She said this over and over.
I remember being confused whenever she said this.
“Vietnam is a country,” I said to Gram. “How did it ruin Keith?”
“That war. That goddamned war,” she would answer, then turn away and walk out of the room.
44
Boyfriends give girlfriends presents on Valentine’s Day. I give Cherry a card, a box of chocolates, and a gold bracelet with her name on it in red stones. I went to Zales again. They were nice. They like me because I spend money.
Cherry has the day off at Marina Handy Mart and comes downstairs to eat lunch with us.
“Ohhhh I love it, Per!” She kisses me on the cheek three times and hands me a card and a box. I unwrap it. It is a giant box of Hershey ’s Kisses.
She knows exactly what I like. The card says Happy Valentine’s Day, Love, Cherry. She called me Per. She loves me. She wrote it down. That means it is true.
My mouth is dry and my heart is beating fast. Cherry must be my girlfriend now.
She gives me a hug and says, “At least someone around here remembers Valentine’s Day.” She sticks her tongue out at Keith, but he ignores her.
“I’m taking Sandy out tonight. You guys want to babysit? Per? Cherry?” Gary asks.
“Cherry won’t be able to. She’ll be busy tonight.” Keith says this quickly.
His voice has something in it I have never heard before. I see two red spots form on Cherry’s cheeks.
“Yeah, sure.” I am disappointed. Cherry will not be babysitting. “I’ll do it,” I tell Gary.
“It’s just so they don’t kill each other, Per. We really hate to leave them alone together. I’ll bring you home with me and then run you back when we’re done,” he says. “We shouldn’t be too late.”
I wish I could talk to Cherry about being my girlfriend before I leave, but she and Keith are in a corner of the store with their heads together. I see Keith take one of Cherry’s hands and bring it up to his lips.
Gary talks to me nonstop all the way to his house.
“So what’s up with Cherry and Keith?”
He looks at me sideways as he asks me this. I do not know what he means.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Nothing.”
I do not think anything is up.
Sandy has a list taped to the kitchen counter.
“It’s a school night, so they have to finish their homework before any computer games or TV. I’m counting on you, Perry.” Sandy has a black fuzzy dress on and pink lipstick.
Meagan hugs me around my waist and I hear Kelly before I see her.
“Mooooooom!” Kelly flings herself into a chair. “I don’t have any homework.”
“Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and carrot cake for dessert. The number of the club is on the fridge. We really appreciate this, Perry.”
Gary comes in with Sandy’s coat, grabs her around the shoulders, and sings out of tune, “I’m taking my best girlfriend out dancing for Valentine’s Day!” He swings her around the kitchen. She covers her ears.
“I better be your only girlfriend!” Sandy warns as Gary leads her out the door.
It must be really hard to be a parent, I think, as I eat dinner with Kelly and Meagan.
“You guys got homework?” I ask.
“No!” says Kelly.
“No!” says Meagan.
Being a babysitter is easier than being a parent. All you have to remember is kids lie and they tattle on each other.
“Kelly, you have homework. Meagan told me,” I say.
Kelly slaps Meagan.
“Hey, I never told!”
“You butt-face!”
“You’re the butt-face!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
I watch the clock.
Three hours later, I hear a key opening up the front door and I am very glad. Sandy must have seen the relief on my face as she set her purse on the sofa.
“Oh Perry! Were they awful? I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay,” I say, and go outside to Gary’s Jeep.
He drives me home, tells me about their dinner and dance, and asks me again about Keith and Cherry.
“Sandy thinks there’s something there.” He pulls up in front of the store. “What do you think?”
“We’re friends,” I say. “We’re all friends. We’re a family. I do not know what is there.” And I tell him good night.
Yo is nowhere in the parking lot and Diamond Girl is dark and still. I take a long, hot shower and throw myself down on my couch. I am all TVed out after Kelly and Meagan, and fall asleep on my stomach with my arms under my face.
The night glows. The moon is out. Music wakes me. I think I am dreaming.
“Diamond girl . . . sure do shine . . .”
My eyes open. My clock flashes. One-sixteen. The sound is coming from the parking lot. I get up. My head spins and I sit back down. When I feel better, I tiptoe to the window, and look out. It is dark. The stars are brilliant. They are on fire. All the lights in the world are reflecting in front of me in the water. Yo is in the parking lot and the driver’s door is wide open.
Music comes out of the inside of Yo. Keith and Cherry are dancing close together. I see their breath make little ghosts in the air. Keith is wearing a suit. I have never seen him in one and he does not look fat. Cherry’s dress is long, sparkly, and drags on the ground. Keith takes one hand and closes it around Cherry’s hair. He brings her head close to his and kisses her hard. They kiss for a long, long time. I watch them turn and walk slowly all the way down the dock, weaving to the boat, arm in arm.
Dancing. They look like Sandy and Gary.
"Day or night time. Like a shining star.”
Like a couple. The truck door hangs open. Music drifts through the air. And then I get it.
Dancing. Cherry is Keith’s girlfriend.
Not mine. And I start to cry.
The next morning Yo’s battery is dead.
45
My list is two pages long and I show it to Keith.
"What’s this?” he asks.
"The lottery list. See, I marked off TV, trip to Hawaii, and fix Diamond Girl and Yo. Remember our game we played with Gram?”
“What’s this next thing?” He squints his eyes. Keith needs glasses so he can read.
“The plot at Marysville Memorial Park. That is a cemetery,” I say.
“Plot?” He looks confused.
“I want to buy the plot next to Gramp so Gram can be with him.”
Keith tells me he thinks this is a good idea and that he will drive me to Marysville in Yo.
“Where is it again?” He asked this three times during breakfast.
“At the cemetery,” I remind him.
Cherry says she thinks she knows where it is and comes with us.
She does not.
We have an easy time finding Marysville but a hard time finding Marysville Memorial Park.
I know where it is, but I do not know how to get there. Keith does not know where it is and does not know how to get there. Cherry does not know where it is, but thinks she knows how to get there.
We stop at IHOP to look through their phone book. Then we have to eat pancakes. We also have to stop at the Chevron station in Marysville to ask and at Katy’s Bakery to get doughnuts. There is a Shell gas station at a stoplight, so we ask again just to make sure we are on the right road. This time Cherry writes down what they say.
Marysville Memorial Park is green and wet because either it has rained or maybe they just watered the lawn with sprinklers. The office is dark and has lots of wood paneling. I pet the walls and it feels like a metal slide. I can see myself on the surface and I make a face. Cherry sticks her tongue out at me like I am teasing her. We make faces at each other in the shine of the wall until Keith pokes us.
“Can I help you?” A tall white-haired man in a black suit walks out from behind a counter. He must be the cemetery man. He looks just like Gramp except Gramp had a mus
tache, was shorter, and is dead.
“We want to buy the plot next to George Crandall.” Keith knows exactly what to ask. We tell him Gram died last August and I start to cry. Cemetery man looks a little confused until I put Gram’s box on the counter. I do that just in case he needs to see her or talk to her or something. Like the evidence on Court TV. I like those kinds of shows. They are very cool.
The cemetery man’s name is Leo. That means lion.
It is going to cost more than $2,600, Leo says. I can buy the plot next to Gramp, but I still need a vault for Gram’s urn. That is a little marble house for dead people. It was very interesting. There are lots of other charges too.
“Do you want a graveside service?” Leo asks.
I look at Keith. “What do you think, Keith?” I ask.
“We can do our own,” Cherry tells Leo. Then to me hard in my ear, “They charge you for that, you know. They charge for everything.”
Cherry is very cost-conscious, that is what Keith says. “It’s good we have someone with us who watches the bottom line,” he says behind his hand.
We need someone to dig the hole for the vault and someone to bury it and then someone to fill the dirt in plus any engraving we want on the headstone. Then it will be eighty dollars for a special brass vase to hold Gram’s flowers. After Leo adds it all up, I write out the check and make it out to Marysville Memorial Park. They take Gram and I say good-bye. I am kind of sad because it was nice to have her at home, but I know she will be happier to finally be buried next to Gramp.
“You know you can have a small urn with some of the cremains inside to keep.” I do not know what Leo is saying and I jab Keith with my arm.
“What does he mean?” I ask. “What’s cremains?”
“You don’t want to know,” he tells me, and then to Leo, “Per would prefer to keep her all together.”
I have to cry again and even Keith looks teary. Cherry has to hug us both—first me, then Keith. We write what we want engraved on the graph paper.
Keith prints in big block letters: DOROTHEA MARIE KESSLER CRANDALL
“Anything else?” he asks. “How about dates?”
“No.”
“Why not? How about at least the years?” Cherry suggests.
“Okay,” I say, and write down the years.
“What about a saying?” Leo asks.
This is getting complicated. “What do you mean?” I ask. “I only thought about her name on the stone like Gramp’s.”
“You know like Rest in Peace. That sort of thing,” Cherry offers.
I know she is just trying to be helpful. “Gram never rested. She just slept and then was dead,” I tell her.
“Was there a poem she liked or a Bible verse you want to put under her name?” Leo asks.
I try to think of something, but Gram was never one for Bible verses.
“What about She will be missed or We loved her dearly?” When Leo says this all three of us start to cry and he has to open another box of Kleenex.
Then I get an idea, probably my best idea. When I write the words down, Keith laughs and Leo frowns.
“Are you sure?” Leo asks. “Are you very sure?” When we tell him yes, he takes our filled-out paper and says everything will be ready in twenty days.
Three weeks later Keith, Cherry, and I drive back to Marysville Cemetery with two huge bunches of purple irises, yellow daisies, pink roses, and white baby’s breath and we have our very own little private service.
Gram and Gramp are together now. The single large red granite headstone reads George Henry Crandall on one side and Dorothea Marie Kessler Crandall on the other with all the right dates below. And underneath in the middle?
Don’t Be Smart.
Gram would like that.
46
We need to talk.” John is on the phone. David, Louise, Elaine, John, and Mike call me each week. They ask about a check, about signing papers, about my Power, about selling the lottery payments, about investing. When I think it might be them, I sometimes let the answering machine get it. CeCe is the only one who does not call.
“She’s too busy buying shit for that pissy little dog of hers, that’s why,” Keith tells me.
Today I was expecting a call from Sandy so I picked up the receiver as the machine clicked on. Cherry recorded a greeting on my phone machine. It was in her voice, which sounded like I had my own secretary. That was so cool.
“Perry L. Crandall is not available to take your call. Please leave a message and he will get right back to you. Beeeep!” I liked it because it sounded very businesslike, but Keith told me I needed a much cooler one.
He recorded, “Perry L. Crandall is out smoking dope and spending all his money and has no intention of returning any of his calls. Beeeep!”
John got upset when he heard it and called Keith rude and irresponsible. David laughed and said it was funny. Louise hung up because she thought she dialed the wrong number and Elaine screamed many bad words that were recorded.
“My family does not like my phone greeting,” I tell Keith, Gary, and Cherry.
“That’s tough!” Keith says.
“Too bad,” says Cherry.
“What greeting?” asks Gary.
Keith and Cherry are now having the answering machine wars and I have nothing to do with it.
Today it says, “Perry L. Crandall is hunting yurts in Mongolia. If he survives he will return your call.” Yurts are tents, Keith told me. You do not hunt them and I am not in Mongolia. That’s okay.
“Perry! Are you there?” John’s words are loud like he thinks I cannot hear. We are being recorded because I picked up the phone too late.
“Yes, I am here.”
I do not know what he wants me to say. It is hard to guess what will make them hang up or what will make them happy. I try to figure it out just to get them off the phone. I wish Keith were here, but he is downstairs.
My family makes me uncomfortable when they call. They ask how I am. They ask what I am doing, but before I can answer, they ask about the money.
“How you doing, Perry?” John does not wait for me to talk and asks, “Have you thought any more about cashing in the lottery payments and investing in—” I hear something that sounds like trustmutualdividendsandinvestintaxshelterannuities . It is one long word and does not mean anything to me.
Gram said my cousin-brothers never called after Gramp died because they were afraid she would ask for money. She never did. We had everything we needed, although it would have been nice to have our TV fixed when it broke. Louise is better to deal with because she asks for a check and I can just mail one to her now. I do not have to see her. I do not have to talk with her. I have no idea what color her hair is now. Mailing checks is easier than talking.
“What, John? What do you need?” Even though I ask, I know what it will be about. He wants to talk about the money. He always wants to talk about the money. Before the lottery, he never called. Before the lottery, we had nothing to talk about. Now we do. We talk about the money. We talk about money and checks. David, John, and Elaine all want to help me with the money.
“Things are coming to a head here. We’re running out of time. Mike and I were discussing your situation the other night. Everybody ’s worried about you. Do you have a will, Perry?” John speaks extra slow like he thinks I do not understand American.
“A will? I don’t think so. Why?” I know this has something to do with the money, but I have nothing else to say.
“We think you need one. Mike says you’re a real businessman. He says you need a will to be a businessman.”
“Mike is smart. A will sounds cool.” I like it when people call me a businessman.
“Look, Perry, Mom’s not doing too well with her investments. She needs money. I have some pressing financial obligations. David has money problems of his own. We were all hoping you’d help us out. After all, we’re family. We want you to sell your lottery annuity. Invest in the family trust. Share your winnings. It wou
ld be the fair thing to do. I mean, we would if it were us.”
I hear Gram snort in my head. Likely story.
I am thinking hard. “What do you want me to do?”
He sounds excited now. “Have you talked about what you want to do with the money to Mike Dinelli? About signing a Power of Attorney? ” John asks. “He’s an excellent financial adviser. He works closely with us. Let him know you want to work with him. Want to sign. Take his advice. He wants to help you. Help us. We can set up another meeting. I’ll tell him you’ve agreed to sign the Power of Attorney. We’re friends. He’s a great guy.” John’s voice sounds like he is sucking one of those balloons that make you talk funny.
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s my friend too.” There is that word Power again. I feel like the Hulk.
I hear Gram in my head again. Careful.
“You should listen to what he has to say. Tell him you’ll listen. Tell him you’ll sign. Please, Perry, this is important.” John will not stop talking.
I want to ask why but I do not. The word why makes John the maddest even though he does not shout when he hears it. I can tell he is angry whenever I use it. It is scary to annoy him. Right now, he acts like he is happy. He sounds even more excited.
“Perry, it will be so much better when you finally let all of us help you. There are legal ways of decreasing the tax bite. It’s ludicrous that you haven’t taken advantage of our expertise before. It’s a real waste. For instance, when we create the trust, we can manage it for you. You wouldn’t have to do a thing. Just spend your money. We will do all the work. You’ll see. I’m setting up a meeting. You won’t regret it. You hear me?”
I do not say a word. I do not have to. John does all the talking. He always does. One minute he and David want to help me invest my lottery money, and the next, they want to split it between us. It is very confusing.
When I hang up, it is pouring. I can see wet drops on my window. I used to call rainy days sad days.
“The sky is crying,” I would tell Gram. “The sky is crying for Gramp.”
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