“Yeah, everything’s fine.” There wasn’t any other way to answer that question.
“Cool, so next Thursday—”
“I can’t,” I interrupted. “I have to watch Oma. I can’t go out.”
“Whoa, chill.” Meg held up her hand. “I was just asking.”
“I can’t go out.”
“You don’t have to be mean about it.” Meg rolled her eyes before walking away.
The gum no longer looked appealing. After class, I threw it in the garbage.
****
I saw Michael, but his open friendliness had faded. He didn’t smile like before. After the fifth cold meeting, I called Tiffany. I needed my real friend more than ever.
“Keziah! I thought you fell off the face of the Earth,” Tiffany yelled. The background sounded like a club.
“Are you busy?” A Paramore song blared in the background.
A shadow fell over the doorway. Oma stood there with fire blazing on her face, hands on her hips.
“No, it’s cool,” Tiffany said.
“What are you doing? Don’t talk on my phone,” Oma shouted. “That’s my phone!”
“Oma, it’s my cell phone.”
“You can’t talk on my phone,” she shrieked.
“Tiffany, I can’t talk,” I sighed. “I’ll be online later, so I’ll talk to you there.”
“Sure, like usual.” Tiffany hung up without saying goodbye.
“There, happy?” I threw my cell phone at the bed.
“What’s wrong with you?” Oma’s face wrinkled into a sob.
I didn’t call Tiffany again. I waited until Mama or Phebe called me, and even then, I didn’t want to talk. All I could think about was how my mother didn’t care enough to tell me about my real father.
Whenever I got on the computer, Oma complained I was ignoring her. Tiffany never got on much, anyway, and when she did, she acted cold.
“Fine, I’ll be friendless.” I finished my homework on the computer as fast as I could, and then read, since Oma didn’t want to do anything except stare at the wall.
I finished reading the Goat Children notebooks. Oma stopped writing when she married my grandfather. She had loved him, and if not for him, she would have never left the Goat Children.
I never heard Oma mention my grandfather much, so I brought him up. My grandmother shrugged.
“He’s gone now. I can return to the Goat Children, if they’ll have me.”
“You want to go back now?”
“I’ll be young again. I’ll be able to hear without having the sound up so loud.”
“I can take you to get a hearing aid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” Oma exclaimed.
Another day, Oma said, “If I returned to the Goat Children, I’d be able to see again. I hate not being able to see well.”
I looked up from my criminology textbook. “I can take you to the eye doctor if you want.”
“I don’t need to go to the doctor. There’s nothing wrong with my sight!”
As winter progressed, the days grew worse for Oma. After I went to school, she forgot her normal routine of eating breakfast, washing, and dressing. Oma would call Uncle Jan, and usually got my aunt instead. Rather than going over to comfort Oma, my aunt called me at school.
“I don’t know what to do for her,” my aunt said on my voicemail. “Get home, Keziah. I don’t want her calling me anymore. If you can’t handle her, then she needs to go into a nursing home.”
The next time Oma called my aunt, she called my mother. “You need to rethink this living situation. She’s crying to me over the phone, and I can’t do anything to help her.”
“I’m four hours away,” my mother ranted to me. “Why can’t she just go over? She’s five minutes away, for crying out loud! What do you think, Keziah?” Mama’s voice softened. “Do you think Oma would hate a nursing home that much?”
“Yes! We won’t let anyone put her in one of those places. I’m here. It wasn’t anything dire. Oma’s fine.”
“Maybe it’s time we moved back to New Winchester.” Mama’s voice wavered.
“No, Mama. You can’t. You work in the city, and…Dad…” I choked on the word. He wasn’t my dad. He was my uncle. I still didn’t know how to bring up that knowledge, but I knew it wouldn’t work if they moved back.
I didn’t dare mention going back to the city after high school ended.
****
At the end of February, the high school hosted a college fair. Seniors traveled from their last classes to the gym, where the fair began before stretching into the main foyer and orchestra room. Most of the colleges represented were in New York State. I picked up fliers for Utica, Hamilton, and Hartwick colleges to make the teachers happy. Before coming to New Winchester, I had planned to get my Bachelor’s degree, but now that was out of the question.
Money didn’t matter. My dad—uncle—had a college fund set away in my name, and he made enough at his job for any differences in price.
I had to stay within Oma’s radius.
I zeroed in on New Winchester College on the outskirts of the town, in the ritzy section of mansions and gated communities.
The young man representing the college handed me a brochure. “The best part is that’s it’s part of SUNY.”
“Suny?” I accepted the glossy paper.
“State University of New York,” he explained.
I didn’t know how that mattered. “I’m looking for a teaching degree.”
“What kind of teaching?” He picked up a booklet off his table and flipped through the pages.
“Elementary education.”
He nodded and chewed on his lower lip. He was cute in a boyish way, with brown curls falling over his high forehead and glasses slipping down his small nose, but he had to be older than me since he attended college.
“I really love the campus,” he said. “The professors are great. Dr. Sparks is around here somewhere. She can talk to you when she comes back, if you want. Ah, here it is.” He handed the booklet to me, his finger pointing to a paragraph on one of the pages. “This is part of the education department.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t care about the professors, campus, or even the classes. As long as they had a degree and were within living distance to Oma, the college was golden. I would have to take the bus, but that wouldn’t be so bad.
“Hey, Keziah,” Domenick called from behind.
I forced myself to smile as I turned away from the booth. “Hi.”
He waved a brochure in the air, grinning. “Where do you want to go? I’m thinking about Geneseo. My cousin went there and loved it.”
“I’ll probably go to New Winchester.”
“Aw, really? You don’t want to spread your wings and get away from this dump?”
I can’t. I shrugged.
“This is like spreading your wings, huh? Do you miss the Big Apple?”
I smiled at his slang. “A little. Especially my family. I’ve never been away from them this long before.”
“Yeah, that’s what’s going to be really rough for me when I go away. My parents are moving anyway, so it won’t be like I have a choice. Keziah, you know what Saturday is?”
“You mean the date?” We stepped off to the bleachers as people walked by.
“It’s my birthday.” His grin revealed his teeth. “I’m turning eighteen. Officially, I’ll be an adult. Hey, when’s your birthday?”
“July.”
He whistled. “You’ll be eighteen soon too, huh? So anyway, every year for my birthday, my grandpa throws this big birthday bash at his place. He lives on Lake Winchester.”
“Cool.”
“Can you come? It’s in the evening. Since it’s still snowy this year, we won’t go out on the boat or anything.”
“I can’t.”
“No—”
“I have a grandmother, remember?” I didn’t care if the ice in my voice froze him.
“Bring her too.”
“What?” As a joke, that wasn’t funny at all.
“Yeah, bring her along.” He nodded. “That was what I was gonna say, but you never gave me the chance. My family will all be there, so there won’t be drugs or anything. I mentioned it to my grandpa, and he said he thinks it’s nice you’re there for her.”
“I can’t bring my grandmother to your birthday party.”
“Sure you can. It’ll be awesome.”
“My grandmother has dementia. She’s not a normal old person. She doesn’t sit home baking chocolate chip cookies or knitting fuzzy sweaters. She cries because she can’t remember how old she is, and then she says she’s like a hundred because she lived with Goat Children for a while!”
“Keziah, come on. It’ll be cool. At least give it a try.”
There was no point in arguing with him. “She won’t go. She’ll say no.”
“At least ask her.” Domenick held up his hand, curled it into a fist, and stuck out his little finger. “Pinkie promise?”
Yeah, as if we’re five years old. I slid my little finger through his. We hooked and shook. “Yeah, yeah. Pinkie promise.”
I wanted to tell him about what happened when I’d gone out with Meg, and what had occurred with Michael afterwards, but Domenick walked away.
“Keziah de Forest?”
I glanced over my shoulder at an approaching teacher. The woman held a folder in her arms, wrinkled papers poking out of the purple plastic. She wore tight black plants and a purple sweater with kites on the sleeves. I tried to place her name, but failed. I’d never had her class and recognized her only by sight.
“Can I help you?” I scratched the back of my head.
“I hope so. I’m Mrs. Naylor, from journalism. I run the school paper.” The teacher fumbled with her folder before pulling out a crumpled paper. “Is this yours?”
I turned the page over to spot my name under the title. “I wrote this for economics. It’s a poem about how expensive vegan foods are.” I frowned. “How’d you get it?”
“Your teacher gave it to me.” Mrs. Naylor’s glossed lips broke into a smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but he was really proud of it, and suggested I publish it.”
My jaw dropped. “But it’s just a poem about economics.”
Her fake French nails tapped the folder. “I realize our paper isn’t always controversial. We’ve never had a specific vegan article, and that’s not even why I like your poem. Your words are raw. You wrote from your heart, and you made me think. When you make a reader stop and really consider what you wrote about, it’s a sign of a good author.”
I snapped my mouth shut. “Thank you. No one has ever called me a good author before.”
Mrs. Naylor removed a blank sheet of lined writing paper and plucked a pen from her pocket. “Can you write down your contact info for me?”
I stared at the paper and blinked. In my mind, I saw Oma listening to the exciting news. I might have my poem published in the newspaper! Oma might smile and nod, but she’d probably say, “What?” By the time I finished explaining, Oma would be lost and snippy, or move on to something else.
“Sure.” I crouched to use the floor as a writing table.
“It’s always tough being a new student. I grew up in Boston, and moved to Rochester when I was in junior high. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
I finished writing my name, address, email, and cell phone number, and handed the materials back. “I’m kind of used to it here, now.”
“Really, though.” Mrs. Naylor patted my shoulder. “This is one of the best high schools in the state, which makes all the teachers here very competitive. I know they can be hard sometimes, or seem uncaring, but we’re really all here to help you succeed. Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of looking up your schedule.”
“You looked up my schedule?” That sounded a bit creepy.
“You have a study hall Monday mornings, and I have a break. I thought maybe we could meet up and chat?” Mrs. Naylor shifted her stance. “I can help you with your writing or homework. They told me about your grandmother. I can’t imagine how hard that is, but your teachers said you never complain. They called you strong. If I were you, I’d want an adult to bounce ideas off, someone I can just talk with and feel comfortable letting everything out. So, do you want to meet up?”
I tipped my head, considering what solid adult figure I had in my life. Before, I would have said my parents, but they’d lied to me about Uncle Tom. Oma would want to help, but she couldn’t. Uncle Jan lived in his own world, and Michael had betrayed my trust.
“Why don’t we try that?” I shook her hand. “I’d like someone to talk to.”
****
I am seven years old. My instructor is teaching us Spanish words, because we have a new student from Mexico.
“Are you illegal?” a girl asks him.
I don’t understand what she means.
“I’ve never been to jail,” He speaks English with only a faint accent, but Mrs. Rankin, our teacher, wants us to make him feel comfortable.
I take my list of Spanish vocabulary to Oma’s house.
“Have you ever learned Spanish?” I ask.
“No, but I love learning.” She laughs. “What’s the first word?”
“Hola. It’s spelled with an H, but that letter’s silent.”
“Hola,” she repeats. “What does it mean?”
“Hello.” I move on to the next word, and we practice until both of us have them memorized.
Chapter 30
Uncle Jan pulled up in front of the house, except I wasn’t sure if it could be called a house. Three stories sprawled over grounds surrounded by a large brick fence. Lights from the mansion spilled over the grass.
Uncle Jan whistled. “Wouldn’t you love to live in a place like this?”
If we all moved here to New Winchester, we could live in a house like this. My dad—uncle—made enough money, but he and my mom would never go for such a gaudy home.
“Where are we?” Oma asked from the passenger seat.
“Domenick’s grandfather lives here. You wanna go home?” I still couldn’t get over the fact Oma had agreed to attend the party.
“She’s glad to be included,” Mama had said. “Just don’t let her near anyone who’s sick.”
Domenick’s family would wonder who I was, and everyone was going to ask why I’d brought my grandmother. I was going to have to spend the evening sitting next to Oma in a corner somewhere, and everyone was going to know Oma was insane.
People were going to talk to us, but Oma wouldn’t be able to hear, so she would pout or cry, then I would take her home.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I opened the backdoor and stepped out, stretching from the tight confines of my uncle’s car. Uncle Jan still marveled over the house as I walked around to help Oma.
“I can’t get out,” Oma exclaimed. “You should have taken more stops. I’ve been riding too long! My legs won’t work.”
“It’s only been ten minutes.” I grabbed my grandmother’s arm, lifting her out of the seat. She leaned against me without trying to stand on her own.
“Who are we here to see?” Oma asked as Uncle Jan drove away.
“Domenick. It’s his birthday.” I’d gotten him a gift card to the bookstore, his present in my purse.
“Who?”
“Domenick.”
“Peter?”
“No, Domenick!” My shout roused the attention of people smoking in the yard.
They looked over, and whispered. A girl giggled.
“I can’t hear you,” Oma snorted.
I led Oma inside via the front door, huge with stained glass panels. The foyer boasted a crystal chandelier. A maid garbed in a navy blue dress appeared to take our coats.
“What is this?” Oma shouted. “What does this woman want?”
“She just wants to take your coat.”
“I’m cold! I’m not giving my coat to just anyone.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, but the woman walked away. Maybe she had an elderly relative of her own at home.
“Let’s go find Domenick.” I tugged Oma through the foyer into the next room.
People mingled around tables covered in food. Some of the people I knew from school—not names, but the faces looked familiar. Others were adults; they must be part of Domenick’s family. The house was immaculate despite the crowd, and everything looked top of the line. Antiques rested on mahogany tables. The walls were dark colors, and the wainscoting was creamy white. The floors were hardwood instead of carpeted. Velvet and lace adorned the windows.
I led Oma to a tapestry sofa against the living room wall. My grandmother hadn’t said anything, but her lips pressed into a firm line as if they’d been painted on. She narrowed her eyes and a flush blotched her cheeks.
“Pouty face,” I muttered under my breath as I helped Oma sit.
My grandmother’s hand shook. “You’re trying to push me onto the floor.”
“I just want you to sit, okay? I have to go give Domenick his card.”
“I don’t see why I had to come,” Oma coughed into her hand and fished a tissue from her sleeve to spit phlegm into it. “He’s your friend, and you don’t need male friends. You’re much too young for any of that.”
“As soon as I find him, we can go. I’ll call Uncle Jan.” Hopefulness seeped into my voice.
“It’s your party. You always do exactly as you please.”
I bit back a groan. “Look, stay here, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t…wander off anywhere.”
“Like I’m an invalid?”
“No, if you were an invalid, you wouldn’t be able to wander.”
“What?” The comeback flew over Oma’s head and she blinked.
“Never mind. I’ll—”
“They’re here.”
“What?”
“The Goat Children.” Oma pointed behind me. “They’ve come for me.”
I looked over my shoulder through a space in the crowd. My gaze fell on a potted ficus. “That’s a plant.”
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