They stare at me like a couple of frozen trout. Dad shifts in his chair. The vinyl seat makes a fart sound. “That’s a very interesting idea. Very original. Very …”
“Very considerate,” Mom says. “But, honey, I’m afraid your granny’s situation is more complicated than that. What happens when you’re at school and she’s alone? Or if she lights the stove in the middle of the night and there’s a fire with you sleeping upstairs?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know? And think of all the temptations you’d have.”
“Meaning?”
“You know,” Mom says. “The Dreamhouse box?”
“That stuff wasn’t mine.”
“Either way, we’re responsible. Think what people would say.”
“Nothing worse than they say already.”
“The answer is no.”
There is the longest — but I mean longest — silence. Dad looks like he’s not sure if he should keep breathing.
I doodle my casserole with my fork, slow and steady. “Is it true I’m like Uncle Teddy?”
Dad goes grey. “Where did that come from?”
“Granny. She’s said it twice now. So am I?”
“No,” Mom says.
“How would you know? He died before Dad moved here.” I look back at Dad. “Am I?”
“Don’t be rude to your mother.”
“Granny says he would’ve looked after her,” I say. “She says he’d never have put her in a nursing home.”
“Who knows what he’d have done,” Dad says.
I squeeze my fork. “How did he die?”
“What?”
“Uncle Teddy. How did he die? Did he kill himself?”
“Why would you think that?” Mom exclaims.
“Because you never say. All I can think is, it must have been awful, and what’s more awful than that. So did he?”
Pause. “Not exactly,” Dad says.
“What do you mean not exactly?”
“What I said.”
“Look, he did or he didn’t. Yes or no?”
Dad tosses his napkin on the table and leaves the room. Mom shoots me a look and clears the dishes.
I throw up my hands. “What did I do?”
“As if you don’t know.” Mom leaves the room, too.
“All I know is, Granny said Uncle Teddy and I were the same.” I stand up and call after them: “Why don’t I know how he died?”
Uncle Teddy, you’re like what’s in the attic. Out of sight, but still around. What happened? How did you die?
10
Next day, the thought of the caf makes me sick, so I eat in the parking lot. Eric’s splatto on the pavement like he’s OD’d or something.
Maybe that’s how Uncle Teddy died. Is it why my folks freaked out last summer?
In the photo on Granny’s night table, Uncle Teddy and I have the same curly hair, but our eyes are different. His are guarded; mine bug out like Mrs. Potato Head’s.
My phone rings.
“Zoe, come quick, there’s a thief in the house.”
“Relax, Granny, Mom and Aunt Jess just moved stuff. I’ll be over after school.”
“No, now!” Granny exclaims. “I came in from out back, heard noises upstairs, and grabbed a butcher knife. He was in my bedroom. I have him cornered in the closet!”
I hear sirens. “I’m on my way.”
* * *
By the time I get there, two cops have a weaselly guy I’ve never seen by the maple tree. Neighbours huddle in clumps on the sidewalk. I drop my bike and run up the veranda steps.
“Stop!” one of the cops calls after me.
“My granny’s in there.” I zip inside. “Granny?”
“Zoe,” she hollers from the den. “Thank God you’re here.”
Three other cops have boxed her in by the comfy couch.
“Who are you?” from the hairy cop.
“Zoe Bird. This is my granny. She called me about a robbery.”
“You tell ’em,” Granny says. “They won’t listen. You’d think I was the thief.”
“We found your grandmother holding a county caseworker hostage,” says the cop with the big ears.
“Hunh?”
“The caseworker found the door open. When no one answered, he went inside to make sure your grandmother was all right. He ended up in the bedroom. Your grandmother blocked his exit with a butcher knife. He phoned from a closet.”
“Apparently, if you’re old, you can’t defend yourself,” Granny snaps. “Apparently, strangers can barge in, steal your things, God knows what all.”
“Granny’s missing a few rugs,” I explain. “She’s worried about thieves.”
“Mr. Weldon identified himself,” the woman cop says.
“So? Would you believe a stranger you found in your bedroom?”
Dad runs in on overdrive, Mom behind. “Officers. Tim Bird, her son. Carrie, my wife.” He sees me. “Zoe? What are you—? No. Shut it. Just shut it.” He whirls on Granny. “Mother, how could you?”
“How could I what?” Granny asks.
“You threatened a caseworker with a butcher’s knife!”
“Says who?”
“What happens now?” Mom asks the cops.
“Mr. Weldon doesn’t want to press charges,” says Big Ears, “but this is a serious incident. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. Can she be supervised?”
“She doesn’t need to be supervised,” Granny pipes up. “She’s not a child.”
Mom ignores her. “No. We both work.”
Dad sticks his finger under his shirt collar. “Perhaps we could discuss things across the hall?” The cops nod. “Zoe, stay here with your grandmother.”
“We’re not staying anywhere,” Granny says. “We’re going to the veranda. When we come back in, you better not be here.” She marches us outside. “Get off my sidewalk,” she yells at the neighbours and sits on the glider.
I go to the railing and bring her the bird’s nest with the tinfoil. “Remember when you got this?”
She calms right down, eyes lit up. “Tell me.”
“Dad was clearing round the top of your drain spout. There were babies in it. You put it on your window ledge and the mother found it. We watched her feed them until they could fly.”
Granny strokes the nest. “What do you suppose happened to them?”
“I figure they’re at your feeders with their children and grandchildren.”
“Granny birds,” Granny chuckles. We make up stories about the birds, and the whole world disappears, until my parents come out with the cops.
“Tim. Carrie.” Granny blinks. “What are police doing here?”
“They’ve been looking for those people taking your things,” Dad says.
“About time.”
“We have all the evidence we need, Mrs. Bird,” the woman cop says.
“Thank Heavens.” Granny shakes the cops’ hands, they take off, and the neighbours start to go home.
“So, Mother,” Dad says, “want to come to our place for something to eat?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I had a big breakfast.”
“It’s Sunday dinner,” Dad lies. “You don’t want to disappoint Zoe, do you?”
“All right, then. For Zoe.” Granny winks at me.
I wink back: I’ll bet she hasn’t eaten all day.
On our way to the car, Mom leans in to my ear, “You need to be back at school.”
Granny overhears. “Don’t be daft. There’s no school on Sunday. Zoe, hop in the car.”
“She has her bike,” Mom says.
“I’ll pick it up later,” I go, all cheery.
Dad opens the passenger door for Granny. I join Mom in the back seat.
At the corner, we normally turn up to Main Street. Today we keep going. Hunh? We pull left at Malcolm, then right, and drive along the cemetery.
No!
I stay calm for Granny. “You’re not going where I think, are yo
u?”
Dad acts like I’m not here. “Mother, have a look at all those rosehips. The cemetery’s so well-tended.”
“Are we visiting your father?” Granny asks. “We should stop for flowers.”
“Not today,” Dad says. “We’re just having a drive.”
No, we’re not. What do I say? What do I do?
We pass the cemetery gates. At the end of the road — Greenview Haven. “Mom, Dad, please no.”
“Zoe, for everyone’s sake — everyone’s — don’t make a scene,” Mom says.
Dad turns to Granny. “I think the leaves are about to turn. Won’t that be beautiful, Mother?”
My throat’s like sandpaper. “This isn’t right.”
“We called Dr. Milne,” Mom says to me. “He’s signed and faxed the papers. It’s done.”
“What’s done?” Granny asks.
Dad turns on the radio. “Let’s listen to some music.”
“I said, ‘What’s done?’ Turn off that noise.”
“Please, Dad …”
We pull into the parking lot, swing around the circular drive. A woman and two care workers are waiting. Dad hops out as the woman opens Granny’s door.
“Mrs. Bird, how lovely to meet you. I’m Gloria Beckwith.” She shakes Granny’s hand, drawing her out of the car.
“Granny! Stay inside. It’s a trap.” I fumble at my door; Dad’s turned on the safety lock. I try scrambling over the seat to the front. “It’s Greenview, Granny!”
Mom grabs at me. “Stop it, Zoe. It’s for the best.”
Granny registers where she is. “Greenview!” She tries to back up, but the men are behind her. They hold her above the elbows. “Zoe! Help!”
“I can’t! There’s too many of them!”
Granny kicks at the men’s legs. “Where’s Teddy? I want Teddy!”
“Teddy’s gone, Mother,” Dad says. “You’ll love it here.”
The men drag her towards the glass doors. They slide open.
“Teddy won’t let this happen. Teddy! Zoe! Teddy!”
Granny disappears into the nursing home.
11
By the time Dad comes back to the car, I’m howled out. He and Mom tear into me as we drive out of the parking lot. I hardly hear them. My head’s full of Granny crying, struggling: Everything she’s been afraid of’s come true. I promised it wouldn’t. I failed. Will she blame me? Forgive me?
“That scene you made,” Mom goes. “I can’t imagine what Mrs. Beckwith must be thinking.”
Who cares?
“We tried so hard to move her in smoothly. It didn’t have to be like that.”
It didn’t have to be at all.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“No.”
Dad slams on the brakes. He drops his head on the steering wheel. “Zoe. We never wanted this.”
“You did too. You set her up. Someone should’ve been at her place when that guy came.”
“We had work to do,” Mom says.
“You’d have done it for Uncle Chad and Aunt Jess.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. But who cares anyway: you could’ve sent me.”
“You had school,” Dad says.
“Math’s more important than Granny? Besides, you didn’t have to bring her here. You could have taken her to our place.”
“There’s barely room for the three of us,” Mom says. “And what about the salon? She’d be sticking her nose in, repeating, blurting who knows what. My gals would be so uncomfortable.”
“They’re more important than Granny?”
“No, but without them, how do we pay the bills?”
“Aside from that,” Dad says, “what if your granny woke up one night and decided to go to the Bird House? You think she’d remember how? Streets are different in the dark. Who knows what could happen?”
“And how would we deal with her garbage-picking,” Mom adds. “You want that stuff on our lawn, in our house?”
“It’s no worse than your stupid hair dryers, your stupid neon sign, your stupid owl clock.”
Mom bites her tongue. We have a staring contest.
“Whew boy.” Dad takes ten deep breaths and starts to drive again. We’re home in a couple of minutes.
“I can’t wait till you’re old,” I mutter as we go inside. “I’ll lock you in Greenview so fast your heads’ll spin. When you cry and scream like Granny, I’ll laugh.”
Mom’s face crumples up. “Go to your room.”
“Great. I don’t want to see you anyway.”
“And no lunch.”
“Double great. I’m not hungry.”
* * *
Next morning: Saturday.
Mom and Dad leave at eight o’clock to move some of Granny’s stuff to Greenview so she’ll feel more at home. I have to stay here ’cause they don’t want a repeat of yesterday. And if there ever is a repeat of yesterday, I won’t get to see Granny again, period. But even though I don’t see her, I hear from her lots. The first call comes right after my folks are gone.
“Zoe, strangers woke me up. They said they’d bring me to breakfast. I scared them off, but they may be back. I don’t know where I am. You have to find me.”
“Stay calm, Granny. You’re at Greenview Haven.”
“The county home?”
“Yes.”
“What am I doing here? I have to get back to my place. People will be breaking in. They’ll be taking my things.”
“Mom and Dad will be there soon. You can tell them all about it.”
“Thank God.”
* * *
Second call. Eight thirty-five.
“Zoe, I’m in this strange bedroom. Outside the window there’s a parking lot. On the far side I think I can see the cemetery. Something isn’t right.”
“Mom and Dad are on their way.”
“They better be. There’s a crazy man down the hall yelling, ‘Help me! Help me!’ I’ve pushed the chest of drawers against the door.”
“Move it back, Granny. If you don’t, they’ll think you’ve lost it.”
“Who?”
“The staff at Greenview.”
“Greenview? I’m at Greenview?”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
“Dad must have forgotten. He’s coming now.”
“I’m not sticking around here for your father. Where’s my car?”
“At home.”
“Maybe I should call a taxi.”
“No, Granny. Wait for Dad.”
* * *
Third call. Eight fifty-five.
“Zoe, I’m in this room—”
“I know. Do you have a pen in your purse?”
“I’ll see … Zoe, someone’s been in my purse. They’ve stolen my car keys.”
“Don’t worry, they’re safe.”
“Where are they?”
“I’ll explain later. Right now, just look for a pen.”
“Okay. I have a pen. Now what?”
“Write on the back of your hand: ‘Tim is coming.’”
“Your dad is coming?”
“Yes. Write it on your hand. ‘Tim is coming.’”
“‘Tim is coming.’ Done.”
“Terrific. Next time you reach for your phone, read your hand.”
“‘Tim is coming.’”
“That’s right.”
“What a relief. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you, Pumpkin.”
“I love you too.”
Things stay good for an hour. Then:
“Zoe.” There’s piano music and singing in the background. “I was in this room. Your parents started bringing things in from my place. I told them to take them back home. They said this is my home. What’s going on?”
“Let me speak to Dad.”
“He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
“How should I know?”
“So where are you?”
> “I don’t know. Wherever it is, it’s full of couches and old people. Good Lord!”
“What?”
“I think that’s Dr. Rutherford across the room. You watch out for Dr. Rutherford. No matter what you go in for, he’ll check your lady bits. Have a cough? He’ll check your lady bits. Have the flu? He’ll check your lady bits.”
“Granny, Dr. Rutherford retired when I was little.”
“He’s a devil. And what’s he doing with Mona Peasley?”
“Who?”
“Fred Peasley’s widow. He was the undertaker. They caught him stuffing cadavers with newspapers. I thought they put Mona in the county home.”
“Granny, sit tight. I’m calling Dad. Soon as I know what’s up I’ll call back.”
“Good. There’s a woman coming by with a cart of cookies and orange juice.”
“Talk to you in a minute.”
I hang up and speed-dial Dad: he picks up. “Dad, where are you guys?”
“In Granny’s room. We’re unpacking.”
“She’s scared. One of you needs to sit with her.”
“We can’t right now. Too much to do.”
“Then I’m coming over.”
“Zoe, if you want to be on the visitors list, stay where you are. A very nice nurse is keeping an eye on her. Do your homework. I have to go.”
I call Granny back: “It’s me. Zoe.”
“Zoe, I’m losing my mind. I’m in this room with people I haven’t seen in years. I thought they were dead.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I need you now.”
“I’m stuck in bed,” I lie. “I’ve been throwing up all day.”
“Oh my. You better take care of yourself.”
“I will. First, get your pen. I want you to write on your hand.”
“I already have something on my hand: ‘Tim is coming.’” “Stroke out ‘Tim’ and write in ‘Zoe’. Then add ‘tomorrow’.Okay?”
“Okay … ‘Zoe is coming tomorrow.’ Good. I feel better already.”
12
When Mom and Dad get back, I’m spinning on a sink chair listening to my music. I close my eyes and nod to the beat as if they’re not here.
“Granny has a lovely room,” Mom says. “We’ve made it so homey.”
“The family pictures are by her bed just like at the Bird House,” Dad adds. “And she’s got her lamp and two paintings from the living room. We even brought the garden gnome.”
The Way Back Home Page 4