofa with the remote.
I remembered to thank Marty for the Easter basket. I told her when she was sitting at the table at dinner, so she wouldn’t try to hug me. She just smiled and wiped her eyes. Gosh, I didn’t mean to start her up again.
Spring break was officially over, and we had a hard time getting up for school the next morning. Kids were wearing shorts and sandals to school like summer had magically appeared the day after Easter. They thought they were cool, but I knew they were really cold.
On Wednesday there was a short message all garbled on the answering machine. We could only make out a few words before the hang-up. Marty checked the area code in the phone directory.
“Canada.” She blinked and looked over at me, and I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was.
Could it be Uncle Greg? Maybe he’d figured out about my money too. Or maybe Marty had started the ball rolling herself, to give me back.
The phone rang again during dinner that night, and Deja bolted. She came back looking thoroughly disgusted, wordlessly handed the phone to Marty, and sat back down. Marty glanced at the caller ID and left the table to talk in her bedroom.
She was gone long enough for her spaghetti to get cold and her Parmesan to congeal. She came back chewing her lip.
Winnie asked, “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Andie’s grandpa.”
I sat up, stung.
“That was your Aunt Robin on the phone. Your grandpa fell and broke his hip. He’s doing okay, but he’ll be in the hospital for a while.”
I felt the world telescoping away from me. I should have been there. Maybe if I had been, this wouldn’t have happened.
“He broke his hip? How did he do it?”
“He fell on the front porch. Your grandmother called them from the hospital. Her neighbor’s staying with her,” she said. “Mrs. DeMarco, I think. She’s driving your grandmother back and forth to the hospital.”
Why didn’t they call me first, instead of Greg? He never visited or even called them.
“Can I call Grandma?”
“Give her a chance to get home first. Visiting hours are probably over by eight.”
Grandma’s phone rang busy until my bedtime, and Marty said maybe her phone was off the hook. She was probably staying overnight in the room with Grandpa anyway. Or maybe with Mrs. DeMarco.
I secretly called the hospital at nine, nestled in the bathroom with the phone and hoping my voice didn’t ricochet off the walls. There was only one hospital in Pine Run, so it wasn’t hard to get the number. As I dialed, I wondered how I would get Grandpa to hear me without yelling at him. But I worried for nothing.
The phone picked up. “Room 231.”
“Grandma?” I asked.
“No, it’s not.”
“Who is this?” I asked. Who would be in his room, if it wasn’t Grandma?
“I’m an RN,” she said.
“A what?” I asked.
“A nurse, honey.” She hesitated for a second. “Who did you want to speak to?”
“My grandpa. Mr. James.”
“He’s resting right now. Why don’t you call back tomorrow, when family members are here?”
Family members? “But that’s me,” I said, stupidly. “Is he okay?”
“I’m not allowed to give out any patient information. Call back tomorrow, please.” She hung up.
Marty peeked around the door and startled me. “So, how’s your grandpa?”
I dug into the floor with my toe, feeling five years old. “He’s resting.”
She leaned against the door in her bathrobe with her hair hanging down on her shoulders and her eyes bald without makeup. “We can drive up to visit him this weekend, if you want,” she said.
“Can we?”
“Just a day trip. You’ll have to come back home with me.”
“That’s okay. Just so I can see him,” I said. “Thanks, Marty.”
She smiled tiredly and told me to get ready for bed.
We drove up on Saturday. It wasn’t hard to find the hospital. There were big signs on the freeway.
We parked and got out. It was still cold up there, and I was glad I’d remembered to grab my hoodie.
We went in to check his room number at the front desk. Room 231 was on the second floor. I stopped at the water fountain outside his room to get a drink because my mouth was dry from worrying.
It was hot in his room. If Grandma hadn’t been there, I’d have thought we were in the wrong room. The skin on Grandpa’s face sagged against his bones in sleep. Almost like a skeleton. His veins showed blue under his skin, thin, stained, and watery, the color of used tea bags. Grandma perched, humpbacked, by his bed, smoothing his covers nervously.
The room had that kindergarten bathroom smell. I wrinkled my nose, but no one else seemed to notice.
Grandma told us that he’d tripped on the steps in front of their house. He was doing fine, but he would be in the hospital for a few weeks. They had to sit him up every couple of hours to prevent pneumonia, and he didn’t like that. It hurt his hip to bend in the middle.
He never woke up while we were there, but Grandma said she’d tell him we came by. He was pretty doped up. Marty asked if there was anything we could do for her, but she said no, her neighbor was coming by to take her home later.
I didn’t want to leave Grandpa. He looked so much older in that bed with the kiddie rails. But it was a relief to get outside. I breathed in the fresh pine when we walked to our car.
“Andie, do you have a key to your grandma’s house with you?” Marty asked.
“Yeah. It’s in my pocket. Why?”
“Let’s swing by and see if they need anything. She probably hasn’t had time to do any shopping.”
Pine Run is small, so it was easy to find the mobile home park from the direction of the hospital. There were only a couple of turns. We pulled in behind Grandma’s Lincoln.
“Look,” Marty said, wiggling a broken step on the porch with her shoe. “That must be where he fell. That should be fixed.”
We didn’t even need a key—Grandma had forgotten to lock the door. The house smelled stale, so we opened some windows to air it out. The fridge was empty, except for a jug of expired skim milk and a carton of egg substitute. Marty sniffed the egg stuff, wrinkled her nose, and ran it all down the garbage disposal.
We scrubbed the bathroom and mopped the floor, which wasn’t easy, considering Marty was wearing a nice outfit, and a new full set of fake nails. Then we gathered up their dirty clothes and filled the washer. We made a run to Safeway and stocked the fridge with fresh milk, egg substitute, and juice, and the freezer with frozen dinners. The sun had heated up the place, and I peeled off my hoodie. Lastly, I dug out a hammer and nails from Grandpa’s tool-box, and we did the best we could to fix the step.
On the ride back to Newberry, I felt pretty good about helping Grandma. I glanced over at Marty. She was singing along with the radio and driving one-handed, and her sunglasses reflected the road ahead in a weird, sideways angle. She’d chewed off the pink lipstick she had carefully applied in the rearview mirror before we went into the hospital. She sensed me watching, and looked over.
“What?” she asked.
“That was nice, what you did for Grandma.”
“Well, you did it too, kiddo.” She gave me a playful shove. “That bathroom was a two-woman job.”
I grimaced.
“Not just the bathroom. Everything. Washing their clothes, and buying her food. You didn’t have to do that.”
She shrugged, cocking her head. Some of her hair came out of her clip.
“She’s your grandma, and she needed it.” She tucked the lock of hair behind her ear.
“Grandma hasn’t been exactly … nice to you.”
She thought it over for a second.
“No, Andie, she hasn’t. But you don’t win people over by giving back hurt for hurt. I don’t hold anything against your grandparents. Under the circumstances, I would probably be the same way.”
Win people over. Like Grandma accused Carl of doing with the Christmas tree? Did Marty do that stuff to be nice, or was she trying to win me over? Her nails clicked on the steering wheel. Things must be looking up, if she could afford her twice-a-month visits to Nail Palace again.
“I heard Grandma say that I had some money. From my parents’ insurance. And from the settlement.”
She glanced over at me and back to the road. I couldn’t see her eyes through her reflective lenses. Finally she nodded. “It’s in a savings account in your name for living expenses. We could draw on it, but we never have. And we won’t. It’s for your college when you’re eighteen.”
“Oh.” I felt crummy, like I’d accused her of stealing.
“Did they tell you we wanted your money?” she asked.
“No. I just heard them talking once.”
“I bet you have,” she said under her breath. “Well, they’re wrong about this. Andie, sometimes older folks can get confused about things. The world is changing so fast, they don’t always trust people. Your grandparents are worried about you, and they don’t want you to get hurt. I think they overdid it just a bit there. We are not after your money.”
Considering how tight money had been since Christmas, and how hard Marty worked, I knew she was telling the truth. “I know.”
She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Since we started going back to church, I realized that I need to forgive them for the way they act toward us sometimes. I know they’re just worried about you. Still, it’s not always easy to forgive, believe me. But God gives me the strength to do hard things.”
I’d heard that before. I blurted out, “But why can’t God just take away hard things?” I turned my head toward my window. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Well, He could. But my problem is your grandparents, and I know you wouldn’t want Him to take them away.”
My head whipped around.
“He wouldn’t do that, Andie. But do you see what I mean? He’s helping me to deal with my problem instead of taking it away or letting it make me bitter. And He’s making me a better person because of it. Who knows? Maybe their attitude toward me will change a little too.” She shrugged. “We’ll see.”
I tried to think about something else. It was too much, right after seeing Grandpa in the hospital. We stopped for hamburgers on the way back because it was late. When we got home, Winnie saw our milkshake cups and whined, like she thought we were having fun without her.
I gave Marty Uncle Greg’s number to give him an update on Grandpa’s condition. Then I sneaked down the hall to her bedroom door to eavesdrop on the call.
I heard her say, “Andie and I went up to the hospital today to see your father.”
She paused.
“He’s resting, but the doctors are concerned about pneumonia. They’re getting him up and around every so often to prevent that. Otherwise, he’s pretty drugged with pain medication, which is understandable.”
Silence again.
“She’s holding up pretty well, under the circumstances. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about their situation. I think it would be a good idea for you to visit soon.”
Silence, then her voice was shrill.
“Andie and I went over to the house after we left the hospital. It needs some upkeep. Your father fell on a broken step on the porch, and your mother or a neighbor might be next. We cleaned up some, but there was no food in the house—”
She waited, then her voice was strained, like a wild horse that might break loose and kick a hole in the fence.
“I’m suggesting they need some kind of adult caregiver to stop by once a week or so. Somebody to do their shopping and some housecleaning, and monitor your father’s health.”
Whatever he said next really made her mad. Her voice kicked up a notch.
“This isn’t about Andie.” Silence.
“I am not … I am not trying to prove they are incapable of taking care of her—”
Dead air, then she spoke so softly I could barely hear. “And for your information, we do not need her money.”
Her voice rose again. “I’m saying that you don’t realize the seriousness of their situation.”
Silence again.
“How long has it been since you last saw them?” she asked, then a split second later, “Well, it may not be any of my business, but I think you’ll be shocked the next time you do. You know, I only called because I wanted to help.”
A brief silence, then, “You bet it’s your responsibility, and you’d better take it more seriously, for your parents’ sake.”
Ding! She must’ve slammed the phone down. I heard her get up from the bed, and I ran light-footed down the hall back to my room.
In my bed, I thought about how I could be that person, the one who did their housecleaning and shopping. Okay, maybe not the shopping. Not yet. But Pine Run was a small town, and I could get around on my bike if I had to. And in a year I’d have my learner’s permit, so Grandma wouldn’t even have to drive. They needed me now more than ever.
So Uncle Greg had accused Marty of trying to prove Grandma was unfit to have custody. She had already given me up, but I guess she hadn’t contacted him yet about handing me over when school was out.
The thought of living with Uncle Greg and Aunt Robin almost made me hyperventilate. I’d be a free babysitter for my obnoxious cousins, Brent and Kyle. Slave labor, like Cinderella. And I’d have to move to Canada. I saw a travel brochure about their town once. It was way up in the northwest—some kind of winter resort—and the scenery was beautiful. The brochure said there were sixty-five frost-free days every year. Like that was a good thing.
Dad told Mom once that Greg would be rich if he banked his money instead of drinking it away. Mom had shushed him. I was too young to understand then, picturing a cup stuffed with dollar bills and Uncle Greg trying to drink it. I was so fixated on the idea, I swallowed a dime, just to see if I could do it. Mom had to look for it later, which was gross.
But then Uncle Greg caused a big argument during a July Fourth barbecue, and Dad took away his car keys, so then he took a swing at Dad. There were beer cans everywhere, and Uncle Greg wanted to make a run to 7-ll. That’s when it all added up.
Uncle Greg didn’t really want to pay someone to help Grandma and Grandpa, so if he got custody of me, and I handed over my money, maybe he’d let me stay in Pine Run.
I was lying on my bed, trying to figure it all out and swallowing hard at how old Grandpa looked in the hospital. Even Grandma seemed different over Easter. She moved slower and lost things and got snippy with me over nothing. Sometimes it would hurt my feelings, but I knew she didn’t mean it.
Had they always been that way, and it had seemed normal because I lived with them? I tried to remember, but it was fuzzing over, just like Grandma’s handwriting. I could hardly understand the last letter she wrote to me.
They were getting older and older, and I couldn’t stop it.
It wasn’t fair, all this stuff that was happening. I dug under my bed for Mom’s Bible, frantically flipping pages, hungry for highlighter. I stopped at Philippians. It was a rainbow of color. Near the end of the book, in hot pink, with a star in the margin, was the promise I can do everything through him who gives me strength.
It was just like Marty said when we went to see Grandpa. She’d gone through a lot too, and seemed to think it worked.
I asked God to give me strength to do whatever I needed to, and it’s a good thing I did. It seemed like nothing could be harder than everything I’d gone through already.
