The Right-Under Club

by Christine Hurley Deriso

  Elizabeth grinned. Her “help” amounted to riding by his side, but right now, that suited her just fine.

  “Back soon, Grandma,” she called as she followed her grandfather out the door.

  They took the dirt path to the tractor outside the barn. Grandpa hoisted Elizabeth into the passenger seat and off they went, enveloped in the clean, fresh scent of wheat and grass. “My tomatoes are doing fine this summer,” her grandpa said, pulling close enough to a vine to pluck one off and hand it to Elizabeth. She wiped it on her shirt and took a bite, laughing when the juice trickled down her chin.

  “Elizabeth, your grandma…,” her grandfather said as he drove, still staring straight ahead.

  “Yes?”

  “She's …”

  Elizabeth's hand froze, the half-eaten tomato midway to her mouth. “She's what? What's wrong with Grandma, Grandpa?”

  Her grandfather glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then smiled. But the smile didn't make it to his eyes. “She's fine, just fine,” he said. “We're just both getting older.”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. Her grandfather reached over and squeezed her knee. “Honey, everything's fine,” he insisted. “Just bear with us old folks. Sometimes, when you get older, you…”

  Elizabeth didn't know what to think. Why wasn't her grandfather finishing his sentences? That wasn't his style at all. Why was he being so weird?

  “Can I pick some tomatoes, Grandpa?” she said, suddenly feeling unbearably restless on the tractor. “I need to stretch my legs.”

  “Good idea,” he said. “And I don't even have to pay you!”

  “I never said that,” she teased. He stopped the tractor and handed her a burlap sack from the floor of the tractor.

  “How about I join you at the crick in half an hour or so and we'll kick up our heels together?”

  She giggled at her grandfather's pronunciation of “creek.”

  “See you at the crick,” she said genially, then starting plucking bright red tomatoes off the vines.

  After a while, her sack was getting uncomfortably heavy. She headed toward the creek, hearing Buck's gleeful bark and the bossy bwack of chickens in the distance.

  She took off her shoes and sat on a tree-shaded bank, dipping her feet into the cold, clear water of the creek.

  “Save some of that water for me,” her grandfather called from behind her. He walked over, kissed the top of her head and sat beside her.

  “So, missy,” he said, “I think you've grown a foot since Christmas. You better not wait so long between visits next time. I might not know who you are, and then I'm liable to pepper you with my shotgun when you pull up in the driveway.”

  She smiled and plucked a dandelion from the ground. “I'm still short,” she said, feigning grouchiness.

  “Oh, you'll be nice and tall like your mama,” her grandfather said. “You wait and see. Ya miss your mom?”

  Elizabeth squinted at him through the glare of the midday sunshine. She wasn't used to her grandpa's asking questions about feelings. She was used to his asking questions like whether she'd fed the chickens.

  “Yeah, but I've been having fun at my cousin's house,” she said, blowing the dandelion tufts into the breeze.

  “But you like living with your mom … right?”

  Elizabeth subtly shrank away from her grandfather. She knew where this was heading. “Sure,” she said coolly. “She's my mom.”

  “Right you are,” her grandpa said. “She's your mother, and every child belongs with her mother. Don't let anybody tell you any different.”

  Elizabeth felt a thud in her stomach. The nicest thing about being at Hope's house for the past few weeks had been her distance from the words she'd grown to hate: “Divorce.” “Lawyers.” “Custody.” Sure, she missed her mom … and her dad…but she didn't miss their problems. And why did their problems have to be hers? It wasn't fair.

  Her grandpa suddenly jerked his foot forward, splashing Elizabeth with creek water.

  “Hey!” she yelped.

  “Hey yourself, sissy!” he teased. “What are you, some kind of city slicker who can't take a little crick water?”

  “I'll show you crick water!” she said, lowering herself into the creek and using both hands to splash him.

  Her grandpa laughed and hopped in, too. Soon, they were a mass of flailing arms and legs, splashing each other merrily. Elizabeth resisted the sprays of water at first, squealing and shielding her face. But then she surrendered.

  “Here goes nothing!” she announced, tipping her body sideways. She fell like a plank into the cool, clear water.

  … … …

  “What in the world did he do to you?” Elizabeth's grandmother asked as she walked onto the front porch, soaked from head to toe, her teeth chattering. Her grandmother had seen her through the window and brought her a towel. Elizabeth accepted it gratefully.

  “We were playing in the creek,” she explained.

  Her grandmother narrowed her eyes at her husband. “What were you thinking, old man?” she demanded.

  Elizabeth loved hearing her grandmother's scolding tone. The feeling of relief she'd had earlier in the day came flooding back.

  “It was her idea!” her grandfather insisted, grabbing the towel from Elizabeth and patting himself dry.

  “Hey!”

  All three of them laughed.

  “Now, Margaret, you scoot right inside the house and change into some dry clothes,” said her grandma.

  The laughter halted.

  Elizabeth looked at her grandfather, who looked nervously at his wife.

  “You called Elizabeth by her mother's name, honey,” he said. Her grandma's eyes skittered fretfully. “Elizabeth,” she muttered, but more to herself than to either of them.

  “Elizabeth,” Elizabeth's grandpa affirmed. “Elizabeth's spending some time with us, honey.”

  Anger flashed across her grandmother's face. “Of course she is! What do I look like, a fool?”

  More uncomfortable silence.

  “I'm gonna go change clothes,” Elizabeth said, then hurried inside.

  She went into her mother's old bedroom, tossed her wet clothes on the floor and pulled on a dry shirt and shorts.

  What was going on? Why were her grandparents acting so weird? It had been only a few months since she'd seen them last. How could they … could she … have changed so much in such a short time? She lay on the bed and shivered.

  “Elizabeth?”

  It was her grandmother's voice, calling her from outside the door.

  “Yes, Gram.”

  “You okay, honey?” her grandma asked, opening the door slowly.

  “I'm fine.”

  “Well …” Her grandma wrung her hands and stared at them intently. “I'll be making my meat loaf later on.”

  Elizabeth paused. “I thought Grandpa said we were going out for pizza.”

  “Pizza… pizza.” Her grandma lowered her head to peer more closely at her hands. “Pizza…”

  She walked out the door and down the hallway.

  Tears brimmed in Elizabeth's eyes, but she squeezed them away as she heard her grandpa's heavy footsteps making their way to her room.

  “Elizabeth?” he asked, looming in the doorway like a friendly bear.

  “What's the matter with Grandma?” Elizabeth asked abruptly. She was afraid to hear the answer, yet she was more afraid not to.

  “A cold. Just a cold that's hard to shake.” He averted his eyes.

  They both paused as they heard Elizabeth's grandma call them from the kitchen. “I'll be making my meat loaf later on,” she said, her thin voice lilting down the hallway.

  Elizabeth's eyes leveled an unspoken accusation at her grandfather, and he finally looked at her.

  “She doesn't sound like she has a cold.”

  “She's gettin’ on in years, honey,” he said quietly.

  “She called me Margaret. She's forgetting things.” Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Is it Alzheimer's?�
�

  Her grandfather was silent for a moment but held her gaze. “We think so.”

  Elizabeth burst into tears and crumpled onto the bed, curling her body into a fetal position. Her grandpa rushed over and held her.

  “Honey, honey,” he cooed. “It's not the end of the world. Grandma's still a spry old gal. She hasn't left us yet. And it may not even be that ol’ nasty A-word. The docs say different medicines can cause confusion. They're doing some experimenting, and…and…”

  And her grandma had Alzheimer's disease. They both knew it. They had watched her grandma's sister, Emma, go through the same thing a year earlier. It started with her forgetting words—they'd be right on the tip of her tongue but somehow she couldn't form them. After a while, she started to repeat herself. Then she would call people by the wrong names, by the names of relatives who had been dead for years. Toward the end, she would go to the grocery store and get lost coming home. It was depressingly familiar. Emma had been in the nursing home only a couple of months or so when she stopped recognizing any of them. Thank heaven she hadn't lived long after that. Her decline was so sudden, so crushing. Elizabeth knew the disease all too well. Her whole family did.

  “Does Mom know?” she asked through sobs.

  Her grandpa held her tighter. “She has enough on her plate right now,” he responded. “Like I said, the docs don't even have a definite diagnosis yet. When there's news to tell, I'll tell it.”

  “I want my mother,” Elizabeth sobbed.

  “Now, honey,” her grandpa said. “I'll take good care of you, I promise. And your grandma's okay most of the time. You don't have to be scared.”

  But Elizabeth was scared. Her fear felt like a dark, heavy blanket descending over her face. She wondered if that was how it felt to her grandma. She wondered if she could bear to watch her grandma slip away.

  13

  Elizabeth's grandpa was wrong. Her grandma wasn't okay most of the time.

  By the end of their first day together, Elizabeth knew that confusion was seriously clouding her grandmother's mind. Yet her grandma was as kind and loving as ever. Elizabeth had allowed herself to wallow in despair that first night, but she woke up the next morning with a sense of purpose. She probably didn't have much time left with her grandmother. She wanted to make it count. Her grandma had always been there for her. It was time to return the favor.

  Elizabeth got out of bed and pulled on jeans and her R.U. T-shirt. Technically, the shirt was supposed to be reserved for Right-Under meetings, but she needed a symbol of moral support today. She'd had a feeling it might come in handy. The girls would understand.

  She pulled a brush through her loose blond curls, brushed her teeth in the bathroom adjoining her bedroom, then walked briskly down the hall into the kitchen. She could hear her grandmother making breakfast.

  “Hi, Grandma,” Elizabeth said, giving her a hug. “The bacon smells good.”

  Her grandma looked startled, but only for a moment.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  Now, that sounded familiar. On a farm, a seven-thirty wakeup time was considered late.

  “Is Grandpa already outside?”

  Her grandmother's eyes flashed irritation. “Of course he is,” she snapped, as if Elizabeth had lobbed a trick question.

  Elizabeth blushed and sat at the kitchen table. “Just asking,” she mumbled.

  “He's always in the fields by daybreak this time of year,” her grandmother said, but more to herself than to Elizabeth.

  “Right,” Elizabeth said.

  Her grandma shook her head as if clearing the thought, then asked, “Who's ready for bacon and eggs?”

  “I'd love some. Thanks.”

  She watched her grandma transfer the contents of a frying pan and a griddle onto a plate and hand the plate to Elizabeth. She returned the empty frying pan and griddle to the stove.

  “Grandma, you need to turn the burners off,” Elizabeth said gently.

  Her grandmother's eyes darted again, then registered flashes of emotion that Elizabeth couldn't identify. “Yes,” she finally said, and turned the knobs. “Yes.”

  As heartbreaking as the thought was, Elizabeth realized that it probably wasn't safe for her grandmother to be alone. Should she talk to her grandpa? Her mom? She wasn't sure. That decision could wait until later. She had an awful lot to think about all of a sudden.

  Elizabeth smoothed her shirt and bit into a crisp piece of bacon.

  “R-U,” her grandmother mused aloud, staring at the shirt. “Are you what?”

  Elizabeth laughed, and her grandmother laughed back. “It's a club shirt,” Elizabeth said. “Hope and I are part of a club.”

  “Ah…,” her grandmother said. “Hope…”

  “Right,” Elizabeth said. “My cousin, Hope. Jack's daughter. Jack is my dad's brother.”

  “Jack …” Her grandma's eyebrows arched. “Yes, Jack.”

  Elizabeth bit off another piece of bacon. “Hey, Grandma,” she said. “I have an idea.”

  “An idea?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I went to a scrapbooking party a few weeks ago. It was fun. You can buy kits, or you can collect odds and ends around the house and gather your own supplies.”

  “Supplies?”

  “Construction paper, stencils, notions from a sewing kit… that kind of thing.”

  Her grandmother's brow knitted.

  “You make a scrapbook with your supplies,” Elizabeth explained. “You pull together family photos, postcards, certificates from school… and make them look pretty on the paper. You put the pieces of paper in transparent sheets, then put the sheets in a binder. Then you've got a scrapbook.”

  “I know what a scrapbook is,” her grandmother said testily.

  “The point isn't just to have a scrapbook,” Elizabeth said. “The point is to get together with friends and make a scrapbook.”

  “So your generation invented scrapbooks, huh?” her grandma said wryly. Elizabeth loved hearing her sound sarcastic. That was Grandma.

  “Let's make a scrapbook together,” she said, standing up and putting an arm around her grandmother's small waist.

  “We're going to make a …” Grandma's voice trailed off.

  “A scrapbook,” Elizabeth said firmly. “You and I are going to make a scrapbook. It'll be our project during my visit. Grandpa can take us to the store for supplies, and meanwhile, you and I can start pulling together some old pictures. And I brought my digital camera, so we can take some new ones, too.”

  Her grandma's face turned taut with worry. “Have you had your breakfast?” she asked anxiously.

  Elizabeth nodded and rubbed her stomach. “Yep. Just finished. It was good. Thanks. Now, our project,” she reminded her patiently.

  “Yes,” her grandma repeated, “our project.”

  Elizabeth wasn't sure how much of her grandmother's memory she could salvage in a scrapbook, but she was determined to give it her best shot. For both of their sakes.

  … … …

  Elizabeth was so goofy for the rest of the morning that her grandmother couldn't help laughing, even if sometimes she wasn't sure what she was laughing about. Elizabeth was prompting her grandma to make silly faces for the camera, and she was taking pictures of the oddest things… her grandma's pearls, the telephone, the remote control.

  “What has gotten into you, Margaret?” her grandmother asked. Elizabeth pushed past the awkwardness. She was having too much fun to let her grandma's cloudy moments put a damper on their day. Besides, she was on a mission. She remembered the things that her Great-aunt Emma first began forgetting: a name, a phone number, a word. Elizabeth was determined to ease her grandma's passage into this murky world, and maybe the scrapbook would buy her just a little bit of time.

  “We're putting a picture of my glasses in the scrapbook?” her grandma asked as Elizabeth propped them on the table, stepped back a couple of feet, then snapped the picture.

  “Humor me, Grandma,” Elizabeth said. “
I'm quirky.”

  They walked around the farm taking pictures, too…the dog, the chickens, a dogwood tree, a tomato vine…. The more Elizabeth thought about what she might want to capture in the scrapbook, the more purposeful she became. Elizabeth's grandmother seemed a little disoriented outside, but the longer they walked through the grass and along the dirt trails, the more comfortable she became.

  As they headed for the barn, Elizabeth saw her grandfather walking toward them holding a bag of mulch. “What are you gals up to?” he asked, seeming pleased to see his wife in the sunshine.

  “Taking pictures,” Elizabeth said. “Smile!”

  He pulled his wife into the frame and playfully tickled her as he wrapped his arm around her thin waist. Their silly grins made Elizabeth feel lighter on her feet as she snapped their picture.

  “What are the pictures for?” her grandpa asked.

  “Grandma and I are making a scrapbook,” Elizabeth explained. “I'll need to print the photos. Can you take us to the store?”

  “I'll go you one better than that,” her grandpa said. “Your mom gave us a fancy printer for Christmas to go with the computer that I still don't know how to turn on. Finally, it'll get used!”

  Elizabeth giggled. “I'll teach you how to use it. But we need some other supplies, too. Just a quick trip into town?”

  “Ready when you are,” he said cheerfully.

  “We're ready now,” Elizabeth said, then walked with her grandparents to their truck. Her grandpa opened the passenger door and gently hoisted his wife up first, then Elizabeth. She'd taken many rides with them in this truck, but this was the first time she hadn't sat in the middle. Her grandma seemed so small sitting there.

  Her grandfather surprised her by slipping a CD into a player in the dashboard.

  “You have CDs, Grandpa?” she asked.

  “Duh!” he responded, making them all laugh with his teenspeak. “Just last week, I traded in my hi-fi, with its woofers and tweeters. I'm hip with the scene.”

  Elizabeth's hair blew in the wind as she rested her elbow on the open window. “Yeah, you're one cool dude, Grandpa,” she said, staring out at the green pastures and neat rows of crops.