by Janette Oke
“Now, Angela, we don’t want to be any trouble. Just pretend we’re not here at all.” I knew Mom wasn’t quite sure what the expected response should be. But she never tested the concept to see if they were serious either. She cooked extra at every meal and canceled all of the unnecessary engagements for the duration of their visit. Daddy said she didn’t have to, but Mom did it anyway.
I enjoyed visits with my grandparents. Grandma taught us to do things like crochet and knit. Dana took to these lessons much quicker than I did—but then I could always hang around Grandpa and whatever he was tinkering with, whether in or around the motor home. When the visit was measured in weeks, though, the whole thing began to lose its appeal. By then Grandpa had begun to get restless and had started to make work for himself around the house. It was true that he was better at general household repairs than Daddy, but we had managed to keep things quite well maintained in spite of our limitations. Even Mom was pretty handy for most odd jobs. So I always sensed a bit of tension when he took on projects that no one had asked him to do. Our house was old, and there was always something that could be improved, though I thought Mom looked rather askance at the missing banister rung he replaced with one that didn’t quite match. But at least I got to ride along on the frequent trips to the hardware store.
Grandma was pleasant and generous with treats for us—especially for Corey. But she tended to need to be talking most of the time, so Dana and I often abandoned Mom to their somewhat one-sided conversations and struck out on our own.
Unfortunately for us, the visit also meant that Mom had less time to drive us where we wanted to go. And, sure enough, it fell exactly on the two weeks when Marcy and Carli were at summer camp. So we were often left to fill time by walking with Corey to the mini mart or by taking a few laps around the neighborhood on our bikes. If we hadn’t had each other, I’m not sure how Dana and I would have made it through the summer.
By the time Grandma and Grandpa’s motor home pulled out of the driveway and Marcy and Carli had returned, bursting with camp stories, school was about to begin. At this point, it was a welcome relief. At least there’d be plenty of friends around again.
Chapter Four
The end of summer when we began shopping for school supplies was one of my favorite times of year. The anticipation of beginning something was always attractive to me, and I loved to have new things. Even if it was just notebooks and pencils and paper. And this year it was especially fun to watch Corey browsing for his own school needs. He was entering kindergarten and was anticipating learning to read. He seemed to be expecting to do so immediately. We hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed when he realized that we’d been right—they’d start with the alphabet and colors. Those he already knew.
Brett didn’t bother shopping for himself. He sent the list with Mom, including specific instructions that she not get anything fancy. Apparently he wished to make no statement whatsoever with his notebooks and accessories.
Dana, on the other hand, chose quite carefully. For the first time she brushed past the cutesy folder covers with kittens and puppies and dolphins, choosing instead the plain dark colors that no doubt were intended for the high school crowd. To me it only served as a reminder of the most disturbing aspect of the upcoming school year. Dana would be attending George Washington High School with Brett now, and I would be remaining behind. Somehow the new school and all seemed to have affected her whole outlook.
I suppose much of it was due to some chats between her and Carli. Marcy’s sister was a year older than Dana and had become quite conscious of her advancing maturity. It looked to me as if she was attempting to draw Dana up to her level, into her crowd. I had asked Mom about it, but her answers didn’t really satisfy me.
“Well, Carli is at a difficult stage in life. She’s searching for a new identity because she feels that she’s not a child anymore. On the other hand, she’s not quite sure what growing up means. She’s experimenting, really.” Mom seemed to be going back—to somewhere—in her thinking.
“Will Dana act like that too? I don’t want her to become like Carli.”
“Dana is not Carli. And I think we have to remember that your sister has developed enough as a person to make her own decisions. She’s never been one to follow the crowd before, and I don’t expect her to do so now. But, Erin, she will begin to change. There’s no question about that. And so will you. Maybe next year. Maybe even before. And it’s a very good thing. You wouldn’t want to be a little girl forever, would you?”
“No. But I sure don’t want to be like Carli.”
Mom reached out to pat my arm. Her voice softened, and her eyes had a bit of a proud shine to them, as if the thought of us growing up brought both sadness and pleasure. “The thing to remember about maturing, Erin, is that it usually comes with starts and stops. This is a big moment for Dana because she’s entering a new school. Just give her a little extra space, and she’ll probably seem like herself in no time.”
I hoped so.
With Dana and Carli off and busy together, Marcy and I were left to find amusement for ourselves, but we quickly decided not to let it bother us. I explained to her what my mother had said. That next year we’d be back in step with them. And I had figured out on my own that we’d have the added advantage of watching them go through everything first. Maybe it would be easier for us when our turn came.
Marcy and I were lucky enough to share a homeroom class for the upcoming year. Many of our old friends were there too. Marcy had her eye on one in particular. Stephen Bryant had somehow managed to shoot up at least six inches over the summer. Now he was even taller than I was. And for some unknown reason, he really appealed to Marcy.
Strangely, she could not recall that this was the same Stephen who had purposely tripped her in fourth-grade gym class and not even bothered to apologize. At the time she had vowed never to speak to him again. This was also the same Stephen who had used some very foul language in the lunchroom near the end of the last year. So bad that the teacher who happened to be nearby had walked him down to the principal’s office, and he had been given a detention.
I was amazed that Marcy’s memory could be so short. But she wasn’t listening to me at all. So I just tried not to roll my eyes too much while she talked on and on about Stephen.
Brett was playing basketball again, so that fall he often allowed me to play one-on-one with him in the driveway. He didn’t admit it, but I was pretty sure I had improved a lot since last year. The problem for me was that he had improved too.
As November arrived we were back into “wear-your-coat” weather. Mom seemed a little too concerned that being outside without proper attire would send a person into a fit of flu, and I just couldn’t help but think that she overdid the warnings a bit.
Lately there’d been so many reasons to trot back and forth to the Wards’ house. Carli and Marcy’s mom had agreed to let them plan a party. They had decided on a costume party and had enthusiastically included Dana and me in the planning. The party was still two weeks away. Mrs. Ward observed that it was amazing how much work we could come up with that could be categorized as necessary for a party’s success. We wrote and mailed invitations, made decorations, and worked tirelessly on our own costumes and food planning. Dana was perfectly suited for organizing it all. I just followed along and did whatever seemed fun at the time.
One morning before school Dad got up from the breakfast table to answer the phone. We weren’t paying much attention, assuming it was merely something to do with his work.
In fact we’d all been listening to Corey announce his latest plans.
“When I get up on the moon, I’ll wave to you,” he promised solemnly, his eyes gleaming with the thought of being way up there above earth.
“No one can wave from the moon,” I said. But I grinned and rumpled his hair. I didn’t inform him that no one was bothering to go to the moon anymore. Mars was more the ticket—but I didn’t want to spoil Corey’s astronaut dreams.
“Sure I can.” He stood up by his chair and demonstrated with big sweeping gestures. “You’d just have to go outside and look when it’s nighttime.”
“We’d never see you from so far away.” I might not know much about astronauts and space walks, having never really taken any interest in something that had been going on since long before I was born, but at least I knew that much.
“Then I’d put my shirt on a long, long pole and wave that.”
We’d just seen a Saturday cartoon where a marooned rabbit had waved a white flag of some sort on a pole as his sign of surrender to his enemy, a hulking big turtle in a pith helmet.
We all chuckled. “We wouldn’t see that either,” I persisted.
“Then get glasses.”
We all started to laugh again when Mom pushed back her chair and said, “Shh.” She must have caught a bit of Dad’s conversation that had immediately gotten her attention.
I looked up then. Dad was still on the phone, but his face held an expression I’d never seen before. The whole table fell silent. I guess we all sensed at once that something was wrong.
“I see,” Dad was saying, which sure didn’t tell us anything. Then, “How’s Mother?”
The answer to the simple question seemed to take an awfully long time. Now and then Dad mumbled, “I see,” or “Yes,” but he looked agitated. Worried. He paced back and forth, the long cord trailing along after him. He rubbed his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair. I’d never seen him like that before.
Mom had gone very white. She looked as if she wanted to get up and go to Dad but couldn’t find the strength to do it. She just sat, very still, her brown eyes looking round and even darker in her pale face. As soon as Dad replaced the receiver and turned, she asked with a shaky voice, “What is it, Dave?”
Dad didn’t answer right away. He took a few steps toward the table but stopped behind Mom’s chair and put his hand on her shoulder. He seemed to take a big breath as though to gather his wits—or his emotions. He had everyone’s attention by this time. “It’s Dad,” he said at last. “He’s had a heart attack.”
“Grandpa?” Brett’s disbelief was evident in his voice.
Mom grew even paler. She reached up and curled her fingers around Dad’s hand. “How bad?” she asked, her voice shaky.
Dad swallowed. His hand started up to his brow again, then stopped midway and returned to hold on to Mom. “He’s gone,” he said, his voice low.
A little shock wave traveled all the way around the table. How could that possibly be? We’d seen Grandpa Walsh such a short time ago, and he was just fine. How could he be gone?
“Oh, David,” Mom said. She hardly ever called him that. Tears started to fill her eyes and then spill down her cheeks.
Things were a blur from then on. I don’t really remember all that happened. I do know we completely ig~nored the school bus. I guess no one was even thinking of it. I also remember being assigned the task of looking after Corey. I was to read to him to get his mind off what had just occurred and keep him busy while Mom and Dad made phone calls. It didn’t work. He kept wanting to talk about it. Asking all sorts of questions that I couldn’t answer.
“How did he get dead?”
“His heart stopped working.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was sick. Or tired. Maybe it had worked too long.”
“Did it hurt?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t want to admit that I suspected it had been very painful.
“Why couldn’t the doctor fix it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there wasn’t a doctor in time. Maybe there wasn’t anything he could do.”
“When can he come see us again?”
“He won’t be coming again, honey,” I said as gently as I could.
“Never? Why?”
“Because when people are dead they aren’t here with us anymore.”
“Where do they go?”
That was a tough one. I knew that if people loved God and had asked Him to forgive their sins, they could go to heaven when they died. I didn’t know—for sure—if Grandpa Walsh had ever done that. I did know that my folks had taught us to pray for him—and Grandma. Corey’s question troubled me. What if—? What if Grandpa Walsh had not taken care of this very important matter before he died?
“Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?” I asked a bit sharply. I don’t think Corey really wanted to continue, but I started to read again anyway.
Mom came to rescue me before too long. “I’m sorry, Erin. But Daddy and I had things we had to take care of. I’ll look after Corey now.” As she spoke the words she lowered herself to the sofa beside Corey and scooped him into her arms. I could see that her eyes were still puffy from crying, though she tried to force out a smile.
“Maybe you should go see Dana. I think she needs some company.”
I didn’t even ask where. Dana would be in our bedroom. I headed there, sort of in need of company myself.
I found Dana stretched out on her bed. She’d been crying, but now she just looked sad and lonely—and maybe a little bit scared. I wondered if she too was thinking about whether Grandpa Walsh had asked God to forgive him. When I walked in the door, we looked at each other and then we both started crying again. I crossed to Dana’s bed and flopped down beside her. We entangled our arms around one another and sobbed rather noisily.
We didn’t cry for long. I guess we both knew we had to talk. We sniffed and snuffled and reached for the tissues. We still didn’t know much about what had happened. We only knew that we’d just lost a grandpa whom we loved. We were going to miss him.
“Poor Grandma,” said Dana. “She’ll be so lonely.” I nodded and blew my nose.
“I didn’t know he was sick,” I said.
“I don’t think anyone did.”
We both thought about that for a little while.
Dana spoke again. “I didn’t know you could die like that—so fast. I thought you had to be sick first. I thought …” But she didn’t finish.
“I’m gonna miss him,” I said and almost started to cry again. Dana nodded silently.
We were still in our room trying to comfort each other and sharing our thoughts and our grief when Dad knocked on our door. First he just held out his arms to us, and we scrambled off the bed and went to meet him. He hugged us both. I felt him kiss me on the top of the head. “How about coming down to the kitchen,” he said at last when we had stopped crying again. “Mom made some hot chocolate. We need to talk.”
By the time we entered the kitchen, Mom and Brett and Corey were already there. We all took our regular seats at the table while Mom poured the hot chocolate, adding lots of cool milk to Corey’s cup. She had sandwiches and cookies on a plate, and in spite of feeling so sad we all were glad for the snack. Somehow we had missed out on lunch.
I was on my third cookie when Daddy said, “I’ve been on the phone with Uncle Patrick. He and Aunt Lynn have already gone over to be with Grandma.”
Dana and I exchanged glances. Both of us knew that Grandma Walsh and Auntie Lynn often had differences of opinion. It wasn’t discussed at our house, but Grandma often made little remarks during our visits, and when we were with Aunt Lynn we heard the other side of the stories. Mom refused to speak about it when we kids were around, but I once overheard her and Dad talking about what a shame it was that family members couldn’t get along.
“Your mother and I want to leave as quickly as possible,” Dad was continuing. “We’ve asked Mrs. Joyce to come and stay with you.”
“Can I come?” Corey put in quickly. “I want to see Grandpa too.”
Poor Corey. He still didn’t seem to have things figured out.
“We will only be seeing Grandma now,” Mom said patiently. “Remember. I explained about Grandpa.”
Corey wrinkled up his face in concentration. “Oh yeah,” he said and leaned up against Mom. She put an arm around him, and her fingers reached up to br
ush the reddish hair back from his forehead.
“I think you need to know how it happened,” Dad went on. “Grandpa and Grandma had gone to bed, and for some reason she awoke in the night. She couldn’t hear Grandpa breathing, so she turned on the light. That was when she discovered that he was gone.”
“Where’d he go?” piped up Corey. “I thought you couldn’t walk when you got dead.”
In spite of the sadness we all felt, I saw Dad smile just a little bit. “That’s right,” he said, reaching out his hand to Corey’s knee. “He was still there, but he was dead. Grandma didn’t know he was dead—for sure—so she called an ambulance. They took Grandpa to the hospital, and the doctors there said it was too late. Grandpa had already died.”
I was about to start crying all over again. I looked over at Dana. She was already in tears. For some reason that made me determined to hold my tears at bay. I had done enough crying. I fought back the lump in my throat and blew my nose hard on the tissue I was holding.
“Your mom and I will be back home tonight. We need to meet with Grandma and Uncle Patrick to arrange the funeral service. But we will be back tonight. It may be rather late because of the three-hour drive. We want you all to mind Mrs. Joyce. Go to bed at your proper time. There will be school for you tomorrow.”
That last remark did not come as a surprise to me. Daddy had commented before, when other families had gone through similar sorrows, that he thought it was best to keep as much of the familiar routine as possible. So it seemed reasonable to me that we wouldn’t miss another day of school tomorrow. In fact, I decided that I didn’t want to sit at home the next day crying every time I looked at another family member’s teary eyes. But by the way Dana’s face twisted, I gathered she would have preferred to stay home one more day.
I looked around the table. Everybody looked very sad—though I was sure Corey still didn’t have too clear an idea what death was all about. Dana certainly did. She looked ready to burst into tears at any moment.