Jake shifts from foot to foot as Grand settles Mom in our car.
“Where’s Bandit?” I ask.
“He can’t stand long goodbyes. You don’t have to go, you know.” Jake nods toward the car. “Your grandfather can take care of her now.”
I’ve spent the last few days alternating between his house and my mom’s hospital room, where we played Scrabble and let her win. We watched endless reruns on the tv and shared submarine sandwiches. It was not much different than how Mom and I usually spend our time. But it felt different—better—with Grand there too.
“I do have to go,” I tell Jake.
Grand closes the car door. A buddy gave him a ride to Richmond so he could drive us back. He started planning how to get us home as soon as he got my call.
“There’s room for you at our place,” says Jake. “And you could take classes with me.”
“You asked your mom?”
“Sure.” I can tell he’s lying by the way he doesn’t look me in the eye. “She said it would be cool.”
“That’s crap, and you know it,” I tell him. “But thanks anyway.”
Grand says the first thing we have to do when we get home is register in school. Wikipedia and World Book can only take a person so far, he says.
“I have to go,” I tell Jake.
He nods slowly, like he knew that all along.
“You coming or not?” Grand is standing by the open passenger door, smoking.
“I can’t live with my mom,” I tell Jake. “But I can’t live without her. How’s that for a cliché?”
And Grand needs me as much as I need him. “But thanks.”
“Will you call me sometimes?” When he puts his arms around me, I want to stay there so badly. Enclosed. Warm and safe.
“You’ve got ten seconds,” Grand roars. “Then I’m leaving without you.” He climbs into the car and closes the door.
I back away from Jake before I am tempted to hang on so tight I won’t ever let go.
“Come back to visit,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I kiss his cheek. “Thanks for everything.”
Jake has given me a third good thing. Somewhere to return to, after years of never staying in one place. And never having a reason to return.
I watch him watch us drive away.
Until we turn the corner. Then it’s just me, Grand and Mom.
She mumbles something from the backseat. I can just see the top of her head and her bad arm sticking out from under the comforter. Between the driver’s seat and mine is a white paper bag full of prescriptions. I have no idea what she needs to take when.
As if he reads my mind, Grand says, “Don’t worry about a thing, pet. I’ve got all the instructions.” He taps his chest. Maybe they are written on his heart. Or on a piece of paper in his inside pocket.
I grab my backpack from the floor. Dig out the lottery ticket. The numbers 7-11-23-29-37-49 still don’t make any sense to me. Maybe they never did, not even to Mom. “Can you find a store?” I ask.
“Can’t it wait?”
I know he hates driving. “Sure. When we get home will be soon enough.” I lean over the seat to ease the ticket under Mom’s comforter. She is fast asleep. Her eyes flutter as if there’s a whole other story going on behind her lids. Which there probably is.
I just hope it has a happy ending.