Patsy Cline’s singing contest is at Portwaller’s VFW hall. Which Terrible says stands for “Veterans of Foreign Wars.” I didn’t know that there are wars about singing, but I guess you can have a war about anything. A long time ago, there was a war between cowboys and Indians in the Wild West, so I guess that’s why Patsy Cline wears a cowgirl outfit when she sings. She’s dressed for battle.
When I ask Mum if the losers of the contest get shot with a gun or an arrow, she just shakes her head at me and rubs her eyeballs. Which I take to mean that the losers will be hanged by a rope. So now I have something else to worry about besides what will happen when Mum sees Grandpa Felix taking pictures.
In the car on our way to the VFW, we have a war of our own going on. Terrible is complaining that he doesn’t know why he has to come to this dumb thing. Mum says that we need to start doing more things as a family. Terrible says he never gets to do what he wants. And then there’s a lot of “Yes, you do” and “No, I don’t” that goes on for a very long time until Mum almost crashes us into a telephone pole. The car screeches to a stop and she yells, “I’m not having this discussion right now!”
While all of this is going on, I’m in the back of the car, practising keeping my mouth shut tight so the secret I’m keeping won’t fly out. Which it almost does when Mum nearly kills us. I hug my backpack to my chest and every once in a while look inside it to make sure my arm coat is still there. The picture of my dad on the sleeve peeks out through the opening.
When we get to the VFW, an orange-and-purple banner that reads 
hangs above the door. I run ahead so that I can be first. Once inside, I push open a heavy door and step into the hall. The place is already crowded. I go down the centre aisle and look for empty seats. Mum and Terrible soon catch up with me, and we find three empty seats together on the left side of the audience. I slide my backpack under my seat and sit on my feet so I can see over the person in front of me, who’s wearing a hat like a teapot, and look out for Grandpa Felix.
The lights go out before I can see Grandpa Felix or Patsy Cline. A man with a microphone is onstage then talking about what treats are in store for us tonight at . But when I lean over Terrible and tell Mum that I didn’t see any treats anywhere, she tells me the treats are the kids performing. Which is when I say that I’d rather have ice cream.
The first 
treat) to sing is a boy dressed in overalls with a straw hat, singing some song about a farmer who’s moved to a brand-new state called Oklahoma. Only he sings it like this:
OOOOOOOhhhh-klahoma! Which makes it sound like a place that’s full of surprises.
I lean over Terrible again and tap Mum on the arm. “When is Patsy Cline going to sing?”
Terrible tells me to watch it and Mum tells us to keep our voices down and then hands me a program. Patsy Cline Roberta Watson is after the kid who is after the Oklahoma boy.
After the OOOOOOOhhhh-klahoma! kid finishes, he throws his straw hat in the air, spins around, and catches it on his head. Which would be a good trick for Lizzie to learn how to do with the Captain Hook marshmallow hat.
Next is a baton twirler dressed in a sparkly blue shorts-and-shirt outfit who does a routine to “When the Saints Go Marching In.” But she drops her batons twice before crying and running offstage and is probably hiding outside behind a trash can. Because that is what I would do if I dropped my batons in front of all these people. Everybody in the audience claps really loud for her anyway, and I hope she can hear the clapping from the parking lot.
Then Patsy Cline Roberta Watson is onstage. I sit up as tall as I can make myself and clap as loud as I can and even try to whistle, only I don’t think any sound comes out on account of the fact that I can’t whistle at all. Patsy’s wearing her purple cowgirl outfit, and her hair is in braids threaded with purple and white ribbons. When she takes the microphone in her hand and faces the audience, she’s got her battle face on.
Patsy says she’s going to sing a song called “Leavin’ on Your Mind” by the dead country and western singer she was named after. And when she starts to sing, Patsy Cline (the one onstage now, not the one who’s dead) has a voice that is sad and lonesome, like a hound dog calling to the moon that’s gone hiding behind a cloud.
If you’ve got leavin’ on your mind
Tell me now, get it over
Hurt me now, get it over
If you’ve got leavin’ on your mind.
Which makes me think about people leaving, not on account of dying or anything. But people just leaving on their own, kind of like Grandpa Felix did when my dad got sick. And like he did at the hospital. Mum must be thinking about people leaving, too, because I peek at her next to me in the dark and she’s got a tear running down her cheek.
Then, a flash lights up the corner of the room. And in that flash of light, I can see Grandpa Felix near the stage snapping pictures of Patsy Cline.
My heart thumps in my chest. And I can hardly pay attention to the rest of the . “How much longer?” I whisper to Mum after Patsy Cline’s song ends.
“Yeah, how much more of this do I have to listen to?” says Terrible.
Mum tells us to be quiet and says that if she has to tell us again, we’re not going to be happy. So me and Terrible have a contest of our own to see who can knock each other’s elbow off the armrest. But after a while, Mum puts a stop to that, too, when she says, “Stop it. You weren’t raised by wolves.” Terrible gives my elbow one more shove, and I smile because it’s been a long time since we’ve been on the same side.
Onstage, the war drags on and on. But when it’s finally over, the lights come on and nobody gets shot or rope-hanged, thank lucky stars. Silver trophies are handed out, and Patsy Cline gets one for second place.
As soon as the last trophy is given, I leap out of my seat. Mum says she wants to say hello to Mrs Watson. And when she goes to find her, I open my backpack, pull on my arm coat, and push my way through all of the people towards Grandpa Felix.
Grandpa Felix is hunched over his camera bag, and I want to climb onto his back so he can carry me over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Because that is what grandpas and dads do. But I lose my nerve and tap him on the back of the head instead. He jumps a little when he sees me.
“Like my coat?” I say, spinning around so he can see all of the pictures.
“You mean my coat,” he says. “You’ve glued all that on there?”
“Yep.”
“I guess it’s yours now,” he says.
“It’s the Crumb family’s coat of arms.” I spin around again. “You left it at the hospital.”
Grandpa Felix rubs his whiskers. “You’ve even got old Winston on there, I see.”
“And your other pictures, too.” Then I put my hand in his. His thick, rough fingers close around mine. And in case Grandpa Felix has got leaving on his mind, I keep a tight hold so he won’t get away. Then I pull at him and say, “Let’s go.” I weave him through the crowds, and we don’t stop until we get to Mum.
All the way over, my heart pounds. I stand him right beside Mum and Terrible. Patsy Cline grabs both of her braids when she sees me and says, “Look at Penelope!” But everybody is already staring.
“It’s my coat of arms,” I explain. “It’s all about our family.”
Mrs Watson says, “Good earth, Penelope. What happened to your nose?”
“I fell down and lost my nose powers.”
Mum looks from my coat to Grandpa Felix and then back to me. Here are the things she doesn’t say about my coat and all of the pictures: Oh, little darling. Oh, my heart. You’re really something.
And, here is the thing she does say: “Where did you get that coat?”
“From the hall cupboard. But before that, from the hospital, and from Grandpa Felix. You took it home, remember?” I spin around again, slowly this time, and point to her drawing of the heart. “Don’t you see all of the pictures of us? And your drawings?”
Mum gives me a look that says, We’ll Talk about This Later, Missy.
So I quickly change the subject and say,
“Look who it is, everybody!
Grandpa Felix!”
Now Mum is staring at him like his name is missy, too. Patsy Cline says, “Thank you for taking pictures, Mr Crumb.” And then Mum makes a face like she’s about to sprout a tail. Which must make Patsy Cline nervous because she yanks a ribbon from her braid.
Mrs Watson says, “Well, thank goodness that happened after the pictures were taken. Let’s get going, Patsy Cline. And keep your fingers out of your hair.” She tucks Patsy Cline’s trophy under her arm. “Thank you again, Mr Crumb. When can we take a look at your pictures?”
“A day or two,” he says.
Mrs Watson smiles and says, “That’s perfect,” and shuffles Patsy Cline away while holding her ribbon-less braid.
Grandpa Felix turns back to us and adjusts his camera bag over his shoulder. Then he does something surprising. He sticks his hand out to Terrible and says, “You’ve grown into a fine-looking young man.” Which makes me think that Grandpa needs glasses. “You look just like your father.”
And then Terrible does something just as surprising. He smiles with teeth.
This is going great is what my brains are telling me, until I look at Mum and see her red blotches. This whole time she’s been doing a lot of non-talking. I plant myself right in front of her so she won’t have to find the words. Then I poke her with my finger, which makes her mouth open. “Uh, how have you been, Felix?” is what finally comes out.
“All right,” he says.
“Good,” Mum says.
Then there’s a lot more non-talking. Good gravy. They are really awful at this. So I say, “Fine. I’ll do it. Mum, you tell Grandpa Felix that he is still part of our family.”
“Penelope,” she says.
“And Grandpa Felix, you tell Mum that you’re sorry for leaving me at the hospital and for acting like you were Graveyard Dead, even though you were not.”
Grandpa Felix clears his throat.
“Penelope,” says Mum. “It’s not that simple.”
“I know,” I say, “it’s because you don’t have words. But you don’t need words.” I spread the arms of my coat. “Because I’ve got all these pictures. We’re all together. Right here.”
“I think I’d better be going,” says Grandpa Felix.
“No, don’t!” I grab his arm with both hands.
Mum grabs my coat at the elbow. “Don’t do this, Penelope. Come on, we’ve got to get going, too.” But I hang on to Grandpa Felix, hang on for dear life. Because if I let go, everything will go with it. “I’m not letting go!”
“Mum!” says Terrible.
But Mum isn’t letting go either, and so we’re both holding on, holding on tight for I don’t know what. But I guess no matter how much you hold on, sometimes, you can’t stop people from leaving.
“I’m not letting go!” I yell again, pulling harder on Grandpa Felix’s arm, and people around us are starting to stare and whisper, but I don’t care. I get tossed around inside the grandpa-size coat as I hold on and pull, and before I can stop it, my arms are out of the sleeves and I’m out of the coat and knocking into Terrible. He catches me and keeps me from falling.
Mum and Grandpa Felix are still pulling on the coat even though I’m not in it. I reach out to grab the coat again, but before I can get hold of it, there’s a loud ripping sound that stops me. When I turn to look, Mum is holding on to half of my dad’s picture. The rest of his face is still glued to the coat, which is now in Grandpa Felix’s hands.
And I think my heart stops beating for real.
