by Jaime Berry
Nan came up with Relocation Rule Number 14: Blend in with the locals or stick out with the yokels. I wasn’t even sure what a yokel was, but I tried blending in anyway. I noticed Abby rocking and singing with me, and we both cracked up laughing. She was right, it helped, but I wasn’t sure if it was the singing or having her swaying along beside me.
“Boys, did you wash your hands?” Abby’s mom asked. Both Garfield and Harrison nodded. I was certain they hadn’t. Harrison looked at me and tried a wink that looked more like a series of really long blinks.
Abby’s mom narrowed her eyes. “Go on and do it again. I’ll supervise.”
Once we all washed up, everyone loaded their plate, talked, laughed, and ate in between. And it really was the best burger I’d ever tasted.
Abby walked me out after lunch. “Thanks for the fish thingy. I have a surprise for you too. Wait here.” She ran around the side of her house and came back rolling a ratty pink bike. “I know it’s not much to look at. Dad used to call it my ‘big girl’ bike, but I got a BMX for Christmas. So, I thought, since you like making things, maybe you could fix it up and use it. Then we could ride all over town together.”
“Thanks, Abby. I love it,” I said. I wasn’t sure I could ride it. I wasn’t sure Arletta herself could glamorganize the dingy out of that two-wheeler, but I did love it.
Abby gave me a quick hug goodbye before I rolled the bike down their driveway and waved back at her. That sun-faded, rust-spattered bike was the ugliest, most perfect thing anyone had ever given me.
Though I was full of food, I felt emptied out too. Spending time with families, even seeing big families in SmartMart or stuffed in a minivan, sometimes did that to me. Nan and I were a family, and we were happy. But we weren’t busting at the seams with it.
I steered my new-old bike down the dirt road in a daze, which is maybe why I didn’t notice the ambulance pulled up in our driveway until I was standing beside it.
Globsnotting Pink Curtains
Nan!” I dropped the bike and ran to the door. “Nan!”
A woman in a uniform blocked the doorway. “Everything is fine. Your grandma fell, but she’s okay.”
I looked past the woman’s shoulder. A man in a matching uniform leaned over a sprawled-out and groaning lump on the floor wearing Nan’s high-heeled clogs. “Nan!” I yelled over my thundering heart.
The woman lowered a hand onto my shoulder. “She’s fine. Worst case, she’s got some broken bones. My partner is checking her out, and then we’ll take her down to the hospital for some X-rays. You know anyone named Pink?”
“What?” I asked. “No.” My voice was shaky and high, squeezed tight by the worry filling up my whole body.
“Well, she keeps saying that this is all Pink’s fault,” she said. “You can go talk to her before we transport her. Got anyone you can call?”
Rather than say no, I rushed past her and fell to my knees next to Nan.
“Nan, are you okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone here with all this work to do.” Tears rolled down my face and I quickly wiped them off.
“It’s not your fault. It’s my own and those dognasty, globsnotting PINK curtains!” Nan yelled and motioned to a toppled chair and a pile of pink fabric, winced, and grabbed her ribs. “I couldn’t stand them another second. I fell off the chair and cracked my side on the coffee table and twisted my ankle on the way down.”
“Ma’am, relax and be still,” the male paramedic said, pressing a hand on Nan’s arm.
She shrugged his hand off. “I’m a nurse. I’m due to start work at the nursing home tomorrow. Sorry I even called. Just a few bruised ribs, and I knocked my wind out. You guys can go on and get, and thank you very much.”
“Ma’am, we still need to take you in, and besides, you won’t be able to start work on Monday, not on that ankle. It’s already swelling, and your ribs need a closer look too,” he said. He shook his head, then tried to sneak a glance at the other EMT, but Nan caught him.
“My name is Nan Johnson, not ma’am. My call was an overreaction. I’m fine. Right as rain.” She sounded firm, tried to stand, and then cried out in pain. The paramedic helped her to the couch. Nan sucked in short breaths, and I noticed her ankle was already puffy, swelling so much the bone hardly seemed to be there at all. My muscles, my heart, and everything else inside clenched up, like they all jumped and huddled together for support.
“Just relax, Mrs. Johnson. We’ll get you in the ambulance and have X-rays done in no time,” the female paramedic said. “You’re going to be working at the nursing home?”
“That’s right,” Nan answered.
“And this is Dr. Burgess’s rental house? He’s doing rounds at the hospital now. This is his mother’s house you’re renting. Why don’t we let the doctor check you out? Just to be safe. So your granddaughter here won’t worry,” she said.
I nodded at Nan. “I’ll go with you,” I said, but my voice was all sobby and choked, so I cleared my throat and said it again. “I’ll go with you, Nan.”
“Sure, she can ride along in the ambulance. No problem,” the female paramedic said.
“All right. Fine,” Nan said, giving up. “Jubilee, grab my bag and my phone, will you?”
In the ambulance, machines beeped and whirred. Nan wasn’t hooked up to any of them, but even so, after a while it felt like each beep was talking to me.
BEEP: Spending time with another family.
BEEP: You were gone too long.
BEEP: This never would have happened if you’d been there.
BEEP: What will you do without Nan?
I held Nan’s hand and rested my forehead on the edge of the gurney. What would I do without her? The thought froze me solid. I couldn’t even imagine it. It was warm, even with the air-conditioning roaring, but I felt like I might break into a fit of shakes. Momma! Momma didn’t even know we’d moved!
I cried and didn’t bother to wipe away the evidence. Though Nan was the one who was hurt, she kept whispering to me, “It’ll be okay.” By the time we got to the hospital, I could barely hold my head up.
They made Nan lie on a stretcher and wheeled her in while she yelled, “This is completely unnecessary!” three or four times and said more almost-curses than I could count—a few full-on real curses too.
I followed her down a short hallway. All I could manage was a whispered, “I’ll be right here, Nan.”
They wheeled her off for X-rays, and the female paramedic showed me where to wait. She nudged my shoulder. “She’s only banged up. She’ll be fine.” Then she whispered, “She’s right, though. A lot of it is unnecessary. But better to be safe.”
I kept my head down.
“You want a Coke?”
I shrugged, and minutes later she handed me a cold can of soda. It was so quiet in the hallway, I could hear the bubbles fizzing inside the can.
Some nurses laughed at the front desk, and I shot them a look. Because of Nan’s jobs, I’d seen as many hospitals as I had new schools. One of the nurses smiled, came around the desk, and walked toward me. I stared at her shoes, wishing that when I looked up, it’d be Nan standing there, right as rain just like she’d said. “Hey, sweetheart, you want to use our phone to call someone? Might be nice to have some company while you wait?”
I looked up, shook my head, and said, “No, thank you.”
I sat in a plastic chair, staring at a row of identical seats across from me, each with at least one rusty leg. Paintings lined the hallway, all calm country scenes. Cows and pastures, tractors and grain silos. The painting right in front of me showed five geese flying over a red barn. But they weren’t relaxing me any. My pulse and my mind were racing. If Nan was really hurt, we’d need Momma’s help. I couldn’t call her without a plan—a plan and a really good excuse for not contacting her sooner.
Recently, Momma’d made a fuss about our relocating, and that fuss got louder and turned into an almost-argument after our last move. I didn’t want to give Momma any ex
tra reasons to cause trouble.
The doctor came over to where I was waiting, leaned over, and spoke to me with his face so close to mine I could smell his minty breath. “I’m Dr. Burgess. Your grandmother is going to be fine. She’s got a fractured rib and a hairline fracture in her ankle. The good news is, the breaks aren’t bad. She’ll need a wrap on her ribs and an Aircast on the ankle.” I started to cry again.
Dr. Burgess pulled a folded tissue from his pocket. “It sounds like a lot, but they’re all minor injuries. She’ll be fine if she takes it easy. You guys are living in Mother’s old house, so I know there are no stairs, but Nan will need more help than usual. She can’t drive. Is there anyone to help you?”
If I said no, then that might turn all my problems from regular-sized to Texas-sized. If I said yes, then I’d have to call Momma. Even if it was for a week or two, I didn’t want to ask if I could stay with her. She was on tour, and asking for help now meant she’d have to give that up—or that she wouldn’t. I’d rather not ask than deal with the answer. And without me, what would Nan do? So I said, “Yes, I’ve already talked to my mom.”
I didn’t normally tell through-and-through lies. Nan had a stockpile of quotes about lying, but I knew the situation called for more fibbing than usual, at least until I’d worked out what to do next.
Dr. Burgess smiled at me. “I hear Nan did battle with Mother’s old curtains.” He laughed. “I can’t count how many times I wanted to tear those things down myself. But considering Nan’s current condition, no more renovations without doctor and landlord approval. All right?”
I nodded.
He said Nan needed help, but he didn’t say that help couldn’t be from me. Nan and I, we stuck together. Sure, normally she was helping me, but I could manage the other way around. I just had to figure out how. When we were short on money—which happened a lot—we had to get creative with what we had and make it count, as per Relocation Rule Number 17: Forget what’s missing, and work with what’s not. That’s what I needed to do now.
It dawned on me that I had more to work with than usual. To start with, I had Abby’s number, and I had Nan’s cell phone. Nan wouldn’t like it, but it was going to take more than just the two of us. I’d prefer that excluded Momma for as long as possible.
When I walked into Nan’s room, she looked like my regular old Nan, only a little rumpled. “Jubilee,” she said and grimaced as she stood. “Lord, if it didn’t hurt to breathe, I’d hug you and never let go.” She reached out, cupped my chin, and raised my face so I looked her in the eyes. “You don’t have a thing to feel bad about. It was an accident, and my fault.” She switched to a whisper. “Now, let’s get the heck out of this dump.”
Abby and her mother picked us up in their beat-up minivan. I held Nan’s crutches as Abby’s mom tried to help her in, but Nan grunted, gritted her teeth, and got into the van on her own.
After a quick introduction, Abby’s mom talked and talked, and I was glad for the distraction. “Don’t worry, Nan. I’ve already got you signed up for A-Meal-to-Heal. A bunch of local churches work with all the restaurants in town and deliver to anyone homebound and healing. So, that’s you for the next few weeks. Normally, they stop and visit for a while too. Frank, that’s my husband, his restaurant, the One Stop, participates. And Abby’s going to ride her bike down every afternoon to check in. Don’t bother protesting. I’m the mayor. I get my way.” Abby’s mom smiled, but I could tell she meant business.
I began to feel like things might be all right, that I might be able to handle it. Abby squeezed my hand and smiled at me. I felt myself smile back and leak another tear. The only person not smiling was Nan. She prided herself on not needing any help, and I guessed needing some now bothered her almost as much as the pain.
As soon as their minivan spewed dust on its way out of our driveway, Nan hobbled to our door. She muttered, “Home sweet home,” before going in, her voice thick with sarcasm.
I stood in our new yard, not brown now but lit gray-blue from the full moon, and I listened to the nighttime chorus of singing toads and bugs. Even though I knew they couldn’t see me, I waved as Abby’s van turned toward her house and watched until I couldn’t see their taillights. Abby’s mom worked out all but one of my problems in a single ten-minute car ride. No wonder she was the mayor.
Momma’s check went toward our rent, and Nan’s money went to everything else. I eyed the shed behind our rental house and was reminded of one of the paintings at the hospital, the red barn. I had an idea. Maybe if I could sort out the everything else, I could worry about Momma later.
The moon hung low over a ridge lined with pines and oak trees. I almost whispered what Nan had said, only without the sarcasm. Instead, I closed my eyes, and thought those three words—home sweet home—more like a wish or prayer, and went inside.
Arlene Peavey
When it came to Abby, I didn’t have much of a choice whether to like her. I just did. And now, I didn’t have much choice about whether to depend on her. Monday morning, she showed up carrying a box loaded to the top with two loaves of banana bread, two pies, peanut butter cookies, corn muffins, a dish of macaroni and cheese, and a lasagna. “From Dad. He went a little overboard,” she said.
I waved her in and took the box to the kitchen table. “The A-Meal-to-Heal people should come soon. My errand might take an hour or so,” I said.
“Sure. What’s the errand?” Abby asked.
“Just to town.” I’d already asked Nan if I could ride to town and she’d agreed. Abby nodded and didn’t ask for more details.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Nan argued. She’d let me fix her hair and help her get dressed. If I ignored the limp and the wincing with every other movement, she looked great.
“Nan, you might need to reach something or pick something up. You need help. That’s why Abby’s here,” I said. Abby nodded.
“And I appreciate it,” Nan said. That was as close to an agreement as I was going to get.
“I just want to watch some non-twin TV. Can’t take another minute of singing adults dressed like birds and beavers,” Abby said. We made a plan for the whole afternoon, and her dad was ready, should Nan need anything big. But if Nan found out I’d asked for even more help, she might break her other ankle pitching a fit.
My new-old bike turned out to be more than hard on the eyes. Abby must have been a foot shorter the last time she rode it. I couldn’t figure out how to raise the seat, so my knees almost touched my earlobes when I pedaled. To make matters worse, I had dressed for success, not a bike ride. My skirt rose with every pedal push, and I almost wrecked three times trying to hold it down and steer one-handed.
My reflection in the window of the Fabric Barn was almost enough to keep me from going in. The clothes I’d spent so much time picking out were wrinkled and covered in dust, and strands of my hair had escaped my ponytail and curled out in a thin frizz halo. But I was willing to sacrifice my dignity if it meant I got to keep holding on to Hope Springs and my dream of the perfect place for me and Nan.
Both Holly Paine and Rayburn were almost exactly as Nan and I first found them. Only this time, instead of a book, Holly was reading the Hope Springs Gazette with Rayburn snoring at her feet.
I stood in front of her for a full minute before she folded the paper in half. “Almost done,” she muttered. Then she smacked it down on the counter and said, “That SmartMart outside of town is going to be open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. A Supercenter is what they’re calling it.” She scanned me over. “Honey, you look a mess.”
“I love to shop at SmartMart,” I said, deciding to ignore the other comment.
“That’s the problem. Everybody loves to shop there. All the local businesses will get shut out.” She slid the paper into the trash can. “Oh well, not much I can do. But maybe I can do something for you. I heard about Nan’s fall.”
“I came to take you up on the job offer. I could start today.” I felt good for two reasons. One:
I was being what Nan called “proactive,” taking charge and doing something. Two: The new season of Queen of Neat premiered in a few short hours, and Abby was staying to watch it with me. A sort of constant tremble rattled around my insides, like my nervousness and excitement were being mixed on high.
“Well, sure. I’ve needed help getting this place in order for years. Might as well start today. How about you help me sort out my back storage room? I’ll pay you at the end of the week. That sound good?” she asked.
I nodded. Surely, Nan and I could make do until the end of the week. We had plenty of food, and even if we needed gas money, Nan wouldn’t be driving anywhere.
Holly brushed her hands on her jeans and stood. “Follow me.” She led me to a door behind the counter. Rayburn readjusted his back end and panted from the effort. “I’ve got all the new orders in here. Problem is, I’ve got no place to put them.”
The back room was more of a tangled mess than the front. Unopened boxes were stacked along one wall, and bolts of fabric lay piled in tall pyramids covering almost every inch of floor space. The chaos left me speechless.
“I know. It’s bad,” Holly said.
Only a small space was free of any clutter. Standing in the clearing was something that looked like a table but, instead of a slab on top, it had only the edges, like old fancy table legs supporting a big empty picture frame. “What’s that?” I asked. I noticed the top part was more complicated than I’d thought. It wasn’t just a frame, but had aligned moving pieces and what looked like gears with little levers attached to the sides.
“A quilting frame. I used to have classes here. You ever work on quilts?” Holly ran her palm over the smooth wooden edge of the frame. “One of the oldest crafts there is, one with real heart. I could teach you, if you want?”
Right then, my skin was too busy crawling and my fingers too busy itching to organize to answer. I couldn’t think of anything but cleaning up. “Some of this is brand new,” I said.
“More than some. I couldn’t find any space for it.”