“No,” Dad shakes his head. “I can’t put my finger on it. But this stuff, this stuff is good. It’s American.”
I roll my eyes. Any moment I expect him to go skipping down the corridor singing Oh Beautiful for Spacious Skies, or whatever other American patriotic song there is out there. I’m sure there’s a few. “Can we get our bags and get out of here?”
We find the baggage area and wait around the turntables while everyone around me talks in an American accent. Funny, they sound a lot like Dad. He never really picked up the London accent. He would mimic me sometimes to be funny, but eighteen years later, he stands out like a sore American thumb. And I think he likes it.
Since Dad is in his element, I follow him around.
“Which car would you like, Virginia?” Dad asks at the rental car counter.
“One that drives us to Gran’s really fast.”
The guy behind the desk smiles at me. He’s young—mid-twenties—and a little cute, but I probably resemble a hideous creature, so I turn away. They take off outside, and I hurry to catch up. The guy walks us right up to a red Mustang convertible.
“How’s red?” he asks me as if impressed with himself.
Buggers, I am impressed.
“A convertible?” I glance at Dad.
“Sure, let’s live it up a little. What do you say?”
He’s grinning at me. The cute guy is grinning at me. And all I manage to come up with is, “How in the world do you people drive on the wrong side of the car?”
Dad laughs, signs the paperwork, and throws our luggage in the trunk. “You act like you’ve never been here.”
“I’ll never understand it, I guess. Just like you hate to drive a car in London even though you’ve been there for over eighteen years.”
“Motorcycles are better. Get in,” he says, already opening the—on the wrong side—driver’s door. “We’ll be at Gran’s in less than four hours.”
I get in the car and buckle up. Okay, the convertible is cool. Dad wiggles his eyebrows in my direction. I giggle and shake my head. “You act like such a child sometimes. And for a worried son, you are rather happy.”
“Of course I’m concerned about my mother, but I’m here. Home. Can’t I be a little excited?” Dad has to be tired, but he doesn’t show it. He sings to the radio the entire trip up to Northern Michigan. He gets like this every time we come. It makes me feel a little bad every time we leave because I know he only goes back to London for me.
“Isn’t it crazy,” he’s saying, “The United Kingdom is small enough that it can fit into the state of Michigan?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy,” I agree. America is big. That’s all there is to it. There’s so much space. In London, everything is crammed together. And the funny thing is all my “America” experience has been Michigan. I’ve heard other parts of this country are breathtaking, too. Not that London is all bad. I rather enjoy it.
We drive past rolling fields and an occasional farm, and jet lag sets in. With the sun over us and the warm June air blowing, I lean my seat back and fall asleep to Bon Jovi’s, Living on a Prayer.
For some reason, I dream of Dad standing over me. “What’s in the box?” he asks.
I’m sitting at Gran’s table. A box rests on my lap. Is it a present for her?
When I glance back up, I see Gran in a hospital gown standing on the other side of the table. Her appearance startles me. She whispers, “I told you not to come.”
The box lid flies off as thousands of beetles tip the box off my legs and onto the floor. I scream as Gran steps away from the table. The bugs head toward Dad.
“Dad!”
The beetles crawl up his legs, but it isn’t until they are on his stomach and moving fast, that he realizes the swarm of insects. I’m finally free from the chair, and I race over to help. He tries brushing them off, but they completely cover him, and he falls to the floor. I wipe at the beetles furiously, but it’s no longer Dad’s face I’m looking at. It’s my own. I watch as the beetles swarm my face. My eyes stare out at me, mirrors of the shock and fear I am feeling. I watch still frozen as the other me falls back until all I see are the beetles.
Pigeon Forest, Michigan
4
“Virginia? We’re here.”
I hear a car door open and close. My throat feels like I swallowed a bunch of bugs, so I cough and grab my water bottle to chug away the after-effects of the dream.
There’s a shout and something drops, and then I hear Aunt Sue cry, “Brother!”
I drag myself out of the car, feeling groggy and irritable. Still, I inhale deeply. London is smoggy and stinks of exhaust and the vendors’ stalls. Outside my Gran’s house, it smells of forest and leaves and fresh dirt and flowers.
“Ginnie!” After she’s done smothering Dad, Aunt Sue embraces me. “Look at you! You get more beautiful every time I see you.”
I hug her in return as Dad goes into the house then goes back outside pushing Gran who sits in a wheelchair. The image of Gran from my dream resurfaces in my brain, but I mentally push it back down. She looks well as she smiles up at Dad. “Hi, Aunt Sue,” I say as we walk over to the porch. “Have you been behaving yourself?”
“No,” Gran interjects. “She refused to take me to mass this morning.”
“The doctor said to keep you home until she gives you the okay. You’re lucky they let you leave the hospital at all.”
Gran rolls her eyes. “Pish-posh. I’m just fine. And you shouldn’t neglect religion.”
Aunt Sue starts to say something, but I quickly say, “Gran, you look fantastic.” I walk up the steps to where she sits on the porch and hug her. Her dark hair mixed with gray is still thick and wavy, resting at her shoulders. The lines around her eyes seem a bit more pronounced, but her smile is wide and her cheeks have some color. She shows no sign of the agitated grandmother who had been on the phone not 24 hours earlier.
“Of course I look good. When have I ever not looked good?”
“But you were also just released from the hospital. I’m sure God understands that you need to stay home and rest.” Aunt Sue turns to me. “Cassie wanted me to tell you that she’ll be here in a few days. She has some graduation parties to attend. She said she tried to call you.”
I force myself not to look at Dad. “That’s great that she gets to go to some parties.”
“Well, let me look at you,” Gran says, holding my hand in her left and Dad’s in her right. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s good to see you both, but you should go back to London and enjoy your summer.”
“We only just arrived,” Dad says. “You’re stuck with us for a little bit.”
“How long are you here for?” Gran acted antsy.
“As long as I’m needed.”
I glance at Dad but turn back to Gran and smile. As long as I’m needed? Dad and I would talk later.
“There’s evening mass. Take me to mass.” Gran lets go of my hand and pats Dad. “You’re still Catholic, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am, but we just got here. How about we make some lunch, then we’ll see how everyone’s feeling?”
Gran shrugs. “Fine, but don’t talk to Sue. She’ll talk you out of it.”
Dad motions for me to push Gran back inside.
“Gran, do you have any of that mint sweet tea?”
“We’ll have to make some more, but I’ll show you where everything is.”
I wheel Gran past the door and into the large hallway with the staircase right in the middle of the house. Gran has always called their home a cabin, but if it is a cabin, it’s taking some major steroids. Her office sits on the left side of the stairs with double-glass doors; she writes a housekeeping and gardening column for newspapers in the northern state area. It has been Gramps’ office, too. Before he passed away, he had been a real estate contractor and developer. Gran still kept his desk and all his mess in there.
Gran says he died in his sleep like an angel came down and took him without stirring him on
e bit. I think when I go, that’s what I want too. Just take me before I know what hits me.
Then I think of my dream about being swallowed up by beetles, and I keep walking past the staircase into the kitchen.
To the right is the sitting room, complete with a fireplace that takes up half of the far wall and a piano that has been in the family for generations. With three bedrooms upstairs and a modernized basement—complete with a home theater and game room—I can see why Dad has a hard time leaving this for our two-bedroom townhouse in London.
“All right, stop this nonsense.” Gran puts her feet on the floor to slow the wheelchair. I slow down, and she stands up. “Ah, this is better.” She walks over to the cupboards and opens one up.
She has already pulled out a pitcher and has started to heat the water on the stove before I say, “Are you allowed to do this?”
Gran gives me a hard look and laughs. “I’m only sixty-five, Ginnie. I’ve still got another twenty to thirty years in these bones!”
“But the heart attack…”
“My chest felt tight, so I went to the hospital to be safe. I didn’t know everyone was going to treat me like an invalid.”
She looks fine to me. Her mop of curly dark hair is in clips and her jean overalls make her appear as I remember her: vibrant and full of life.
“But if my chest pain is what you brought you here, then I’m glad for it,” Gran says and pats my cheek. “But you shouldn’t be here.”
Her severe tone surprises me. “We’re here for you.”
“You told me not too long ago that you had your entire summer planned.”
We did have that conversation. I didn’t divulge all of the information, but I had told her some of my plans. Now, I can only look away and busy myself by pouring tea.
“And wasn’t there a boy?”
I swallow hard. “You matter more than any boy, Gran.”
“Don’t you worry.” Gran kisses my cheek. “I’m going to talk to your father. In the meantime, I wouldn’t go swimming if I were you. This lake is a fishing lake. It’s full of seaweed and leeches.”
I make a face. “Not a chance. But if Uncle Doug brings his boat, maybe I’ll go for a ride.”
Gran’s features turn guarded. “I need to talk to your father. Now go and tell your Dad and Aunt Sue that the tea’s ready. And, if anybody asks, you made it.”
I go to get Dad, but before I do, I ask, “Do you remember calling me yesterday? You were frantic. At least that’s how it seemed. You told me not to come.”
“What?” Gran pauses for just a second before she continues spooning fruit salad into a bowl. “Did I? Oh, Ginnie, I have no recollection of that. It must have been the pain meds talking. Although it might have been me trying to spare you from wasting your summer plans.”
Of course, Gran would want me to enjoy my summer, and the thought makes me feel guiltier. “I’m glad to be here. We wanted to see you.” I walk back to the front porch but stop before opening the screen door. Dad laughs with Aunt Sue. Neither of them acts too worried. Did he purposefully make Gran sound worse than she is? All of a sudden, just thinking about Leo and Alisa and my three weeks of freedom makes me homesick. It’s not as if I don’t want to be here, but couldn’t we have visited after the three weeks of his conference? Gran’s health seems fine. Even Cassie gets to have some time to go to parties.
Then I hear Dad and Aunt Sue talking in low voices. I walk closer to listen in.
“She won’t talk about it at all,” Aunt Sue is saying. “I even have a hard time getting her to take her pills. Not that I blame her. Some of the pills make her loopy. She was practically begging to talk to you at the hospital, but this morning when she woke up, she acted like she remembered none of it.”
“You got to give in a little,” Dad responds. “Some of those medications are worse than what they’re trying to fix. Not to mention, she’ll just push back, which might turn out worse.”
Aunt Sue sighs. “That’s why I’m glad you could come. She needs you. You’re not nearly as stubborn or argumentative as she is or I am.”
Aunt Sue hugs Dad, and I feel guilty again. I reassure myself that it’s only because I’m over-tired and irritable that I would question Dad’s honesty.
I open the screen door and step out. Dad smiles over at me. “There’s my girl. How’s Gran?”
“She wanted me to tell you tea is ready.”
“She got up and made it, didn’t she?” Aunt Sue asks.
Before I can respond, Dad says, “I’m thirsty. I’m going to grab our suitcases and meet you inside.”
When I open the door I see Gran hurry to the wheelchair and sit down. Once we’re in the kitchen, I notice Gran has set out a spread of lunch meats and slices of bread, along with the fruit salad.
“Didn’t our girl do a great job?” Gran pats my hand from the wheelchair.
“She sure did,” Aunt Sue says. She chuckles, but I can’t bring myself to say anything.
What I want is a shower and a change of clothes, but I sit down at the table with the others.
Dad joins us and has his sandwich halfway to his mouth when Gran asks, “So, have you met a woman yet?”
Dad stops and says, “No, but if I ever do, you’ll be the first to know.”
“You’re going to be forty years old in a week. You need to find a good woman.”
“Thank you for pointing that out. I will get right on it.”
“I only want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Happier.”
“She wants more grandchildren,” Aunt Sue interjects. “She’s been nagging me these past two days to start popping out some more kids.”
“Your clock is ticking,” Gran shrugs. She looks at me and says, “Both of my children give me only one grandchild apiece. This does not make me happy, Ginnie.”
“I’m …sorry?”
“Think of how many Ginnies I could have as grandchildren? And Cassie, too, and when is she coming?”
“Soon. She’d have come with me, but she had already R.S.V.P.ed to a few parties. She got out of a few of the commitments, but she still had to stay back a few days.”
“I can’t wait.” I take the last bite of my sandwich and ask to be excused.
I nearly barrel down the hall and up the stairs to the shower. My manners could only last so long. Once in my room—the room I share with Cassie when she’s here—I grab a change of clean clothes, then a towel from the linen closet, and head to the shower. Dad’s room has an attached bathroom. So does Aunt Sue’s and Uncle Doug’s. But Cassie and I have to share the bathroom at the end of the hall. Not that I care because I’m the only one up here.
The shower is nice and hot when I step in. I wash off the travel grime and possible phantom residue that feels very real as I scrub with the washcloth. Everything has happened so fast that it weighs on me like a barrel of dead, stinking fish. I need to call Mum. After the dream, I need to make sure she’s okay. Then there’s Alisa. I had to drop her and our plans like a bad date. Her three weeks of wonderfulness have been ruined, too. She would now be stuck babysitting her younger and rather irritating younger siblings. I try not to think of Gran downstairs and how healthy she looks, or of the strange phone call she made to me yesterday. I try not to think of the betrayal that’s lurking somewhere inside of me that Dad would make everything sound so urgent when it’s not. More importantly, I try not to replay the horrible dream I had in the car. I try not to think about any of these things.
But I do. I think of every one of them.
5
Alisa or Mum?
I drop onto the bed and dial Mum’s number. Her conversations never last more than five minutes. If she answers the phone.
“-Ullo?”
“Hey there, Mum. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Ginnie? Dear, is that you?” Mum shouts into the phone. I can hear the voices in the background. “Hold up a sec.” She asks someone to hold her ciggie, and then I hear
her walking away from the noise. “Ginnie!” she is talking loudly. “What a horrid night. Me and Marty stop by the boozer for a few, and who do you think I happen upon?”
“I don’t know, who?”
“Marty’s wife! Can you believe it? He said it was over, but she mustn't have got the memo, let me tell ya’. She threw her drink on me! Me! The nerve! I’m a frightful mess, that’s for sure.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t hang out with Marty anymore. Who is he anyway? Another model?”
“Oh God, no. I would never date any of them wankers. No, this is the same Marty who works with Sam.”
“You mean Martin? As in Dad’s best friend?” Sometimes I could not believe my mother. “Isn’t he supposed to be at a convention covering for Dad?”
“Easy does it, love. He leaves tomorrow. And we have all been the best of friends for the longest time. Having a drink isn’t for derelicts. It’s his wife who needs to mellow.”
I rub my head. “I wanted to make sure you got the message that I’m with Dad in America.”
“Of course,” she says distractedly. “Where’s my cig?” she asks someone. “Have a good time, love. Meet a boy. Have fun. You’re only eighteen once.”
“I want to fly home soon. That’ll be okay, right? We can hang out until Dad gets back?”
Mum’s laughing with others before saying, “What? Tell me later. Got to run. Kiss, kiss!”
She hangs up. I glance at the clock. Yep. Five minutes tops.
I rest my head on the pillow. It’s only four o’clock in the afternoon in Northern Michigan, but I could sleep. Would Mum want me to hang out with her? Of course, I tell myself. But as I take a deep breath, I realize I don’t feel like I fit anywhere. Not here in the boonies. Not with Mum and her crazy lifestyle. Covering my face, I tell myself it’s the jet lag talking. I’ll feel better in a day.
I call Alisa. She picks up on the first ring. “It’s about time you call me! I have been waiting, you know!”
I grin and turn on my side, propping up my head with my hand. “Sorry, sorry, it has been nonstop since Dad picked me up from school.”
Lake of Secrets Page 3