In Your Shoes

by Donna Gephart

  Miles kept walking.

  The same thing happened the next three days.

  Miles wished he didn’t have to see his grandfather every day. It was hard to look at him after he’d been such a jerk.

  On Friday, Miles’s grandfather stopped him before the bowling began, before Randall even arrived.

  “Sit,” Billy insisted, pointing to a stool at the counter.

  So Miles sat, but he wasn’t happy about it.

  “I need to explain why I couldn’t take your gift.” Grandpop Billy waited until Miles turned to look at him. “Even though I really appreciate it.”

  Miles waited.

  Grandpop Billy lifted his mug but then put it down without drinking. “You know your bubbie Louise wanted to go to the Bowling Hall of Fame. Right?”

  Of course Miles knew. That was why he’d started saving for the gift in the first place.

  “Well, what you might not know, Mr. Smarty Pants Silent Treatment, is that she’d been asking me to go there with her for years. For years!” Billy took a sip of coffee and slammed his mug down on the counter. “And being the stupid lunkhead I am, I told her we couldn’t go because we had to be here at the lanes, that the place couldn’t run without us.” He sniffed hard and looked at Miles. “Isn’t that the dumbest thing you ever heard?”

  “Yes,” Miles offered. “Mom and Dad could have taken care of everything.”

  “Thanks for nothing, kid.” Grandpop Billy wiped his forehead. “I realize that now. Anyway, I always figured there would be more time. Another tomorrow. And then…”

  Miles finally felt bad for his grandfather. He reached out and patted the back of Pop’s veiny hand. “That’s why we should go together.” Miles’s eyes brightened. “You and me. In honor of Bubbie Louise. It’s supposed to be an amazing place. There are exhibits about five thousand years of bowling history. Five thousand years! And I’ll help you during the plane ride and—”

  “No way, bud. Wouldn’t feel right. I won’t go to that place without your bubbie.”

  “Well, then I guess you’ll never go.” Miles knew it was a mean thing to say, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Billy put his hand on top of Miles’s. “You spend that money on something else. Something good. Something important that will matter to someone.”

  Miles pulled his hand away. “I thought that’s what I was doing.” He grabbed his stuff and stomped off to intercept Randall at the door and head to school.

  He didn’t feel like bowling this morning.

  * * *

  •••

  Two weeks later, Miles’s mom, behind the front counter at the bowling center, said to him, “You really ought to make up with your grandpop.”

  “I know. I will,” Miles said. “But I’m not ready yet.”

  “Miles…”

  “What?”

  His mom leaned close and pressed her forehead against his, then pulled away and started organizing shoes in the slots behind the counter. “Your grandfather said something strange to me last night.”

  “What?”

  She stopped straightening shoes. “Well, he said Bubbie Louise had been calling to him.”

  “She’d been what?” Miles’s heart sped up, and a familiar panic set in. “What’d you say to him?”

  “I told him not to answer!”

  “Do you think that means—?”

  “I don’t know what it means. But I do know you should make up with your grandfather. He wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, Miles.”

  “But he did.”

  Miles’s mom put her arm around his shoulders and squeezed. Then she kissed him on top of his head. “Just talk to him, Miles.”

  “I will.”

  But he didn’t.

  Four days later, Billy Spagoski answered Louise’s call.

  He died in his sleep.

  Tate and Amy walked into the library together, Tate wearing her knit penguin hat and Amy wearing a purple knit monkey hat—a gift from Tate.

  “How are my two favorite library volunteers today?” Mr. Schu asked.

  “Awesome sauce.” Tate flexed her biceps and struck a bodybuilding pose.

  “Come on, Wonder Woman.” Amy pushed Tate toward the back, where a cart of books was waiting for them.

  The girls were halfway through the top shelf when Tate looked at her phone. “Oh no!”

  “What?” Amy asked.

  Tate shook her head. “No. No. No. No. No.”

  “What? What? What? What? What?”

  Tate looked at Amy. “Miles’s grandfather died.”

  Amy pictured the older man at the end of the snack counter at Buckington Bowl. “Huh?”

  “And Miles never…” Tate shook her head. “I’ve got to go.”

  Tate hurried to the circulation desk, and Amy followed.

  “Mr. Schu, I need a pass to go to the nurse. Like, now.”

  He handed it to her.

  Amy watched her friend rush from the library. She felt hollowed out, but she wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t even really known Miles’s grandfather.

  “Are you okay, Amy?” Mr. Schu asked.

  Was she? Amy nodded even though she wasn’t sure. She trudged back to the cart and continued shelving books. But the sad news about Miles’s grandfather kept her from concentrating on what she was doing. The stickers on the books weren’t making sense anymore. Book titles blurred. Memories—painful memories of her mom’s illness—seeped in.

  This time, even books couldn’t save Amy from the tidal wave of pain crashing over her, flooding through her and ultimately leaking from her eyes in a stream of sadness.

  Mr. Schu was standing by with a gentle pat on the back, a handful of tissues and some warm words. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Amy shook her head.

  “Maybe you’d better go to the nurse, too.” Mr. Schu handed her a pass, and she walked to the office of the nurse she’d met the first day of school. This time the problem wasn’t on the outside of Amy’s head, but inside. And inside her heart, too.

  Not long after, her dad came to pick her up.

  “What’s wrong, Ames?”

  A fresh flow of tears started, and she buried herself against her dad’s strong chest.

  He got her to the car, then back to Eternal Peace, where he held her and cried along with her. They eventually talked about her mom. And he told her the funeral for Miles’s grandfather would take place at Eternal Peace.

  Amy said she couldn’t go to that funeral.

  “It’s up to you, Amy,” her dad said. “I won’t ask you to go. I know it will be hard.”

  “Too hard,” she whispered, then swiped an arm across her runny nose.

  “I know.” He held her even more tightly. “I know.”

  Then, like a feather floating on a wisp of wintery wind, Amy’s mom’s voice whispered in her mind: You must go to the funeral, sweets. That boy will need you there.

  That was when Amy knew that if she was any kind of friend at all, she’d be there.

  For Miles.

  Amy thought of the people who came to her mom’s funeral to support her and her dad, and she understood. Sometimes we do hard things not for ourselves, but to make things easier for someone else.

  That’s right, sweets.

  Here, Dear Reader, comes the part of the story where a sad truth is revealed.

  When you lose someone you love—someone who is the very foundation of your being—the pain from that loss never fully goes away. It does something sneaky: It hibernates inside you, like a sleeping bear waiting to be awakened by spring. Except instead of waiting for spring, the pain from a deep loss waits for someone else’s loss to awaken it.

  Then it roars to life, like a wild, aching beast.

  That’s what ha
ppened to Amy. Miles’s loss awakened her own. The intense pain from losing her mom arose from its deep slumber inside her and roared its terrible roar.

  It happens to all of us, Dear Reader.

  And for that, I’m so sorry.

  Miles woke after barely sleeping and didn’t want to shower, didn’t want to get dressed. He felt like he was reliving Bubbie Louise’s funeral. Then he thought about how hard this must be for his parents, so he forced himself to walk downstairs to the kitchen.

  His mom and dad were at the table, mugs of coffee before them, but they weren’t lifting the mugs to their lips.

  Miles took a seat.

  Then Mercedes, her hair wet, walked in and grabbed a banana. Before sitting, she hugged her mom and dad. Then she hugged Miles.

  It felt good, but Miles knew he didn’t deserve it because of how awful he’d been to his grandfather before he died.

  A tiny voice in his head told him he might be partly responsible for his grandfather’s death. Might have upset Grandpop so much it affected his weak heart. Miles’s rational, logical mind knew this wasn’t true, that it wasn’t his fault at all. He knew his grandfather hadn’t been well for a long time.

  Still, he couldn’t get that tiny voice in his head to shut up.

  The people sitting in the chairs at Eternal Peace in the room with the white casket were pretty much the same people who’d been sitting at the bowling center for Billy Spagoski’s seventy-fifth-birthday party a few weeks before.

  Life and death had a way of mixing together sometimes.

  Miles didn’t like when the minister talked about his grandfather, because it was a stranger talking about the man Miles had known his whole life. He felt better when Stick rolled up to the front of the room, tears streaming down his cheeks, and talked about how Miles’s grandfather gave him the money to start the tailoring shop that he owned to that day. Miles felt better when his dad got up there and blubbered about what a great father Billy had been to him and Miles’s mom and what a terrific grandfather he’d been to Miles and Mercedes. That last part made Miles cry extra hard because he hadn’t been such a terrific grandson.

  Then it was time for the family to say goodbye, which meant they’d walk to the casket, look at Grandpop Billy’s body and say their final words.

  Miles knew exactly what he needed to say, but he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  His dad took his hand and held on with an iron grip, a grip that might have meant I’m still here, son.

  Miles and his dad stood in front of the casket together, after his mom and sister had had their turn.

  “I’m gonna miss you, Pop,” George Spagoski said. Then he kissed his fingers and touched his father’s forehead.

  Miles wouldn’t do that. He knew what was inside the body in the coffin. He knew the body looked like his grandpop but wasn’t really him. But Miles also figured his grandpop’s spirit was nearby, so he’d say what he had to and hope he heard it.

  The people from the funeral home had laid a photo on Pop’s chest, tucked under his crossed arms. It was the photo of him and Bubbie Louise that had hung in the center of the “Greatest Stories Ever Bowled” bulletin board. Miles even saw the tiny hole from the pushpin. He didn’t want an empty space in the center of that board, but he knew it would match the empty space in the center of himself.

  He took a shaky breath and spoke in a whisper. “Pop? I’m sorry I was mean to you. I’m sorry I didn’t forgive you. But I do now.” He gulped. “And I hope you can forgive me. I love you, Pop. You have to know how much I love you.”

  Miles’s dad wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders and whispered in his ear, “He knows, son. He knows.”

  At that moment, they both looked down at Billy Spagoski lying in the silk-lined white casket and plunged into waterfalls of despair.

  Amy had been hanging back, standing at the rear of the room where the funeral was taking place, in case she felt the need to flee. She knew her mom wanted her there, but Amy wasn’t sure she could do it. So far, she’d been able to stay and watch. So far. But then both Miles and his dad burst out crying at the same time.

  Amy froze. Should she go up to Miles? His dad? What would she say? What could she say? That everything would be okay? She knew better than most it wasn’t true.

  That’s when her dad, dressed in a navy-blue suit, swooped in, put a strong arm around Miles’s shoulders and pulled him over for a hug and a few quiet, reassuring words at the same time that Uncle Matt put a hand on Miles’s dad’s back and guided him away to offer gentle words of support, too.

  Amy felt awful for spying on this tender scene, but she couldn’t pull herself away.

  She couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Her dad with Miles. Uncle Matt with Miles’s dad. It was like magic, the way they spoke and comforted them. The way Miles and his dad softened, relaxed and stopped sobbing. The way they both nodded, like they were taking in the words of comfort and using them to heal themselves.

  Amy remembered how her dad had comforted people when he was a Unitarian Universalist minister back in Chicago. She remembered the kind words he said at the end of his sermons: “If you’re looking for peace, may this be your sanctuary. If you’re looking for social justice, may we work together as a committed community. If you’re looking for a home, may we be your family.” Back then, her dad’s words filled her up, and she could see people in the congregation smiling and nodding. Amy realized her dad was really good at this, the way she was good at writing.

  Something cracked wide open inside Amy. Her dad had taken a broken person and helped repair him, helped his heart begin to heal. She knew Miles’s heart would break again and again and need to be healed many times, just like Amy’s had and would. But her dad—her dad!—had done this impossible thing. Amy finally understood why he wanted to work at Eternal Peace Funeral Home—not that he had to work there, but that he wanted to. He had the ability to help people feel less broken on their worst days. And that, Amy knew, was no small thing.

  This simple understanding made a difference in the way Amy thought about where she was living. It shone light into the darkness.

  Amy sniffed, and Miles turned his head toward her.

  She smiled warmly at him.

  He nodded at her and smiled sadly.

  Amy was glad she’d been there for her friend, even if it was only to offer a smile. Sometimes that was enough to matter.

  And Amy felt so proud of her dad and the work he did.

  She was glad she’d decided to go to the funeral.

  Thanks, Mom.

  Miles missed a few days of school.

  On the day he’d planned to go back, Randall showed up outside the automatic doors, right on time, smudging up the glass. This time, Miles didn’t have the energy to get the Windex and clean it off. What does it matter anyway?

  The whole bowling center was dark and cold and quiet.

  The boys sat on stools at the snack counter.

  “It’s weird sitting here without him,” Randall said.

  Miles looked at the empty stool where his grandpop always sat. He looked at the empty space in the center of the bulletin board. “Yeah.” They’re both gone now.

  “You doing okay, man?”

  Miles slumped. He shook his head.

  Randall put a palm on his back. “Sorry.”

  Miles sniffed. “I keep thinking I’m doing better, but then it’ll hit me all over again, like a bowling ball to the gut.”

  “That sucks.”

  “You know what he said a few days after I gave him that gift?” Miles asked.

  Randall shook his head.

  “He said I should spend the money on something good. Something important that would matter to someone.”

  Randall’s eyes brightened. “You could give some of it back to me. It’s kind of mine anyway.�
��

  Miles glared.

  “Yeah. So what were you thinking?”

  “No clue. I’ve saved up for the trip to the Bowling Hall of Fame for so long, I can’t imagine using the money for anything else.”

  “But your grandpop wanted you to. Right?”

  “I guess.”

  “What about buying tickets to the school dance so me and Tate and you and Amy could all go together?”

  “I don’t think that’s what Pop had in mind. Plus, the amount is way more money than those tickets cost.”

  “Don’t rub it in.”

  “Well, quit talking about the dumb dance.”

  Randall put his hands up. “Yeah, sure. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry.” Miles ran his hand through his hair. “Hey, you want to bowl?”

  “I do.”

  They hopped down from their stools.

  “Just so you know, I’m probably going to kick your butt today, Spagoski. I’ve been working on my form.”

  “Sure you are, Rand. You and what army of pro bowlers?”

  “Seriously, I’ve got my bowling mojo going today.”

  “Yeah, whatever you need to believe.”

  Randall snapped the tips of his shirt collar. “Oh, you’ll see.”

  While they were putting on their bowling shoes, Miles said, “Did I ever tell you about the guy from West Palm Beach, Florida, who died from eating too many cockroaches?”

  “What? No! That’s gross!”

  “Yeah, it was some kind of bug-eating contest at a pet store. The guy won, but then he vomited and choked to death. His girlfriend was with him. She called 911, but they couldn’t save him.”

  “The bug-eating dude had a girlfriend?” Randall raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah,” Miles said. “Guess there really is someone for everybody.” He briefly thought of Amy. “Want to know the official cause of death?”

  “No!”

  “Accidental choking on arthropod body parts.”