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Whitehall has this big event for the Fourth of July. In terms of holiday festivities, this is the town’s biggest. There’s a parade at noon and then a barbecue right after in the park, the same one that Seth had his allergic reaction in.
Speaking of which, Seth comes home in two days. So there’s that excitement. But today, July Fourth, there’s going to be some sneakiness and some stealthiness and a good old-fashioned robbery.
Just kidding on that last one.
But the thought of my grandma sitting alone in that dark room today saddens me. So I decided to break her out . . . by forging my dad’s signature on the release papers.
Normally I don’t think that alone would work, because an adult needs to be there to actually pick up the person the nursing home is releasing. But I have fortune on my side because Susan loves me. And she would never think of me as the lying type. And I’m usually not. Except when it’s for a good cause.
I show up in my grandma’s room. “Surprise,” I say, and she slowly looks at me and absently smiles. “I have a surprise for you today, Grandma.” I walk over to her and whisper, “We’re breaking you out of here.”
I have the plan all figured out. The paperwork has already been given to Susan. I said my dad was just running a few last-minute errands and he’d be here soon to pick Grandma up.
Except it’s already eleven thirty.
And my dad is fishing.
But I will use the noon parade as pressure. So this is how my plan works:
I put a thick layer of sunscreen on Grandma’s face, then put on her sweet-looking sunglasses and a red, white, and blue hat. She’s already wearing a red, white, and blue shirt. Then I get her into the wheelchair—not that she can’t walk, of course, but just for getting her out of here quickly. I roll her to the front doors and stand next to her, waiting. We are both looking out as if expecting someone. She is doing it because that’s what she always does. I am doing it because I want Susan to think my dad is coming. Because that’s what I told her.
At 11:45 I say, “Susan, he just texted me that the parade is blocking his car from driving over to this side of town. So he’s walking. I just hope he’s not too late, or the whole day will be ruined.”
At 11:50 I say, “I don’t know where he is.”
At 11:55 I wheel my decked-out grandma back to her room with the saddest expression a teenage boy could ever have. As we pass Susan at her nurse station, I say, “Never mind. He won’t be here in time.”
“Sorry, Charlie,” says Susan, who watches me wheel Grandma back down the hall. Then, as if right on cue, she says, “Wait, Charlie. He’s on his way?”
I turn and nod.
She looks at me and then at Grandma. “Why don’t you just take her to your dad?”
“Oh, really?” My eyes are wide. “Thank you! Grandma will love this.”
Susan bends down. “Now, Eloise, you be on your best behavior. Okay?”
Grandma doesn’t respond. It’s like she doesn’t even realize that someone is talking to her. Or she knows exactly what she’s doing and doesn’t want to be on her best behavior.