“Ethan.”
“Ethan. Hmm. He go to church?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Ah. Well, you just remember what I taught you. Your body is a tem—”
“Yes, I know. My body is a temple, whatever that means.”
“What?” She sits straight up and smacks my arm. “You better know what that means.”
“Nanny.” Our eyes meet, her imposing gaze met by an imposing gaze of my own. “Maybe someone should teach that particular Bible-ism to Dad.” I stand up and walk toward the whistling kettle.
“You better hush. Your daddy is a good and decent man.”
“Right. I’m sure every one of his girlfriends will tell you that.”
“Don’t you dare judge him. He’s a very honorable person.”
“Mmm-hmm . . .”
“I don’t think I care for your sarcasm. Your father has never even introduced you to one of those women. You know why? None of them been good enough.”
“Really?” I take out two of her china teacups and pair them with their matching saucers. “But they’re still good enough to spend the night with?”
“Girl, you are exasperation personified. Bring me my tea; 165
you’re raisin’ up my blood pressure.”
Now that I’ve already upped her blood pressure, I decide to push it even higher. I hand her a teacup and sit down again beside her.
“Listen. On Easter, after I told you about finding Mom, why were you searching for her in Sault Sainte Marie?”
Once again, she sits up. Busted.
“You been snooping on me?”
“No.” I put my cup down on the small glass-topped coffee table in front of us. “It was an accident, when I went in your office for ribbon. But if you knew where she was, why didn’t you tell me?”
Nanny is silent. She does that—takes her time to think before she speaks. I didn’t inherit that particular family gene.
“Well, she had some contact with your father a few years back. He told me that’s where she was. I figured she’d moved on by now, but when you dropped that huge bomb on me, I thought I’d check up on the situation.” She takes a sip of tea.
“Have you talked to her?”
“No, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Nothing.”
She shakes her head and tsk-tsks. “Don’t do it, Sheridan.
Please don’t. Let her come to you. She will if and when she’s finally ready.” Nanny wipes her eyes. I’m surprised to see that she’s crying. “I know it stinks to high heaven, but I don’t want you getting hurt.”
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“Nanny, don’t worry.” I pat her leg. She looks terrible and she’s crying harder now. I want so badly to spill my guts. I want to tell her I’m going to Chicago, the day after tomorrow, to bring Mom back.
But she’s so upset, I can’t. I can’t make her understand that Mom will not hurt me and that this is something that I have to do.
Nanny sniffs. I put the cup back down and lean over, into her shoulder. “Don’t cry, Nan. It’s okay.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to be wailin’ like a newborn, but if I see you get hurt again, I don’t know what I’ll do.” She sits up and wipes her eyes. “You know what? I think we need some cheesecake.”
I laugh. Cake cures all in the mind of my grandmother.
“Nah, I better go home. I’ve got some homework to finish.”
“Gracious, girl, I didn’t know that.” She stands up and groans. “Then go. Shoo, shoo.”
I drain my cup. “Thanks for the tea,” I say as she walks me to the door. We stand face-to-face as she swings it open.
“You know I love you more than anything else on this great big earth?” she says, her voice breaking.
I make a mental map of the crinkles around her eyes, focus on the sparkle in the deep blue flecked with gold.
“I know you do.” And she gives me the hug of my life, tight and tender all at the same time. “I love you, too.”
The walk home is quiet and cold. When I get to my 167
room, I throw my schoolbag off the bed. It falls on its side, and out slips the dreaded sketchbook. I pick it up and flip it open. The project is due in one week. I need to finish it. I need to start it.
Mrs. Ely doesn’t get it. Art is hard for me. With cakes, I can talk to customers and come up with a design that they’ll love. With art, there is no one to consult; it’s just me and the paper. Scary.
I pull a charcoal pencil out of my desk drawer, and my hand starts to draw a curved line, a jaw, a loose lock of hair that looks like sunshine. Eyes that curve downward and seem sort of sleepy. My mother.
I rip the page out and crumple it up. Every once in a while I try to draw her, but whenever I do, it’s the same story.
All wrong; a terrible likeness. Honestly, I barely remember what she looks like anymore. It scares me.
I need to get to her soon, before she disappears forever.
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Chapter 14
that takes the cake
The party for Growly starts in half an hour, but I’m still recovering from the school day. Wasserman is trying to murder us slowly with chemical equations, and Mrs. Ely asked to see our projects so far. I had to lie and tell her I left my sketchbook at home. “Monday, then. I want to see it on Monday,”
she said as if she knew full well that I hadn’t completed even one of the ten drawings we’re supposed to sketch and color.
People are already showing up in the parish hall. Lots of people. In fact, it looks like the whole town is here. My beautiful cake is sure to be history in record time.
“Dat is the best one yet,” Mr. Roz says, nodding toward the fondant flower garden I’ve created. “How you say? It
‘takes cake’?” He says that about every cake; it’s our little joke. And then I say, “It takes THE cake.” And then he says,
“Where it take the cake?” He laughs and pats my back, then takes a few pictures for the bakery’s Web site before it’s all gone.
I humor him with a chuckle and adjust a tiny hydrangea bloom. It really is perfect.
As the party progresses, I am called a genius more times than I can count by the guests. A steady stream of thank-yous comes out of my mouth as I help the guys from Sheridan & Irving’s get set up. They are handling the bar and serving hors d’oeuvres. People are practically drooling over the spread in front of them. There’s even a rumor going around that Chef Wells himself will make an appearance.
Oh, brother.
I don’t think he’ll come at all. He made an appearance in my bedroom doorway about an hour ago and handed me a card to give to Growly.
Then he had the nerve to get all “dad” on me. I had put on my favorite jeans and a tightish, lowish-cut shirt that makes the most of whatever miniscule curves I have.
“You wearing that?” Dad asked.
“Yes,” I said without a moment’s hesitation.
He grunted. “I don’t want you wearing something like that in South Bend.” He also thinks Lori and I are going to Notre Dame for the weekend. I had told him that I was feeling stressed and needed some time away. He hadn’t liked the idea of my being gone right before the show, so I cried a 170
little, and then he said yes. Doesn’t suspect a thing.
“Fine,” I said as he turned to leave.
Once he was gone, I reached into my jewelry box and picked up my mom’s heart-shaped note. I felt like I needed it. For luck or something.
Now at the party, Father Crowley walks up to me with a glass of wine in his hand, his face puckered into its usual scowl. The man is never happy.
“Good evening, Sheridan,” he says, oh-so-friendly-like.
“I’ve heard the cake is your creation?” He has me in his death glare.
“Yes, it is.”
I’m sure he’s going to wag a finger and remind me I’m doomed because I never go to church. But something even freakier happens. He smiles. Then laughs. Then pats my
arm. “Well, it’s just wonderful. Thank you!”
He is still smiling, and I am more than a little creeped out. I’ve never seen him this cheerful.
“You’re welcome.” I look sideways. “No big deal.” Someone get me out of here, please.
“I mean, the way you captured my roses, and the peo-nies. And the lilies, in sugar! You are just brilliant . . . such a gift. It really is quite an honor to be the subject of one of your masterpieces.”
I don’t know what to say to him, and then I remember Dad’s card. I run over to the chair where I’ve hung my coat, pull it out, and hand it to him.
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“It’s from my dad.”
He opens it and his smile grows wider. “Ah. Your father . . .” Growly laughs, fanning out four tickets in front of him. “Tickets to Godspell! He’s a good man. Such a good and thoughtful friend.”
A good man who never goes to church? Who walks out in the middle of mass? My eyes grow wide. Not only is Growly a big grump; he’s blind, too.
Growly moves on and Nanny walks over and gives me a squeeze. She is looking better, and I am relieved. Lori is here with her mom and stepdad. No sign of Jack.
Mrs. Klunder, the church secretary, is at the mic, and she calls Growly to the small stage that’s been set up. Soon a series of never-ending toasts begins. I walk over to Lori, who said she’d help me work so I that I could meet Ethan but has instead set up residence at the hors d’oeuvres table.
“What up, dawg?” she says, shoving a crab-stuffed mushroom into her mouth. “Mmm, good ’shrooms,” she says with her mouth full. She swallows. “You all ready for tomorrow?”
She’s the best kind of friend. No questions, no lectures; just always there for me. Here she is, driving me to Chicago, and looking forward to it. Now that is a friend. Jack could take lessons from her.
I nod. We are leaving at six in the morning so that we can get to the convention center by nine, when the competition starts. One change of clothes in my duffel, pj’s, toothbrush, and iPod—that’s all I need.
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“More importantly, are you ready for tonight? You better report back to me everything that happens. . . . No detail too small.” She picks up another mushroom. “He is so fine. I bet he’s a world-class kisser. I bet he tastes yummy.”
“Shh!” I warn, staring sideways at the old retired ladies next to us. “You want the whole town to know?”
“So what if they all know. Sheridan, you’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s totally hot!”
“Would you hush?” I whisper, moving closer to her. “All right, fine. I’d say he ranks somewhere between tiramisu and a rich ganache … tastewise.”
She curls her lip. “Oh. Ganache, huh? Real sexy. Sounds like something you dig out of your butt.”
“Gross.” I laugh again, wondering what I’d do without Lori. “He is a good kisser, you know.” I lower my voice as a trio of nuns pass nearby. “But I really suck at it.”
“Oh God, give me a break. Don’t obsess about this, too.
You just do it. And enjoy yourself!” She’s saying this way too loud when I feel hands on my shoulders.
“You girls having a good time?” It’s Nanny. My eyes grow wide.
“Yeah. Great time.”
“Good. I know I’m ready for the speechifyin’ to be over.
I want to boogie.”
Lori nearly snorts her third stuffed mushroom out of her nose. I shake my head. Nanny gets up, kisses my cheek. “Have fun, girls. I’m gonna go see if I can get this party started.”
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It’s a full house in the Blessed Sacrament parish hall. Everyone seems to be having fun. There are lots of old folks, but also plenty of young people, kids, and babies. Certainly, every Catholic in St. Mary is here, and at least one Baptist.
When the music starts, Nanny is the first one on the dance floor. There’s a deejay playing Sinatra and other sing-ers who might appeal to someone turning eighty. Lori and I, in the meantime, bus tables, push in chairs, help walk the old people to the dance floor.
I’m watching the clock. Eight. One hour until Ethan.
In another half hour, the food is gone and the cake has been reduced to a mashed-up pile of icing and crumbs, but the deejay is still going strong. He’s finally escaped the 1940s, and there are kids all over the dance floor. Even Father Crowley is out there, and I can’t believe it, but he’s doing the Electric Slide. Frightening. I hope this ends soon; I need to head home and get myself ready.
Lori and I stack chairs to give everyone the hint. That’s when I hear the first few notes of “Mamma Mia.” Oh God, we’re doomed if they start playing ABBA; Nanny will have the deejay play all their greatest hits by the time she’s done.
As I stack another chair, I turn and witness my grandmother getting funky with Mr. Roz. Oh, that’s just wrong.
I turn and pick up another chair, bend over to pick up a crumpled napkin. Someone screams.
“What in the . . . ?” Lori says.
“Lilian!” a man yells. That’s Nanny’s name, and the 174
world clicks instantly into a weird sort of slow motion. I turn and see a pair of stockinged feet sticking out from the middle of a group of people who are all hunched over and staring at something on the floor. Nanny. She’d taken her shoes off to dance.
“Call 9-1-1!” someone shouts, and through a space in the crowd, I see her. Mr. Roz and Growly are on their knees. A man pushes Roz out of the way and starts to do CPR. He’s pushing on her chest so hard.
“Sheridan.” Lori is next to me. But I walk away from her and move, zombie-like, to my grandmother.
My heart is beating too fast. I can hear it throbbing inside my head. “What is it?” I ask. People are talking, but I can’t understand a word. The man pounds on her chest.
There’s her face. It’s gray. Her eyes are closed.
I don’t know how much time passes before two men in dark blue uniforms run into the hall and order everyone to move. One of them listens for a heartbeat and feels for a pulse, and the other gets out those crazy paddles like they use on TV. “Clear!” he yells, and sticks them on her chest.
Her body pops in an unnatural way. The paramedic presses on her wrist again.
“I’ve got it!” he says. In a matter of seconds, there’s an oxygen mask on Nanny’s face and she’s lying on a gurney.
There’s a commotion at the stairs, and my father runs in, dressed in his chef whites.
“How long has she been out? Mom! Mom!”
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I can’t make sense of what they’re saying. Roz, Dad, and Growly follow the paramedics as they wheel her out.
But I can’t seem to move. “Sheridan.” Lori’s voice cuts through the sound of my heartbeat. Her parents already went home, but I hear her call them, telling them what’s happened.
Lori hangs up and leads me outside. We watch them push Nanny into the back of an ambulance. Dad stands back, hands on his head. He looks completely freaked. Panicked.
We catch sight of each other. He walks up to me with purpose.
“Sheridan. Can you get a ride to the hospital?”
Lori answers for me. “My mom’s on her way. We can follow.”
I am shaking. He grabs me by the shoulders.
“Calm down, Sheridan. We need to keep it together; Nanny needs us.” He hurries back into the ambulance, and I watch as they pull away in a blur of lights and sirens.
Soon, Lori’s mom drives up, and we get into the car. I hope she drives fast. My eyes close tight.
Don’t let her die, God. Don’t let her die! Don’t you dare let this be part of your plan.
We are in the buttery yellow waiting room of the hospital in Grand Rapids. I was born here. But now I stand at the window and look out at the black night.
There are no stars in the sky. Just clouds. It’s nine thirty.
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And Ethan is waiting for me by the lighthouse. But I can’t call him. The hospital has no signal, and I’m afrai
d to go outside, to leave Nanny. They rolled her in over an hour ago and still no word.
He will be angry. Probably break up with me. Even after I explain, I have a feeling that he won’t care. He’ll finally understand what I told him. I am a part of this triangle. A part of this family. And when you take away one side of a triangle, it falls. At least for now, I need to be here to hold up my side.
A doctor comes through the swinging doors at one end of the room and walks to my father, who has been sitting in a chair, completely silent, looking down at his lap. They talk. After a few minutes, the doctor leaves, and we all clam-ber over to Dad, afraid to hear what he has to say. Lori grabs my hand, and I watch the worried faces of Father Crowley, Mr. Roz, and Lori’s mom.
“What he say?” asks Mr. Roz. I’ve never seen him upset about anything. But Nanny is his best friend.
“She’s having a bypass. It’ll be a while before we know anything for sure.” I feel terrible for even thinking about Ethan breaking up with me when my own grandmother is on an operating table, the chest that’s caught me in so many squishy hugs cut open, her heart in some random doctor’s hands.
Please don’t let her die. Please don’t let her die.
“Bonnie.” Dad turns to Lori’s mom. “Why don’t you 177
take the girls home?” He looks at me. “You were spending the night, weren’t you? So that you could go to South Bend?”
His voice is razor-sharp, and his eyes are strange. Like he knows it’s a lie. But there’s no way he could have found out.
The only other person who knows is . . . Jack. He wouldn’t have told on me.
“I want to stay here,” I say. There’s no way I can leave Nanny.
Dad’s eyes blaze at me. Lori takes a step back. “Sheridan, can I have a word alone with you?” he says.
He walks down the long white hallway and stops by a water fountain, then bends down, gets a drink. When he stands again, I can see clearly that he is fuming mad. And I am afraid.
“Just tell me the truth. Were you really planning on going to Notre Dame this weekend?”
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