He says, Have fun?
I bend down to take Charlie’s leash off. The collar jingles. Before it’s even fully off, Charlie runs off to his water bowl. A second later I hear his great big noisy slurps as he laps it up, drinking as fast as he can. I know it’s spilling on the floor.
Dad’s looking at me in this sort of scrutinizing way he does sometimes, like he’s trying to read something in my face. Like he’s trying to see if I’m hiding something. It reminds me suddenly of Sean’s dad, of the way he looked at me when I met him.
I say, Yeah. Lots of fun.
Dad smiles after a bit and turns back to the History Channel.
He says, Great.
Dad zips up a bag.
It’s Mom’s, old and frayed. It used to be bright royal blue, but it’s faded a bunch over the years.
Dad hates this bag. He tries to tell Mom to throw it out every time she uses it, but she always refuses. She’s had it for years, since college.
He says, Look, it’s got holes in it. Just get rid of it.
They’re in their bedroom. Clothes are everywhere: hanging out of the dresser, lined up on the bed, folded in piles on the floor.
Dad’s lips are thin and tight, and he has lines on his forehead like Mr. Kilgore does sometimes. He’s holding a toothbrush and looking at Mom.
Mom reaches into the closet, takes out one sweater, holds it in front of her, puts it back and takes out another.
She shakes her head.
She says, That’s my Wellesley bag.
Dad gives up after a while. He hands me the bag but doesn’t say anything. It’s lumpy and irregular and kind of heavy.
I take it outside.
Toby is sitting on top of the car, legs dangling over one side. All the doors are wide open, stretching out across the driveway.
I go around back to find room in the trunk. I shove other bags aside to make a spot and I say,
You’re supposed to be packing.
Toby shrugs.
She says, I’m mostly done. It’ll take like three seconds.
My bags are already in the car. I have two: a big one in the back and a smaller one that I’ll keep at my seat. It has my books and iPod and my old 3DS and some other games I can play with Toby.
Toby says, I don’t get why they need to bring like the whole house.
I find just enough room for Mom’s bag and cram it in. I take a step back and look at my work. I don’t know how we’re going to fit the rest of our stuff.
I say, Yeah.
Mostly to myself.
Dad told us Thursday night that we were going to go to Grandma’s house for Thanksgiving.
We get the whole week off school and he tells us the day before vacation starts.
I mean I guess it’s okay since I didn’t have a lot of plans anyway. I kind of thought Jared and Ronald and I could hang out a lot at Ronald’s house ’cause his mom is so cool and plus she likes to cook, but I hadn’t talked to them about it or anything.
Mostly I just kind of wish we weren’t going to Grandma’s. She’s okay but she’s old and can be crabby sometimes. And she has a lot of rules.
But really it’s because Dad gets weird around her and pretty tense, and gets upset if we do the tiniest thing wrong. Like once Toby sneezed at dinner without covering her mouth, and Dad went ballistic and yelled.
It was gross but not like a huge crime or anything.
Mom said once Dad just doesn’t want Grandma to feel too stressed because of her age.
I guess.
Grandma is Dad’s mom.
She lives in the western tip of Virginia, a really, really rural place near a tiny town. It’s right next to Kentucky.
We’ve gone there before but always from Wisconsin, which is a super-long drive.
This is the first time we’ll be coming from inside the state, but Dad says it’ll still take nine hours.
Virginia is a long state.
I stare out the window most of the way. It’s the first time I’ve been on these roads and it’s nicer than I expected. We drive through low mountains covered in orange and red and yellow leaves, all of them dropping and fluttering around our car with the slightest breeze.
Dad says, Lots of kids drive drunk on these highways, Mike.
I look at him, blinking.
He says, When you get your permit next year, I want you to be especially careful on the highways. They may look deserted, especially out in rural areas, but they can be just as dangerous as city roads. Okay?
I say, Yessir.
I look back out the window and watch the mountains roll by. I try to take a picture with my old camera, but I know it won’t turn out very good even if it’s not blurry.
Pictures never look as good as the real thing.
I glance over at Toby and she’s staring out her window, both of us quiet and absorbed in the surroundings. Charlie’s sleeping, snout on her thigh.
I end up not even opening my bag.
We pull into a rest stop.
We’re only an hour from Grandma’s, but Toby really had to go and couldn’t hold it in any longer. She opens the door before Dad turns the car off and bolts toward the run-down building that stinks even from here.
Mom gets out and follows her. Dad just stands beside his open door, frowning at the sky. He’s annoyed.
It’s not twilight yet but shadows are getting longer. This is my favorite time of day.
I look west toward the sun, watch it creep toward the ground. The dried grass and leaves look like fire running up and down the hills. All of it golden.
I squint but I don’t really have to, it’s not that bright anymore but everything’s still screaming colors, pink and orange and yellow.
Behind me my shadow stretches, long and gangly. I reach an arm up and watch my shadow grow, grow, almost farther than I can really see.
Dad mutters:
Jesus,
kind of under his breath but not really.
He looks at his watch and then back at the sky.
Toby comes out of the restroom with Mom, both of them walking slowly through the glowing air.
They get in the car without saying anything, Dad watching Toby until her door closes, and then he sits down.
He says, Get in, Mike.
I get in.
It’s almost night when we get to Grandma’s, but it’s just light enough to see the hills and woods behind her house.
It’s an old two-story house, fading yellow paint, long driveway, and a few acres of hilly grassland. Every time we come, Toby and I take long walks with Charlie in the woods. He loves any walk but he really loves those woods. We can let him off the leash, and he runs and runs, chasing anything that moves, nose to the ground pulling him in every direction.
Grandma used to come with us on the walks but not anymore since her hip’s been bothering her.
This is where Dad grew up. He loves the house and the land, but he’s uneasy about Grandma being there all alone. It’s big for one person and she can’t maintain it anymore, and he’s afraid of her falling down.
Grandma won’t move, though. Dad says she’s stubborn about it because she’s lived there so long and she doesn’t like to think she’s getting older. But she is.
I wouldn’t want to move either.
Grandma is already outside when we pull up, sitting on a patio chair reading by lamplight.
Mom called her about thirty minutes ago to let her know we were close.
She stands when she sees the car, puts the book down on a table, and walks down the steps to greet us.
Dad’s out first.
He says, You shouldn’t be out here, Mom.
She waves him off with a hand as she reaches out to hug him and says, I’m fine, Walton.
He says, It’s cold.
She gives his back two light pats and says, I’m fine.
And turns to Mom and says,
How are you, Sweet Caroline?
Mom smiles and hugs Grandma and says, Just fine, Mart
ha. It’s lovely to see you.
Behind them the porch light turns them into silhouettes.
The house smells musty but good-musty, like old wood. It’s the only place I ever smell this smell, but it’s always so familiar.
It’s dimly lit and cozy and warm.
Me and Toby go upstairs to our room to drop off our stuff. It’s the room that used to be Uncle Daryl’s when he was growing up, and some of his stuff is still there: old baseball cards and half-finished model airplanes and framed photos. Like someone took a freeze-frame of his childhood from forever ago.
Everything about it is really still. There’s no dust because Grandma cleans it once a week, every week.
We put our clothes in the empty drawer, and I know they’ll smell like Grandma’s house for a while after.
Finally Toby says, I’m so hungry.
I say, Yeah, me too.
I take out some of Charlie’s toys I packed with my things and remind myself to bring them down to the garage later. Grandma doesn’t like Charlie to be in the house but the garage is fine.
Toby says, How long you think before Dad gets annoyed about something?
The corner of my mouth turns up just a little; I can feel it.
I say, He’s already annoyed.
Toby says, He needs a nap.
She takes out her Sunday clothes and hangs them up and says, He always needs a nap.
I smile wider now and she giggles.
I’m keeping Charlie company outside.
In the quiet of the countryside, the crickets are really loud. Charlie’s letting me pet him but his attention is out there, facing the darkness with his floppy ears perked as much as they can be.
There’s no light except from the house and about a million stars. There are a lot of stars in Somerdale ’cause it’s still a pretty small town, but there are even more here, out in the middle of nowhere.
I search through the stars and in just a couple seconds I find what I’m looking for: three stars in a row, Orion’s Belt. From there it’s easy to find his shoulders and head and bow and arrow.
Once I’m oriented to the right direction, I follow along until I recognize the deep V shape that makes up most of Pisces. It’s supposed to look like two fish, but to me it looks more like India. Or like those pictures of sperm they showed us in Health class in middle school.
I turn west and look at the lowest bit of sky I can see. It’s late in the month and for a minute I’m not sure I’ll be able to see it, but then I catch the tip of it. Capricornus. It’s the constellation for my zodiac sign. It’s a goat, but the outline is basically just a triangle. I guess the Greeks had good imaginations.
I can only see a little of it. The rest is blocked by trees. But in a week it’ll be gone until next fall.
I stroke Charlie’s head and neck and behind his ears, and I think about dinner. Pork roast, green beans, potato wedges, gravy on everything. I’m really full, almost to where it hurts, but everything was so good.
In the darkness past the house, I can’t make out any shapes. I picture the house behind us the way it must look to someone a hundred yards away: Glowing warm light spilling from the windows, melting into the darkness a few feet out. Boy and dog sitting on the grass at the edge of the light. Complete blackness in front of them. But above the jagged silhouette of the treetops, billions of glittery silver specks, floating outward forever. I’ll draw this later.
I say, Come on, Charlie,
and we go in the garage.
Charlie curls up on his mat of old towels and blankets into a little ball surrounded by his own shed fur and closes his eyes.
I go inside.
At night I lie awake a long time, listening to Toby’s heavy breathing and the house creaking as it settles.
I think about Sean’s house.
We’re in the woods, me and Toby and Charlie. We left right after breakfast because the clouds came in overnight and it looked like it was going to rain soon, and we wanted to beat the storm.
But now it’s lighter out and the clouds are almost gone.
Charlie’s pulling and I have to hold him back, leash taut. I’m kneeling beside him and he’s paying no attention to me, wanting so bad to run into the woods. Toby’s watching us.
I unclasp the leash and he takes off, fallen leaves flying in his wake, already barking at something that’s probably not there but he’s chasing it anyway.
Me and Toby follow after a second, crunching leaves and twigs with each step.
It’s cooler today and we both have light jackets on.
We don’t say anything for a long time, both of us just quiet and enjoying the woods and then Toby says,
What’s up with that Sean guy?
I feel something like a quick jolt and I don’t really get why. For a few seconds I’m distracted by that. I must let too many seconds go by because after a while Toby says,
Mike?
I say, Yeah?
My heart’s beating faster and I don’t get it.
I mean it’s just Toby.
She says, I was asking about Sean.
I say, What about him?
She says, He seems kind of weird.
There’s a big pile of leaves in Toby’s way, and she steps on it on purpose, careful to hit the exact middle to get the most crunch.
Up ahead Charlie’s running around still barking, a brown-and-white blur in between the trees.
I say, What do you mean, weird?
I’m facing ahead but I glance at Toby out of the corner of my eye real quick.
She cocks her head in thought as she walks.
She says, I dunno. It just seems like there’s stuff he’s trying to get at but never says.
I say, What does that even mean? Plus you’ve only met him once.
She kicks a rock and it hits a tree up ahead and bounces off to the right. Charlie stops and looks back toward the path of the rock, alert, thinking it’s an animal. Then he turns and goes on again. Toby nods.
She says, Yeah, I know. I guess I mean it just seemed like he was trying not to give too much away. When he gave us a ride after school, I mean.
I don’t say anything. My heart is slowing.
Toby kicks another rock and we’re quiet for another minute or so.
Then she says, Sometimes you seem like that too.
I don’t say anything.
The weather changes again and the first drops hit just before lunch, when Mom calls us in to wash up.
While we’re eating there’s a clap of thunder. The rain waits another couple seconds before we hear it above us, building. Another clap and it’s pouring.
On the table: sliced ham, turkey, corned beef, provolone, mustard, mayonnaise, white bread, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, baby carrots, some green beans left over from last night. All spread out before us.
We eat in silence.
Dad looks across the table as Mom and Grandma clear the plates and put away the food, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it but I still hold out hope.
But instead Toby says it for him.
She says, Yeah, yeah, we’ll get ready.
And stands up.
Dad watches her go, and then I follow.
Grandma goes to church Sunday afternoons.
It’s a local Baptist church and she goes for hours, almost until dinnertime and we have to go every time we come to visit.
Upstairs I check Toby’s buckle shoes for marks and she makes sure my tie’s straight.
Once we’re satisfied, we just stand there looking at each other for a minute, neither of us wanting to go downstairs.
Then Toby rolls her eyes and says, We might as well,
and we go.
Lebanon Calvary Baptist Church.
It’s on the edge of town still in the middle of nowhere, off the side of a small road that curves around a hill, but the parking lot’s full. We run in, ducking from the rain.
Toby gasps when the door opens. A gust of humid sticky air hits us. The h
eater’s on and there are so many people, lots of them wet from the storm and the warmth inside.
The preacher’s already on the pulpit, talking too closely into a mike, raspy voice echoing, bright eyes, bushy goatee. He’s a sweating round man I remember from last year, lots of energy and intense. Right now he paces back and forth and shouts to the congregation.
We find a pew but don’t sit. No one’s sitting.
People are screaming Amen and Praise Be Him and Tell It and things like that as the preacher goes on and on, no one getting tired.
They sway while he preaches. Eyes closed, most of them.
I look and Grandma already has her eyes closed along with them, head tilted back a bit, smiling, listening but at least standing still.
The door opens and closes, more people come in.
The preacher walks back and forth, back and forth. Some people have an arm or two raised out before them, reaching toward the shouts from the pulpit.
Toby drums her fingers a bit on the back of the pew in front of her. Mom gently puts her hand over Toby’s to stop it.
There are so many people.
Ten minutes into it Dad raises one of his arms. I can barely understand what the preacher is saying through the rasp of his voice and feedback from the mike.
I bow my head and I hope it looks like I’m praying.
It goes on and on.
I love Thanksgiving.
Everything around Grandma’s land, the woods and hills, smells fresh and crisp and spicy. It’s only ever cool, light-jacket weather, perfect. Now that we’re here, I’m kind of glad we came after all.
Me and Toby go exploring with Charlie, taking different routes through the woods.
There’s a ravine a mile away and we follow it, pointing out stuff we remember from other trips: a circle of smooth stones in the water; an old hunting stand, half collapsed; a huge oak with a thick branch leading over the creek, perfect for sitting and throwing rocks.
At night we eat delicious food and stay up late playing Uno or reading or talking, though we never say all that much.
Grandma has a ton of old movies and sometimes we watch those.
Dad is tense a lot but not so bad, or maybe we just get used to it after a while.
The leaves keep getting brighter and falling, and Charlie runs through them, never satisfied, and there’s nothing to do and I love it.
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