by Sonja Yoerg
On their way out, she told her father where she was going. He gave her a long look, like she was doing this to make trouble again.
Aunt Janine said, “Don’t worry, Walt. We’ll be back before you know it.”
“All right, then. Tell her happy birthday from me.”
Aunt Janine didn’t talk much on the drive. Alison had a lot of questions she might’ve asked, but her aunt’s mind was on something else. That was fine with Alison, who was glad to get away from her parents.
The hills rolled by, the woods a collection of tree skeletons, the rivers muddy and swollen, the fields bristling with corn stubble. The sky was blue but not summer blue. It was deeper than that, as if the atmosphere had thinned and space had moved closer, bringing the stars on their midnight sheet to the brink of day. Alison, too, was at the edge of something. She fingered the blue box she’d stashed in the pocket of her jacket. Maybe her grandmother could tell her what it was for, and give her hope, because she sure could use some.
They wound into the village of Underhill. Alison peered out the window, reading shop signs.
“Look! There’s a bakery. Let’s get her something, okay?”
“Let’s not go overboard.”
“Did you have cake on your last birthday?”
“Well, in fact, I did. Your mother made a carrot cake.” She sighed, pulled up to the curb and handed Alison her wallet. “Not an entire cake, okay?”
“Be right back.”
She bought three cupcakes—chocolate, vanilla and lemon—figuring Grandma could choose her favorite. She guessed it would be vanilla, same as her. Holding the pink cardboard box by the string, she slid into the car.
They continued through the village, past the large, old houses that ringed a small green, and out the other side. On the right appeared a wide lawn stretched in front of a row of tall brick buildings. Many times, Alison had tried to remember what the hospital looked like and couldn’t, but now it was familiar.
“Welcome to the loony bin,” Aunt Janine said.
She parked the car and they walked to the entrance.
“We should’ve brought flowers,” Alison said.
“It doesn’t matter. She’ll be happy to see you. If she remembers you.” She turned to Alison. “Don’t be upset if she doesn’t, okay?”
“I won’t.”
Aunt Janine signed them in, and they flipped through old magazines in the waiting area.
Her aunt stuffed the copy of Woman’s Day into the rack and sighed loudly. “I hate this place.”
“Why?”
“Because it smells and it’s depressing.”
Alison looked around at the yellow-gray walls and the light pouring in through the high windows. “It’s not that bad.”
Her aunt shook her head and smiled a little. “Let’s hope today it’s not.”
A few minutes later a man in white opened the double doors and waved them in. They followed him down a corridor to a lounge with a dozen people in it—both patients and visitors, Alison guessed from the little groups. She recognized her grandmother right away, sitting at a card table by the window, holding the arms of her chair as if she hadn’t decided to sit or stand. Grandma smiled at her and Aunt Janine. Alison smiled back and went up to her.
“Happy birthday, Grandma.” The skin on her face was like an eggshell, her eyes bleary but not frightening or unfriendly.
“Thank you, dear.”
Aunt Janine came beside Alison and kissed her mother’s cheek as if it were on fire. Her aunt took a seat across the table and made a commotion arranging her coat and her handbag and the bag with the present, acting kind of mental herself. Grandma peered at her daughter with her head sideways. Once Aunt Janine was settled, she caught her mother’s look and frowned.
“I’m Janine.”
From the look on Grandma’s face, that didn’t help a lot. “Where’s Carole?”
“She couldn’t make it. She’s not well. Nothing serious, of course.”
Grandma pointed a not-quite-straight finger at Aunt Janine. “Janine, you say?”
“Yes, Janine.” She raised her eyebrows at Alison to say, You see?
“Pleased to meet you, Janine,” Grandma said uncertainly. She looked at Alison, who stood holding the bakery box, not quite sure what was going on. “You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you, Alison.”
“Great,” Aunt Janine said. “Just great.”
“I’m in sixth grade.” Alison set the box on the table and sat down. “We brought you cupcakes and a present. The flavors are chocolate, vanilla and lemon. It’s your birthday so you get to choose first.”
“Oh, how nice. Vanilla, then.”
Alison nodded, suddenly happier than she’d been in who knew how long. She untied the string, opened the box and offered her grandmother a cupcake. “No candle. Sorry.”
Aunt Janine said, “They probably don’t allow them here anyway.”
Her aunt didn’t want a cupcake. Alison picked the lemon one, and she and her grandmother ate while Aunt Janine stared out the window.
When they finished, Aunt Janine pushed the present across the table. “Happy birthday.”
Grandma smiled at her like she wasn’t used to taking presents from strangers. She unwrapped the box more slowly than Alison thought possible, folding the paper neatly before opening the lid, and removing an emerald green cardigan. “Oh, how lovely. Thank you both.”
“And Carole,” Aunt Janine said.
“Yes, dear Carole. Too bad she couldn’t come.”
Alison said, “That color is really nice for redheads like us.”
Her grandmother nodded and a warm feeling of belonging surprised Alison. This was the perfect moment.
“I have something to show you, Grandma. To ask you about.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out the blue box and displayed it in her palm.
“What is it?” Aunt Janine asked.
“A box,” Alison said.
“I can see that.”
“It’s Grandma’s.”
Her grandmother’s gaze was glued to the box. Alison didn’t know what to make of her expression. It seemed to contain more feelings than Alison had names for.
Alison said, “It’s special, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes.” Grandma looked up. Her eyes were as green as the sweater folded in her lap. “My mother gave it to me.” She pursed her lips and swung her head back and forth, like she was trying to get something moving in there. “To help me. At least that’s what she tried to do.”
Aunt Janine pushed back her chair. “I haven’t a clue what either of you are talking about. We should be going anyway.”
Alison ignored her. She cupped the box in her hands. “How, Grandma? How could this help you—or anyone?”
Grandma closed her eyes tight. Alison closed hers, too. Maybe if she linked her mind with her grandmother’s, she could help her remember. She fell inside herself drifting, floating. A pair of white shutters appeared before her. She lifted the latch and a breeze blew the shutters open, revealing an empty space, cobalt blue, same as the box. Alison’s heart rose in her chest like it might wriggle through her ribs and take flight. She opened her eyes.
Her grandmother was waiting for her. “It can bring someone back to you, someone who should’ve been there all along.”
“Who? Who was your mother trying to get back?”
“Me.”
34
Janine
The entire drive home, Alison chatted about her grandmother as if she was her new best friend. Maybe the girl was as relieved as she was that Solange had managed to be relatively sane for an hour. Janine would have appreciated being recognized by her mother, but she hadn’t expected miracles. She had done her duty for her sister and that was that.
The excursion to Underhill had temporarily distracted Janine
from the situation with Greg, but as they made their way to Adams, she began to turn over possible strategies for winning him once more. There weren’t many. Maybe she should give up and move to some other low-rent Vermont town, find another Greg, one that didn’t have an April Honeycutt barnacle attached. The problem was that she liked this Greg rather a lot. Too much.
“Aunt Janine?”
She hadn’t heard a word the kid had said for a good five minutes. “Uh-huh?”
“I was saying how great it would be if Grandma could come have Thanksgiving with us, at our house. Just for the day.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I know she was okay today, but she’s not always like that.”
Alison stiffened. “Seems like lots of other people aren’t okay, but nobody cares about that.”
Janine didn’t know what she was talking about and wasn’t inclined to pursue it. The kid was getting weirder all the time. It might have been a mistake taking her to see her grandmother. All that nonsense over a little box.
“Your grandmother has been at Underhill a long time. Leaving, even just for the day, would probably upset her.”
“Or maybe that’s just easier for everyone.”
Good lord, she was moody. Two minutes ago she was chirping away and now she was on a crusade to repatriate her nutcase grandmother into the family, pulling Janine into the middle of it. This was why she never wanted to be dragged to Underhill. And certainly not with a temperamental kid who couldn’t be satisfied with a cupcake and a car ride. What a waste of time.
The garage and its charming auto graveyard came into view, and Janine breathed out a sigh of relief. The birthday jaunt was over. She pulled off the road and came to a stop alongside the pumps.
Alison swung the door open. “Thanks for letting me come along, Aunt Janine. I’m really glad I went.”
Jekyll had become Hyde again. “Thanks for the company.” Over Alison’s shoulder, she caught sight of a light blue car on the lift in the garage. A Comet with Connecticut plates. She’d been stalking it long enough to be certain it belonged to April Honeycutt. “Tell you what. That visit to your grandmother put me in the mood for family. I’m going to pop in and say hi to everyone.”
“Okay.” Alison trotted off.
Janine parked next to Carole’s car, got out and wound past the pumps to the garage. She had no plan, but if there was an opportunity, she sure as hell was going to take it.
Through the glass front of the office, she spied Walt conferring with a tall man at the counter. The waiting area was empty. Janine proceeded to the garage and stood behind the car on the lift. Lester was under it with his back to her. A VW station wagon with the hood propped open occupied the other bay, but no one was working on it.
“Hey, Lester.” She spoke softly. He startled easily, and she didn’t want tools flying.
He startled anyway, jerking around to face her, wrench in hand. “Hi, Aunt Janine!”
“What are you working on?”
His eyes lit up. “This is Miss Honeycutt’s car. My teacher. She’s not here now, though. Mr. Bayliss picked her up. They were both here, my teacher and Alison’s. Isn’t that neat!”
A sour taste flooded her mouth. “How exciting for you.” She clenched her fists. Next to her was a bench with an array of heavy tools. She fought to keep her hands at her sides and not pick up one of them—the crowbar would do nicely—and smash the shit out of the car.
Lester waited, staring, thrilled to have her attention.
“So, Lester, what’s wrong with this nice car?”
“Not too much. I’m adjusting her brakes.”
“And you can handle that?”
“Sure can, Aunt Janine. Mr. LaPorte showed me how. It’s not hard at all.” He grinned, proud and eager. “Wanna see?”
“Absolutely.” She had never been interested in car mechanics—other than what her husband, Mitch, had insisted she learn for safety’s sake—but now she was rapt.
“These here are the brake pads, and when they wear down you have to move them closer.”
“Makes sense.”
“Cars always make sense, Aunt Janine.” He pointed with his wrench to the adjuster on the back of the brake drum. “So I move the pads all the way in, then out a little bit.”
“That’s it?”
“Uh-huh. Except we always check the lines, in case they’re rusted or something.”
“The brake lines?”
“Yup. Them.” He swept the wrench along a narrow metal tube running front to rear. “I checked them both already.”
“No holes?”
Saliva flew as Lester burst out laughing. Janine curbed her annoyance at being laughed at by someone with an IQ near seventy, and concentrated on the job at hand. “What’s so funny?”
“If the brake line had a hole, the brakes wouldn’t work at all, Aunt Janine. We check them to see if there’s maybe going to be a hole later.”
Janine traced the brake line to where the metal linked to an S-shaped rubber hose. From there it went somewhere near the brake drum. She suppressed a gleeful laugh and smiled broadly at her nephew. “You’re doing a great job, Lester. I’m impressed.” She flipped through a flywheel of options for distracting him and settled on a simple one. This was Lester, after all. “Your mother’s calling you.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Well, I did. You’d better go.”
He frowned. “Okay, Aunt Janine.”
“And please tell her I’ll be there in a sec. I need to get something from my car.”
“Okeydokey.”
He lay the wrench down and sidled through the door to the office. Before the door closed again, Janine confirmed that Walt was still conferring with the customer, but probably not for much longer. He wasn’t a big talker. Janine scanned the workbench for a blade, or something she could abrade the rubber with. The metal saw in front of her was too large, too crude. Why wasn’t there a simple knife? Her heart thumped in her chest as she turned to the adjoining table. Screwdrivers, wrenches, other tools she didn’t know the names for. The front office door chimed. The customer leaving? Someone else arriving? She hadn’t heard a car drive up. In desperation, she yanked open a drawer. Boxes of screws. She opened another one. More screws. A third. An assortment of junk. She raked it aside and pulled the drawer out farther. A narrow, rounded piece of serrated metal with a wooden handle. A file.
In two steps she was under the right front wheel. Her heart pounded in her ears so loudly she’d have been deaf to anyone approaching. It didn’t matter; she just had to be quick. She reached up, grasped the black rubber hose and ran the file back and forth along the top, close to where it joined the wheel, where the damage would be least noticeable. She pressed down, gently, wary of going all the way through. How thick was this hose anyway? Better too little than too much. Walt or Lester had checked for any weak spots, hadn’t they? She slid the file across one more time, returned to the workbench, tossed the file inside and slammed it shut. Brushing off her hands, Janine hurried out of the garage.
The tall man was getting into his truck. Janine reached the office windows and slowed. A door closed behind her, maybe Walt going into the garage. She didn’t look.
She retrieved her handbag from the front seat of her car. She leaned against the door, taking deep breaths, striving to quell the mixture of rage, fear and hope coursing through her. It was done. Whatever would happen, would happen. Soon, she hoped. It had to be soon, didn’t it? Ah, well, it was out of her control now. She’d done everything she could.
Her stomach settled. She checked her hands for grease and, finding them clean, arranged a pleasant look on her face and walked casually across the lot. A short visit with Carole, then home. Perhaps an afternoon movie on the television and a glass of wine. With any luck she’d soon have so
mething to celebrate.
35
Alison
Alison thanked her aunt for taking her to visit her grandmother and went into the garage office. Her dad was busy with a customer, so she wound past the counter and into the house. She didn’t want to talk to him anyway. The chairs were upside down on the kitchen table. Her mother was on the far side of the room mopping the floor.
“Hi, Mom.”
Her mother straightened and blinked at her. “Watch out. It’s wet.”
Alison tiptoed across the room in giant steps to the wood floor in the hallway. “Grandma said she was sorry you couldn’t come.”
“Oh. I wish I could have. I’ve just been so—” She stared out the window, studying the sky, as if the explanation for how she’d been was a weather report.
Alison felt sorry for her. Again. Still. It was like a toothache. “We brought her some cupcakes and she loved the sweater.”
Her mom pulled away from the window. Her forehead was creased but she smiled a little, too. “I’m glad. I’m glad she had company on her birthday.”
The smile opened a door of hope in Alison. The story of the blue box was on her lips, but she reeled it inside, worried about her mom freaking out about it for a reason Alison didn’t understand or for no reason at all, and worried, too, about spoiling the special connection she had with her grandmother. She wasn’t a little kid, and her mom didn’t need to know everything. It was better that way.
Alison said, “I’m going to the river.”
“Of course.” Her mother blinked at her once, twice, then went back to mopping.
In the attic, with a layer of rooms between her and her mom, Alison shoved down her frustration. Part of her felt her mother wasn’t trying to get better, that she’d given up. Alison wanted to shake her, wake her up, make her snap out of it. Her mother had been better for a month, maybe longer, before the television thing. And her mother took pills for it. How could pills work and then not work? Alison didn’t want to be mean, but after so much worrying about her mother and wondering if she really had a mother at all, she was tired of it. Let her father take care of her, since he seemed to know everything.