“I don’t know where to start. It was the most incredible experience of my life. I’m so glad I went.” Sierra put down her empty mug and slipped her cold hands under the comforter. She began with a day-by-day rundown, then her mom joined them with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Dad. Mom had on a long coat with her favorite mukluk slippers. She curled up in a white wicker chair across from the swing. Sierra’s dad wore only a sweater and pants yet seemed warm enough. He loved the cold. Must be his Scandinavian blood.
“Oh, good,” Sierra’s mom said, sipping her rich coffee. “I don’t want to miss anything. I tucked in the boys and told them to let you sleep tomorrow, even if you end up sleeping all day.”
“Thanks,” Sierra said. “I probably could sleep all day. I don’t even know if it’s daytime or nighttime, according to my body.”
Just then a white sedan pulled up and parked in front of the house. Sierra’s sister, Tawni, stepped out and pushed a button on her key chain, which made a melodic tune as it locked the car doors.
“Did Tawni get a new car?”
“Last week,” Mom said. “Isn’t it a beauty?”
Stately Tawni, with her model-like figure, sauntered up the five wide steps that led to the porch. A sweet fragrance preceded her, the aftereffect of her job at a perfume counter at Nordstrom’s. “You’re home!” she said when she noticed Sierra. “Did you have a good time?”
Sierra slid off the swing and went over to hug Tawni since she didn’t seem to be moving toward Sierra. “It was fantastic! You should go next time.” Sierra couldn’t quite imagine Tawni traveling unless she was guaranteed a hot shower every morning and a place to plug in her curling iron. “I like your new car,” Sierra said.
“Thanks.” Tawni warmly reciprocated the hug. That’s how Tawni was. She wouldn’t initiate any sign of affection, but she responded sincerely when Sierra did.
Tawni was a beautiful woman and looked older than eighteen. Her appearance was enhanced by her expert use of makeup, her highlighted blond hair, and her tinted blue contacts. She had worn braces for three years and had had singing lessons since she was ten. They were congenial because they were related. Under other circumstances, they probably wouldn’t have sought each other’s friendship.
“I’m so broke now you wouldn’t believe it,” Tawni said. “This job at Nordstrom’s opened up just in time. I’m only scheduled for twenty-five hours a week to start, but it should turn into full time by the first of March.”
“That’s great,” Sierra said. “You want to grab a blanket and join us out here?”
“If you don’t mind, I’m really tired. I’ll hear all about your trip tomorrow. Did you see our room yet? At least it’s bigger than the one we had in Pineville.”
“The boys showed it to me right away. I take it my bed is the one by the window?”
“You don’t mind, do you?” Tawni said. Sierra knew that since Tawni was already settled, it wouldn’t matter if she did mind.
“No, it’s fine. It’s a great room. It’s just weird to come home and have everything all turned around and you guys settled and living here without me.”
“Well, welcome home,” Tawni said, moving toward the front door. “I’m going to bed.”
“Good night, honey,” Dad said.
“Sweet dreams,” said Mom.
Sierra called out, “I’ll try to be quiet when I go to bed.”
Tawni went inside, and Sierra thought again, as she had hundreds, if not thousands of times, that she wished she could find a way to change her sister. Tawni seemed to carry a big chip on her shoulder because she was the only one of the six Jensen children who was adopted. Obviously she was wanted. She was always treated equally by Mom and Dad, and Sierra thought of Tawni as her one and only sister. But Tawni had labeled herself years ago and moved about their family with slight alienation.
“I didn’t even ask you guys how you like it here,” Sierra said, snuggling back under her comforter.
“It’s home,” Dad said.
“Well, of course it is to you, Dad. You grew up here. How are you doing, Mom? And the boys?”
“Actually, thing are going better than I’d expected. Granna Mae has some good days when she’s bright as a berry, but then other days her memory lapses, and she doesn’t know who we are. This morning she asked Howard if he was here to fix the plumbing.”
“Doesn’t it kill you to know your own mother doesn’t know who you are?” Sierra asked.
“It’s not her fault. I told her yes, I was the best plumber in all of Portland, and where was the leaky pipe. She led me right to the washbasin in the basement and told me how it stopped up because a yo-yo was caught in it.”
“That really happened,” Mom told Sierra. “When your dad was about seven, he stuck his yo-yo in the sink, and they had to call a plumber to remove it so the rest of the drains wouldn’t stop up. It was an expensive visit from the plumber, and Granna Mae talked about it for years.”
“So now she’s remembering things that happened in the past and sort of acting them out?” Sierra asked.
“Something like that,” Dad answered.
“It’s going to be hard for me to be around her when she’s spacing out like that,” Sierra said. “She was perfectly fine last summer. What happened? Can’t they give her something? Medicine of some kind or treatment?”
Mom shook her head. “We just have to keep an eye on her. It seems best to play along whenever she’s having one of her memory lapses. It upsets her when we try to tell her who we really are or force her back into the present.”
Sierra and her parents talked for almost an hour before it became too cold and Sierra was yawning so much that she couldn’t complete her sentences. She hugged her mom and dad and climbed the curved staircase up to her new room.
Tawni had left on a small light on the bed stand between their twin beds. It cast a soft yellow glow on the striped rose wallpaper and the white wooded shutters lining the bottom half of the bedroom window.
This room had belonged to Aunt Emma, Dad’s baby sister. When Emma moved out years ago, it had become a catchall room since it was so large. For every summer that Sierra could remember, coming into this room was like exploring an old attic. With all the old clutter cleared out and the room now cleaned up and filled with Sierra’s and Tawni’s familiar belongings, it had turned into a wonderful bedroom.
Sierra noticed it was especially cold by the window. She made sure the shutters that covered the old glass panes were completely shut, blocking out the night draft. Her feet were still cold from sitting on the porch. It would feel good to slide in between those flannel sheets.
But before Sierra climbed into bed, she felt she should do something to christen her new room. It had to be something quiet so she wouldn’t wake Tawni.
Sierra decided to pray. She knelt beside her bed, with the chilly window to her back and with her hands folded and eyes closed. She prayed silently for Granna Mae, her family, herself, and her friends from Carnforth Hall. The she prayed for Paul.
When Sierra opened her eyes, a scream caught in her throat. Someone was sitting on her bed. The silent figure wore a white gown and a glow came from around its head. Sierra could feel her heart pounding as the figure rose and pulled back the covers for Sierra. It moved away from the light and spoke to her. “Did you remember to pray for Paul, Emma dear?”
“Granna Mae,” Sierra whispered. The confused woman stood in her flannel nightgown, her white hair all fuzzy around her head, waiting for Sierra to climb into bed. Sierra remembered what her mom had said about playing along so she obediently crawled into bed.
Why did she ask if I prayed for Paul? Does she know about the guy on the plane? Why does she think I’m Emma? Because I’m in Emma’s room?
Granna Mae had a peaceful smile on her face as she tucked the covers in all around Sierra and kissed her on both cheeks as if she were a little girl who had just said her prayers.
“Repeat after me, Emma dear: ‘The Lord thy God i
n the midst of thee is mighty.’ ”
Sierra hesitated.
“Go ahead, Emma dear, ‘The Lord thy God …’”
“ ‘The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty.’ ” Sierra repeated in a small voice. Her heart was still pounding.
“ ‘He will save, He will rejoice over thee with joy; He will rest in His love,’ ” Granna Mae said tenderly.
Sierra repeated it.
“ ‘He will joy over thee with singing.’ ”
Again Sierra repeated, “ ‘He will joy over thee with singing.’ ”
“Amen,” said Granna Mae.
“Amen,” Sierra echoed.
Then, as silently as she had appeared in the bedroom, Granna Mae shuffled out in her bare feet, shutting the door behind her.
eight
“MOTHER, YOU CAN’T TELL me that’s normal,” Sierra argued in a hushed voice the next morning in the kitchen.
“For her, for right now, it is normal. We all have to be understanding. That’s what we agreed to when we came here, Sierra.” Mom turned off the whistling teakettle, and the stove’s black knob came off in her hand. She held it up in front of Sierra and said, “And this is the other reason! This old house is falling apart. It’s not safe for her to be here alone.”
“But is it safe for us to be here with her?”
“Of course it is! Her mind is playing tricks on her, that’s all. You did the right thing last night by playing along and letting her think she was tucking Emma into bed. That was probably a very soothing and warm memory for her.”
“But why did she ask if I prayed for Paul?”
“I’m sure she meant her son Paul. Did you remember that Dad had a brother who was killed in Vietnam?”
“I didn’t even think of him,” Sierra said, pouring the hot water into a bowl of instant oatmeal. “It’s too spooky for me, Mom. I felt as if I should sleep with one eye open just in case she came back in the middle of the night.”
“Try to imagine what it must be like for her,” Mom said. “Treat her with dignity.”
“I’ll try.” She poured some milk into her oatmeal, stirred it around, and lifted the spoon to her mouth. Just then, Granna Mae stepped into the kitchen.
“Well, look who’s here!” she said. Sierra wasn’t sure if Granna Mae thought she was looking at Sierra, Emma, or maybe even someone else, like the plumber.
“Good morning,” Sierra said with a smile. She slowly pushed the stool away from the kitchen counter and stood before Granna Mae, waiting for her cue as to who Sierra should be for her grandmother this morning.
“Well? Don’t you have a little hug for me, Lovey?”
Sierra knew her grandmother recognized her when she said “Lovey.” She had pet names for all her grandkids, and that was Sierra’s. With a sigh of relief, Sierra met her grandma’s hug and even gave her a kiss on the cheek. Granna Mae smelled like soap, all clean and fresh.
“Don’t let me interrupt your breakfast,” she said. She stepped lightly to the cupboard, pulled out a china teacup, and poured herself some of the strong, black coffee warming in the Braun coffeemaker on the counter. She always drank from a china cup, even water with her daily pills. Perish the thought that she would ever lift anything plastic, or horrors, Styrofoam to her lips. It was a china cup or nothing. Sierra remembered going on family picnics as a child, and wrapped in a cloth napkin at the bottom of the picnic hamper would be Granna Mae’s favorite china teacup.
“I’d love to hear all about your trip, Lovey. I was simply too tired last night to wait up for you. I hope you understand.”
“Of course,” Sierra said. “My trip was wonderful. I loved Ireland, and I made a lot of great friends.” For the next twenty minutes or so Sierra chatted about her trip. Granna Mae sat on the cushioned bench along the back kitchen wall and listened with clear-eyed interest. Sierra found it hard to believe this was the same person who had done the angel imitation in Sierra’s bedroom last night.
During the next three days, Granna Mae seemed normal, spunky, quick-witted, and hardworking. Sierra loved being around her. They talked lots and laughed about silly things. They worked together helping Mom clear off bookshelves in the downstairs library. Most of the photos and mementos were moved up to Granna Mae’s room, where Sierra’s dad had built new shelves along one entire wall. Granna Mae seemed pleased to have all her new things near her.
Sierra was impressed that her grandma was so willing to share her well-established home with Sierra’s family. After living in the same house for forty-two of her sixty-eight years, she was gracious about letting Sierra’s mom come in and rearrange everything. Mom had even ordered new furniture for the family room, including a couch that folded out into a queen sleeper. Granna Mae’s little television was sent up to her room, where she’d have better reception than she had ever gotten downstairs.
The TV corner was now empty, which made the family room look lopsided with all the new furniture in place. Dad was building an entertainment center out in the cottage behind the house that he had turned into his workroom. It was actually an old playhouse with tacky gingerbread trim around the roof and windows. But nothing was childish about what went on inside it now that Dad had set up his workbench and lined the wall with Peg-Board and all his power tools. Dillon and Gavin loved going out there and with their own hammers and saws creating “masterpieces.” Granna Mae referred to it as “the boys’ clubhouse.”
Then, the night before Sierra started school, Granna Mae had one of her relapses at dinner. They were sitting around the mahogany table in the formal dining room when all of a sudden Granna Mae turned to Gavin and said, “You cannot leave this table until you eat your peas, young man.” She stood up and cleared her place, taking her still-full dinner plate into the kitchen.
Six-year-old, freckle-faced Gavin looked at his mom with distress. “We’re not even having peas,” he said.
“I know, honey. She’s confused. It’s okay.”
Granna Mae returned a few moments later wearing a mitt pot holder on her hand and carrying in an apple pie. In the other hand she held a knife. She had a smile on her face. “Now I told Ted we would save him a piece of this pie. You children mind that you don’t take too much for yourself.” She set down the pie on the table. “I suppose I should cut it for you so it will be fair. This is the only pie we have, and it must go around.” She pressed the knife into the center of the pie, but nothing happened. “Oh, me. I brought the wrong knife.” Granna Mae drifted back into the kitchen.
“It’s frozen,” Sierra said.
“I know. I put it out on the counter to let it thaw,” Mom said. “I planned on putting it in the oven after dinner.”
“Mom,” Dillon said, “is it safe for her to be walking around with knives like that?” Dillon was eight and looked like Sierra’s dad only with more hair. Dillon was the serious, responsible child, who seemed to believe his mission in life was to make sure his fearless younger brother, Gavin, lived to be a teenager. Dillon had caught Gavin playing Ninja warrior with Mom’s chef knife about three years ago. When he wrestled the knife away from Gavin, Dillon received a minor cut on the palm of his hand. His concern for Granna Mae was sincere.
“We’ll keep a close eye on her,” Mom said. She looked to Dad for support.
“I better go check on her,” Dad said and strode into the kitchen. It was quiet as they all waited, eating and listening.
Dad finally returned with Granna Mae beside him. “It was a fine dinner,” he was saying to her.
“Did the children save you enough pie?”
“Yes, yes they did. You go on up to bed now. I’ll have the children do the dishes for you.”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Granna Mae said, heading for the hallway that led to the stairs.
“Not at all. You get some sleep now.”
Granna Mae shuffled off down the hallway, and Dad returned to the table. He seemed upset.
“Is she okay?” Dillon asked.
Dad nodd
ed and silently stuck his fork into his now cold mashed potatoes. “She was doing so well the past few days. I didn’t expect her to switch on us so quickly.”
“What was she doing?” Gavin asked.
“She thought we were her children, and she was serving dinner like she always did. She’s gone to bed now. She’ll be fine.”
Sierra watched her mom give Dad that look that said, “How can you be sure she’ll be fine?”
The situation with Granna Mae tore at Sierra that night as she tried to sleep. Her body still had nights and days mixed up, and she was fighting off feelings of uncertainty about starting school the next morning. All this emotional energy focused on Granna Mae. Sixty-eight wasn’t old for a grandmother. Her body was strong and healthy. It seemed cruel and unfair that her mind would fail her when her body had so many more healthy years left.
Sierra’s Grandpa Ted had died when Sierra was little. She only had a vague memory of the funeral and wasn’t sure what had caused his death. He had been a builder for thirty-some years, as his father had been for many years before him. Sierra’s great-grandfather built this house in 1915, which was partly why Granna Mae couldn’t bring herself to sell it. Sierra knew her father was too compassionate to ever send his mother to a rest home. So here they were, adjusting to a new life in a new city with a grandmother who was slowly going crazy.
Tawni entered the bedroom quietly while Sierra was deep in her disturbing thoughts. A distinct sweet fragrance entered with her. “You don’t have to tiptoe, Tawni. I’m still awake.”
“Do you mind if I turn on the light?” As she asked the question she turned it on.
Sierra pulled up the blanket to cover her eyes. “How was work?”
“Fine.”
“Granna Mae flipped out a little at dinner. She thought we were all her children.”
“You should have seen her the day we moved in,” Tawni said. “She acted as if we were all workers who had come to repair her house. I wish they could do something for her.”
“I know. Doesn’t it kind of scare you to think about getting old and losing your mind like that?” Sierra asked.
Only You, Sierra Page 6