Slideways

by Jeffrey Grode

  He frowned. This was all his fault. “Do you want to hit me again?” he said softly. “I’ll let you, if it will make you feel better.”

  She grimaced. “No. I’m sorry I did that. I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to wake up and think before you act. You have to make better choices.”

  “I know.” He wanted a reset hug, but she kept her distance. He bent down, picked up the wooden spoon, and handed it to her. “Sorry I drank alcohol. It won’t happen again.”

  Mom dropped the spoon in the sink and found another. She turned away to stir the gravy. “Make sure it doesn’t.”

  His chest throbbed. “Sometimes I don’t want to wake up,” he said.

  She faced him and tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I feel bad . . . about what happened to Jack. Still.” He swallowed. “I can tell you do too.”

  She looked stricken, but kept silent. Her left hand shook slightly. After several breaths, she crossed the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and took out four white dinner plates. Without meeting his eyes, she handed him the dishes. “Please set the table.”

  Ben’s head dropped a few inches. He took a long breath and let it out. “Who’s coming?”

  “Dad called and said we have a guest for lunch. Didn’t say who. Wanted to surprise us.”

  I’ve had enough surprises today. Ben went into the dining room to set the table. Later, he helped her carry out the serving bowls. She’d prepared sourdough bread, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, and gravy. An apple pie cooled in the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, Dad’s truck pulled into the drive with a crunch of gravel. Mom joined Ben in the dining room when Dad entered. “Look who I found wandering around the bus station.”

  GranPat walked into the room and seemed anxious. His hair looked unkempt, wasn’t wearing his glasses, and had lost the white mustache.

  Mom looked surprised. “What are you doing back so soon?”

  GranPat looked at her and hesitated. He swallowed and his eyes blinked rapidly. “I came to Carlston to find a friend of mine.”

  “Why didn’t you just stay here overnight?” Mom tilted her head slightly. “Dad?”

  GranPat stared at Ben, glanced at the family pictures on the wall, and then met his eyes once more. “Ben?” GranPat’s voice shook. His eyes watered and his face wrinkled up.

  “What?” Ben said. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. No.” GranPat moved closer and hugged him tightly. “Just so good to see you again.”

  “Okay.” Ben hugged him back. GranPat seemed a little flabby and smelled like cigarettes. “But I just saw you yesterday. Remember?”

  GranPat stepped back and smiled. He studied the table settings, glanced over Mom’s shoulder into the kitchen, and then back at Mom. “Where’s Jack?”

  Chapter 6

  Ben, eyes wide, took a step backward and bumped against the dining room wall. “GranPat. What do you mean ‘Where’s Jack’?”

  Mom stared at her father, but couldn’t speak. Her pale cheeks grew slack, she slid down into a chair, and gripped the table.

  “Jesus, Pop,” Dad said in a low breath.

  GranPat’s forehead wrinkled as he turned from Mom to Dad. “I thought he might join us for dinner.” He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but stopped.

  Mom covered her face with her hands and trembled.

  Dad squinted at GranPat. “You know Jack is no longer with us . . . Please, Patrick, sit down. You look tired.”

  GranPat frowned and looked back at Jack’s picture on the wall.

  Ben tilted his head. “GranPat, are you losing it? You know he’s gone. You were a pallbearer at the fricking funeral!”

  “That’s enough, Ben!” Mom screamed. She slammed her fist down and cracked her plate. “Show some respect for God’s sake.” Spittle fell upon her white apron.

  GranPat lowered his head. “When?”

  “Two years back.” Dad glanced at Mom and then gave Ben a hard look. “Please. Everyone. Just . . . cool off. Pop, are you okay?”

  GranPat swallowed. “Oh, ah, I’m so sorry. I’m tired and a little disoriented. Please forgive me.”

  Ben stared at his grandfather. “You don’t seem yourself.”

  GranPat grimaced and covered his mouth with his hand.

  Ben narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

  The old man flinched.

  “Ben! Enough.” Dad said.

  “Can’t you see? GranPat looks different. He’s not wearing glasses, he doesn’t have his mustache, and he smells like he’s been smoking.”

  “Look, so I bummed a ciggie at the bus station.” The old man shrugged. “Bad habit. You caught me.”

  Mom sat up straight. “When did you start smoking?”

  GranPat took a step back and looked for the door.

  Mom’s eyes fixed upon her father. “Are you feeling alright?”

  “Patsy, I’m okay, just tired and thirsty.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Patsy? No one ever called me that before. I’m Patty.” She sat back in her chair and raised her chin. “Do you remember being here yesterday?”

  “Yesterday?” GranPat shifted his feet.

  Mom nodded. “We had dinner and John put you on the train last night.”

  “Did I say where I was going?”

  “Home, to Carmichael,” Dad said. “Don’t you remember?”

  “No, never made it.” He looked down and scratched his head then looked at his watch.

  “Pop, it’s okay,” Dad said. “You’re probably hungry. Let’s wash up and then eat lunch. Okay with you?”

  GranPat sighed. “Sure thing. I am hungry. Everything looks delicious.”

  Kipper rolled around the corner, sniffed GranPat’s leg, and barked.

  GranPat looked down at Kipper and his eyebrows went up. He bent over to pet her. “Hello, Ginger. What happened to you?”

  Ben finished dinner, but felt uncomfortable sitting alone with his grandfather. GranPat’s silence seemed strange in itself. Mom and Dad had cleared the table and gone into the kitchen to clean up. He heard them talking, but couldn’t make out the words.

  “Ben,” Dad called from the kitchen. “Please come here for a minute.”

  He excused himself and found Mom and Dad seated at the small kitchen table. She looked sad.

  Dad straightened in his chair. “I’m driving GranPat back home to Carmichael this afternoon. I’d like you to come with us.”

  “What? No. Something’s wrong with him.”

  “Not so loud,” Mom said.

  “Shouldn’t we take him to the emergency room instead?” Ben whispered. “He might have had a stroke or something.”

  “Let’s see how he does on the ride up,” Dad said. “We can always take him to Holy Rosary Hospital in Carmichael, if necessary. He seems all right for now. Older people can get a little forgetful.”

  Dad looked at Mom and she nodded back with puffy eyes. “Ben, how’d you like to stay with GranPat for a week or two? I think he’ll be more comfortable once he’s home. You can call us if he starts having trouble again.”

  Ben blinked. “I’d love to help GranPat, but are you sure you want me to take care of him? Shouldn’t Mom go? She can help him better than me.” What do I know about old people?

  His mother frowned. “You’re going. That’s it.” She still looked pale.

  Dad placed his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “GranPat needs your help. Mom has to stay in Carlston for her root canal. We need you to step up and help GranPat. Family first, okay?”

  He nodded. “Okay. Sure. Anything I can do to help.” GranPat needed him. Besides, after what happened last night at the party, he’d love to disappear for a while. Mom and Dad probably needed a break too.

  “Good,” Mom said. “Thank you.” She rubbed her jaw. “I’m going to make a doctor’s appointment for him in Carmichael for tomorrow. I’ll tell the doctor what’s happened, but I need you to go with him to the appointment. Can you do that for me?
”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you. Okay. Go upstairs and pack a bag. A week’s-worth of clothes should be enough. You can do wash as needed.”

  “Take my MasterCard for food, but go easy,” Dad said. “Okay?”

  “Okay. I got this.” Ben raised his chin. “I’ll look out for GranPat. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to him. Promise.”

  Chapter 7

  GranPat improved on the ride to Carmichael and asked a lot of intelligent questions regarding engines and fossil fuel. Other times he stared out the window, as if he hadn’t seen everything on the road to Carmichael a hundred times before.

  Dad stayed polite, patient, and calm the whole way. He could be the kindest person ever, unless Ben crossed his mother. Ben hoped he could be as calm as his father and help GranPat.

  Conversations turned to weather patterns, the benefits of traveling on buses versus trains, and Dad’s mechanic business. GranPat asked about engines, carbon monoxide, and the current state of global warming. Dad discussed how bad the pollution and particulate matter had become in China’s largest cities. GranPat turned out to be an advocate for electric cars and solar energy. Ben didn’t remember GranPat caring so much about solar energy before today, but he sounded less confused.

  Growing bored, Ben half listened to the conversation and checked his Facebook account. He scanned the new posts, but only saw a few pictures from last night’s party. Fortunately, he wasn’t in any of them, but that didn’t mean some weren’t floating around.

  Ben’s cell bleeped with a new text from Lori.

  Hey Benzo. Stopped by your house to talk about last night. Spoke with your mom. Hope GranPat’s feeling better. Call when u can. Thx, Lori.

  Will do. THX, Ben.

  Ben still didn’t know how to feel about taking Trudy to homecoming. He found a picture of Trudy and Ruth on Lori’s Facebook page. They were both pretty, but . . . they had messed with him while passed out. Feeling embarrassed and stupid for getting drunk, he preferred to beam out of Carlston.

  Dad pulled the truck into the Gas Mart. “Ben, please fill it up. Use my card. I’ll be right back.”

  Ben ran the card and saw Dad poke a number into a cell phone. Checking in with Mom.

  Jack would have been eighteen tomorrow. Ben missed his brother’s advice and the way he put things in perspective. Jack also knew how to live with Mom and Dad without pissing them off.

  “Hey, Ben. You alright?” GranPat called from the passenger seat of the truck. “Looks like you lost your best friend.”

  Ben blinked and turned around. He stuck his head through the open driver side window and caught GranPat taking a long swig from a small metal flask. “You’re busted.”

  The old man looked nonplussed. “Just a little bourbon to help me relax.”

  Ben reached out his hand. “Give it here.”

  GranPat shrugged and handed him the flask.

  Ben sniffed the contents, took a sip, and felt the burn roll down his throat like a parade of fire ants. Wow. He thought about taking another, then remembered his promise to his mother. Shit.

  GranPat had his hand out now. “Just between us,” he said, “We all have our secrets.”

  Ben returned the flask and finished filling the tank. Sorry, Mom.

  Dad hadn’t emerged from the Gas Mart yet. GranPat lit a cigarette with the truck’s lighter and blew a puff out the window. The smoke curled away and mixed with the smell of gasoline fumes. “Buy me a pack of smokes? Okay? On my last ciggie.” GranPat winked.

  “Not me. I’m not legal. Get your own if you need‘em that bad.” He turned his back and walked toward the Gas Mart.

  Inside the store, customers browsed for magazines, donuts, candy bars, soda, and performance drinks. The smell of chicken flavored grease wafted through the aisles. As he moved toward the restroom door, he saw the back of his father’s head one aisle over. Ben slowed as he overheard his father’s conversation.

  “No, Lucy. I don’t think I can do that. You know why. We’ve talked about this already.” Dad turned and saw him listening. His father’s eyes narrowed. “Gotta go,” he murmured and broke off the call.

  Ben hurried into the bathroom and locked the door. Lucy Dandridge? Was she one of Dad’s customers, or something more? Dad wouldn’t, would he? Gripping the dirty sink, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face seemed a sad thing beyond repair. No. Not Dad.

  Ben tightened his lips and dismissed the idea his father might be cheating. Still grieving for Jack, he rejected the possibility the world might change again. He needed stability. Sanity. Taking a deep breath, he turned on the cold water and washed his face until it felt like his own again.

  Later, as the sun began to set, they turned off highway ninety-nine and into GranPat’s driveway. His house stood on the highest hill, two miles outside downtown Carmichael. As Dad’s truck made the climb, GranPat seemed anxious, as if he was looking for something, or someone. Fireflies flickered underneath the trees.

  “What are those little lights in the woods?” GranPat asked.

  Dad’s eyes widened. “Fireflies. You don’t remember?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” GranPat frowned.

  Ben’s cell bleeped with a new Facebook message - a friend request from Trudy. Seconds later he received another from Rouge, rather than Ruth. He tucked his cellphone back in his shirt pocket. He’d sort it out later.

  Dad stopped at the top of the drive and backed in toward the garage so they faced the setting sun. Wispy pink clouds floated across the horizon and the lights of the city gleamed below. Ben had forgotten how beautiful the sunsets had been from this hill, and how Grandma Betty had shared them as special moments. She smelled like lilacs.

  As they left the vehicle and approached the front door, the motion detector triggered a yellow glow from the dusty glass light fixture. A startled spider moved inside the glass past its trove of flies cocooned within. The welcome mat lay tangled to the left of the door with only ME visible.

  “Hey, Pop, I bet it’s good to be home,” Dad said.

  “Yes, it is. Been a long day. Thanks for the ride home and I’m sorry, for the inconvenience.”

  “No problem. Glad to help out. Patty will call Ben when she’s made the doctor’s appointment. You two can hang out this week and just take it easy.”

  GranPat nodded. “Looking forward to having Ben around.”

  “Me too, GranPat,” Ben said with a polite smile. Dad unlocked the door and went inside. Ben waited for GranPat to enter and followed.

  The drawn shades darkened the interior of the house. Dad made the rounds on the first floor and turned on the lights. “Ok. I’m heading back. You two stay out of trouble.”

  GranPat looked excited.

  Dad shook GranPat’s hand. “See ya, Pops.”

  “Thanks again, Johnnie.”

  Confusion washed across Dad’s face and then dissipated.

  GranPat walked back to the kitchen.

  Ben followed his father to the front door. Dad squeezed his shoulder. “Mom told me what happened last night. Guess you’re out 500 bucks.”

  “Yea. Sorry.”

  “Getting drunk is a big mistake. Keep it up and you’ll get yourself killed.”

  Ben hung his head. “I know I messed up.”

  “Don’t let it happen again. You’re smarter than that.”

  “Okay.” Dad’s eyes looked more worried than angry.

  “I learned my lesson. Don’t worry about me.” He hesitated and glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “And I’ll take care of GranPat.”

  “Good. Stay out of trouble.” Dad hugged him, said goodbye, and left.

  Ben locked the front door and found GranPat in the kitchen with his head in the refrigerator.

  “Hmmmm. Not much food in the fridge.” GranPat stepped back and closed the door.

  “Still hungry?” Ben noticed the worn gray curtains at the kitchen window. His eyes moved to the old pictures and knick-knacks on the kitch
en walls. An old sign read, Home is where the heart is, but my belly loves the kitchen.

  “No. Just . . . my Betsy would have had some leftovers for us. The house feels empty without her.” He paused. “Are you hungry?”

  Betsy? “Just thirsty. Water’s fine.”

  GranPat searched two kitchen cupboards before he found the water glasses. He filled one with tap water, set it on the kitchen table, and motioned for Ben to sit.

  “Thanks.” Ben sat and drank half the glass.

  His grandfather reached into his pocket, pulled out his flask, and took a sip. He sat quietly and looked around the kitchen.

  Ben shifted in his chair. “Grandma was a nice lady. I miss her too.”

  “To Betsy.” GranPat raised his flask and drank.

  As his grandfather lifted the flask high, the skin on his wrist became exposed. Ben saw multiple lines of green ink tattooed on GranPat’s right arm above the wrist. When did he get that?

  Ben stayed in the guest room, which had been his mother’s room as a child. The bunk bed had been replaced with sturdy oak furniture included a full-sized bed, a dresser with a large mirror, and a writing desk. Pictures of Mom, GranPat, and Grandma Betty stood silent watch from the dresser.

  The writing desk had a three more photos: Mom winding up on the pitcher’s mound in her high school softball uniform; Mom holding a deer rifle on a hunt with GranPat; and a photo of Dad, Mom, Jack, and little Ben sitting together at a family picnic.

  He studied his brother’s face at twelve. Jack looked happy and confident with one arm around Mom and the other around Ben. Young Ben peered to the left of the camera, as if he was worried about someone, or something.

  Flopping back onto the bed, he realized he was still anxious about GranPat’s peculiar behavior. Even Dad seemed a little strange after that telephone call in the Gas Mart. To be fair, Ben had only overheard a portion of the call and—

  His phone roared like a dinosaur and flashed a photo-shopped picture of a T-Rex with his mother’s face. “Hi, Mom.”

  “You all doing okay?”

  “I’m in bed. GranPat too.”

  “Watch out. He snores.” She chuckled.