by D. G. Driver
My mind clicked. Didn’t Grandma say the grocery store and McDonald’s were on the far side of the lake? That had to be at least a twenty-minute drive. And she was an old lady, so that meant a thirty-minute drive, right? Add on time for the grocery shopping. I knew she’d get more than a package of hamburger meat. Even when my mom made a complete, thorough list of what she wanted from the store, she always wound up buying extra stuff. Grandma was her mom, so where did my mom learn her shopping skills from?
By my calculations, Grandma could easily be gone at least an hour and a half.
“I had junk food for lunch, Grandma,” I said. “Pizza. So, I would love to have some good, healthy food for dinner. We can have hamburgers another day.”
Grandma nodded sweetly. “That’s fine, Dannie. I’m happy to provide it.” She opened the door and stepped out on the porch. “What are you going to do while I’m out?”
I didn’t want to lie to her. I really didn’t. But I didn’t want to tell her the truth either. So, I told a half-truth. “I’m going to hang out by the lake.”
I saw that switch go off in her mind when I mentioned the lake again. Something in her eyes went from sweet to sad at that one word. She tried hard to hide it, keeping that smile plastered on her face and pretending to be busy with her purse looking for something she wasn’t finding. “Haven’t you been doing that all afternoon? Why don’t you watch some TV? It’s all yours. Any channel you want.”
I shrugged, feeling so guilty. “Yeah, okay.”
“Well, you’ll be missing all the fun, then,” Grandma quipped, snapping her purse shut. She jingled her keys in my face and then took off for her car. I followed her outside and waved to her from the porch. A moment later, her old Toyota was putting around the corner.
Watching her go, I found myself stunned by her. My grandma acted as though nothing was wrong between us, like I hadn’t said those hateful things. I guess I thought she might be mad or grumpy. When I hurt my mom’s feelings she always sulked around all evening or said cutting things back to me in revenge. Grandma wasn’t like that at all. It seemed like she had just let it all go or had forgotten it. Yet, I was pretty sure she hadn’t really forgotten it. Not one bit. She was too sharp for that.
The way Mom handled things always aggravated me so much that my attitude got worse. I’d become more of a brat. Grandma’s behavior made me feel like dirt. Like a “heel” she would have said. I leaned on the porch railing and wondered if I should make things worse by messing with that boat. How could I have fun on the boating trip and campout with this kind of guilt hanging over me? My chest actually hurt, thinking it all over. In the end, the boat won out when a light, warm breeze came up and tickled my ear. I swear I heard it whisper “Go get it” clear as day.
Time was woefully short, and I didn’t even know if the boat would float. I ran to where I left the boat and tried to pick it up. It was heavier than it looked, being made of solid wood and no plastic. I wound up having to drag it. After I got it resting on the wet bank, I ran back to fetch the oars.
I took off my shoes and rolled up my jeans to my knees. Carefully, I stepped into the water and guided the boat out in front of me. I couldn’t go very deep, because I didn’t want to get all wet, but I let the boat drift as far as my arm would reach while leaning over to look inside. No water appeared to be leaking in from the sides or pooling in the middle. Part of me had expected it to be like a cartoon, with tons of water spouting everywhere and the boat quickly sinking. That didn’t happen, thankfully, and the boat seemed to hold up just fine.
After a few minutes of checking, I pulled the boat back up to the shore, rolled my jeans back down, and slipped my sneakers on over my wet feet. I ran back up to the garage and dared to go inside. Just as I had thought, Grandpa’s old car was parked in there, dusty and broken, and camouflaged with boxes and tarps. Grandma could sell it, I thought, and get some cash. Some teenager could probably use it. I’d love to have it as a freebie car next year when I turned sixteen, but I lived too far away for that to be practical. Besides, I doubted it could make the two-thousand-mile drive home.
Along the walls of the garage were crates full of stuff and junk. There were old aluminum trash cans and even a couple barrels. Grandpa had tools hanging from hooks on the walls, along with three fishing poles, shovels, a hoe, and a couple kinds of rakes. At the far end of the garage was a wooden workbench that looked like it had been made from scratch. No doubt that it was. Grandpa wouldn’t have bought something that just had to be assembled, and that workbench had probably been built long before Home Depot premade workbench sets had been devised. All kinds of boxes with drawers and compartments lined the top of the workbench and were stuffed underneath it. I opened just about every one of them, or so it seemed, before I finally found some sandpaper. Palming it, I dashed back outside and down to the boat.
I spent a good half hour smoothing the seat on the boat, the oars, and the inside railing. My idea was to focus on the parts that I would touch, so I wouldn’t get too many splinters. No one had ever really taught me how to sand anything, so I didn’t do a great job, but it looked better than it had half an hour earlier.
Not knowing how much time I had left, I decided to shove the boat and oars off the bank and into a cluster of shrubs nearby. I arranged the foliage into a pretty good camouflage. One more time I headed into the garage, this time seeking out a sleeping bag and maybe a lamp. My heart thumped as the minutes went by. There were just too many boxes to look in, and I had no idea what I was looking for exactly.
I was about to give up, when I heard a thump on the ground. The source of the sound was a heavy tape measure that had fallen off the workbench. As I picked it up, wondering how it had fallen, I saw a box labeled tarp tucked underneath the workbench. I pulled it out, uncovering a giant box full of camping gear. I saw several sleeping bags, a small grill, a pup tent, and all kinds of cool stuff I could probably use. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to get it all, and it wouldn’t have fit in the boat anyway.
I grabbed a sleeping bag and a flashlight and dashed back to the boat once more. I tucked them into the boat and headed back to the house.
Grandma came home while I was in the shower. When I was done drying off and dressing, I could already smell the garlic filling the house. She was too good to me.
And I didn’t deserve it.
7
Telling So Many Lies
Dinner was delicious, and I was sure to compliment Grandma on her cooking. I volunteered to help with the dishes, too. After all that, I played card games with her instead of watching TV until she was ready to go to bed. Not once did I apologize for what I’d said, but I hoped that by being overly nice it would make up for all the trouble I was about to cause her.
We talked about my mom a lot throughout the evening. It was pretty interesting, because I always wondered how my mom came from a place like Smithville, Tennessee, and wound up in Newport Beach, California. Well, that is, I used to wonder that before I found out Mom didn’t actually grow up in the South. Grandma told me about how my mom spent her childhood in the suburbs of Pomona, California. She lived with her mother and aunt all the way through college and then started her career in banking. When she was sent to Newport Beach for a conference, she met my dad, who had been one of the speakers. They fell in love, and Mom wound up marrying him and moving to a neighborhood near the shore. That was when Grandma decided to come back to Tennessee—back to Grandpa who had been waiting twenty years for her.
I couldn’t get Grandma to tell that story.
Grandma talked with a lot of pride about Mom, but I could tell that she was sad too. Her only kid so far away. They talked on the phone a lot, but they didn’t see each other very much anymore. I’d rarely seen Grandma over the years and didn’t talk to her on the phone unless Mom randomly handed it to me to say hi. Terrible as it sounds, sometimes I actually completely forgot about Grandma until my mom reminded me at holidays to make a card or something. It was too bad, because n
ow that I was getting to know her better I think my grandma could be kind of cool. If she lived closer to home, I think I would’ve liked hanging with her sometimes.
I kept trying to bring up Grandpa, wanting more details about him and their strange separation, but Grandma changed the subject every time I brought him up. She didn’t talk much about Smithville either. She’d wave her hand when I’d ask about the lake or the people, as if she thought it wouldn’t be interesting enough to me.
Thing is, I kind of needed some information. I was trying to find a subtle way to get her to talk about this boating, camping tradition without having to ask right out. I wanted to know where the boys would be meeting. Where was this island they were going to camp on? How long did it take to row across the lake to get to it?
But Grandma wouldn’t give up one tiny tidbit, no matter how cleverly I tried to ask. Finally, I gave up and let her go get ready for bed. I’d already put on the T-shirt and sweatpants I sleep in after my shower, so I went to watch a little TV before kicking it for the night.
Grandma came in and kissed me on the forehead. “Love you, Danielle,” she said.
“Love you too,” I said, not looking up from the episode of CSI that I had found.
“That’s a good show,” she said, pointing at the TV. “A little gruesome, but good mysteries. Your grandpa liked it. He always liked mysteries.” She stood there and watched until the commercial. As the jingle for some macaroni and cheese concoction began, she sighed heavily and turned toward the hallway entrance. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t,” I said.
My eyes took in the images of the show, but my mind wasn’t with it at all. I had my own mystery to figure out. Grandma was an early riser, so there was no way I could sneak out before she woke up. Plus, I didn’t have any idea where I was going. I tried to think, to see if I could remember anything of value.
Mr. Taylor at the shop had said that his son would meet me at 9:30 to teach me some basics about the kayak. They had their own dock or something. Well, that meant that the guys had to be meeting somewhere in the same area because he wouldn’t have suggested me meeting his son a long distance away. He made it sound like they’d all be kind of in the same place, like I’d be all set and ready when the others showed up.
Okay, so that helped a little. If the shop was in that town square, that meant the dock wouldn’t be way on the far side of the lake or anything. Surely, Mr. Taylor kept his boats close to the shop. That meant the lake had some docks or a shore pretty near the town square. I had a pretty good idea then in which direction to row the boat when I took off in the morning.
What I didn’t know was how long it would take to row it to that place. Or what to bring. Or where we would be going after that. Or what we’d be doing when we got there.
Or how much trouble I’d be in when I got back the following day.
It was way too much to think about. I promised myself not to sleep on the couch again and got up. I dragged my feet across the hallway, daring myself to brave a whole night in the sailor room in the dark. The room still kind of creeped me out. No matter how tight I pulled the curtains closed on the window, I still felt like someone was watching me.
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much that night.
The smell of coffee woke me up again, although this time I was passed out in my bed, not sprawled all over the couch. I flipped over to see the digital clock on the nightstand. It was already 7:30!
I jumped out of bed and tugged on my clothes. Knowing I’d be doing a lot of rowing, I wore a tank top instead of a bra to be more comfortable, and I wore my boy-cut briefs instead of panties just to be in the spirit of things. I picked out the plainest T-shirt I had. It was thick white cotton, a man’s size small, and had my dad’s work logo on the back. I slipped into a pair of shorts, but when I started to pull on my sneakers, without socks, I noticed something that might tip the boys off to my being a girl—my shaved legs. Also, while I didn’t have much in the way of hips, the shorts had a way of accenting what little was there. Not to mention the fact that they were way higher on the leg than the kind of shorts boys wear. Boy shorts go all the way down to the knees, and mine stopped mid-thigh. So, I put on a pair of loose-fitting jeans instead.
I groaned at having to keep my legs covered all day. Being on the lake, I’d be getting wet, and I’d been trying decrease the number of clothing items I wanted to sit around in while they drip-dried. I thought about bringing an extra set of clothes with me, but then I figured I could just wear the same thing home the next day and clean up afterward. What I did need was something to keep me warm at night, so I pulled the pillowcase off my pillow and stuffed my sweats in it, grateful I’d brought my plain Rocky-style gray ones instead of the teal and purple ones I often wore. If it didn’t get cold, I’d have a pillow. It was a good plan either way, I thought.
Grandma sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading a magazine. Some morning talk show was on the radio. She didn’t look up at me, which was good, because I wasn’t hiding the pillowcase very well behind my legs.
“My arthritis is acting up a bit today, Danielle,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind if we just have cereal for breakfast. I got a couple tasty ones for you, so you don’t have to eat up all my Raisin Bran.”
“I like Raisin Bran,” I said.
“Well, don’t eat it,” she said, “’cause I need it for my mmm-mmms.”
I laughed at her. Who on earth said “mmm-mmms” for “poop”?
“I won’t eat it,” I said as I passed her and opened the front door. “Gonna go sit outside for a little bit before I eat. That okay?”
“Sure, honey,” she said. “Lots of birds in the morning.”
I closed the door behind me and walked down the steps to the grass. Part of me wondered if I’d made a mistake not eating something for breakfast. Well, I knew eating the Raisin Bran wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’d be mmm-mmming all day long. But I wasn’t sure when I would get another chance to eat today. Certainly, the guys would have stuff to munch on at the camp. Visions of hot dogs, chips, and s’mores filled my mind. Good campout staples. There’d be plenty of that this afternoon once we all got there. I’d be fine until then. Skipping breakfast was a pretty regular thing for me. Hearing my mom shout after me about it as I went through the door to catch the bus in the mornings was a pretty regular experience for me too.
Looking only once over my shoulder to make sure Grandma hadn’t followed me outside, I dashed down to the lake and out of the sightline of her kitchen window. My boat was still there in the shrubs right where I’d left it. Out of spider paranoia, I unrolled the sleeping bag, unzipped it, and gave it a couple really good shakes to make sure it was safe from the bloodsuckers. Then I rolled it back up again and stuck it in the front tip of the boat, so it wouldn’t be in the way of my feet. I put my pillowcase behind the little seat. I tugged the boat out to the pebbled bank and then gave it a gentle push to go all the way in the water. I slipped off my sneakers and tossed them inside the boat.
Grabbing the oars that were still on the ground, I stepped into the cold water and then carefully maneuvered myself into the tiny craft without tipping it over. Just a little bit of water came in over the side when I did this, but it was enough to get my shoes wet. I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. That was the whole point of taking them off. I then picked the shoes up to place them on top of the sleeping bag to dry out. The sun was bright, and the temperature was high, so I had no doubt they would dry quickly. I didn’t account for humidity.
With one oar across my lap, I used the other one to push off the ground and get the boat out to sea. A few moments later, I was floating yards away from the bank. I could see a glimpse of Grandma’s house between the trees, but I figured she couldn’t see me from the porch. Still and all, to be safe, I got those oars arranged in my hands and started rowing to my right—or whatever direction that really was—toward where I thought the boys might be meeting up in about two hours
. I’d get there nice and early and surprise them all.
Only, it was pretty slow going, rowing a tiny, handmade rowboat. Every current pushed the little thing this way and that way. My right arm was way stronger than my left, so I kept spinning in circles and would have to row harder with my left arm to straighten out. I tried sticking pretty close to the shore, but then I’d get too close and the oars would hit the ground and get stuck.
The trees on the bank didn’t go by in a blur. It took forever to see a cluster of them up ahead and watch that cluster wind up behind me. Honestly, I think I could have walked faster, and it occurred to me that maybe I could have just dragged the boat the whole way. Checking my watch, I saw that I’d already been at this over an hour, but I didn’t feel like I’d gone anywhere at all.
To the left of me was the expanse of the lake. Now that I was out on it, in this boat that probably wasn’t even six feet long, the lake looked enormous. I felt miniscule compared to this body of water. If it took me this long to get just a mile or so down the shoreline, how long would it take to cross to the other side? How far away was this island? Could I actually do this?
My arms already burned from rowing. I’d never rowed a boat before, and I really had no idea how hard it was going to be. I very seriously considered turning to the shore and giving up. I’d just tug the darn thing up onto the rocks, abandon it, and walk back to Grandma’s. She’d probably never know the boat was missing if I never came back and got it.
For a moment I stopped rowing. I closed my eyes and took a couple deep breaths. No. I’d come too far already to stop. I needed to check out what this whole traditional event was all about. The guys had invited me, and I didn’t want to flake out. Plus, when would I ever get a chance to do something like this again? I was being given a chance to infiltrate the sacred boy’s only event. With renewed strength, I kept rowing.