Ann smiled. “That is so gross.”
“Those fish were the best I’ve ever tasted, to this day,” said Eileen.
“They were pretty good, weren’t they?” Ann remembered that day now, brilliant with sunshine. Her father had announced the night before that he had a hankering to catch a few fish, and that he was willing to shirk his Saturday morning chores if Ann was willing to abandon hers. They would leave the farm at dawn. Ann’s sleep that night had been restless, like a child on the eve of Christmas or a birthday. And when they set out the next day in her father’s truck, fishing rods and tackle box in the back and a picnic basket packed by Eileen between them on the seat, Ann felt like she had lived for that very moment. He talked to her that day, in quick, effective bursts of words, asking about school, friends, and her plans for the future. And when she caught all those fish, while the other fathers and their hapless sons stood by with dormant poles, he just kept nodding his head. Good girl.
Eileen smiled at her daughter as she brushed the hair off her face with the back of her hand. “Let’s take a break,” she said. “Do you want more coffee?”
“Definitely,” said Ann. “But not that coffee. It’s been sitting there for two hours.”
“Just the way I like it,” said Eileen, pouring more into her mug.
“I need a latte,” said Ann. “But first, I’d better wake Nate.”
When Nate didn’t answer Ann’s knock, she walked in. His room looked like it always did, cluttered with dirty clothes, damp bath towels, video game paraphernalia, and individual pizza boxes. Ann turned her face from a half-eaten slice of pepperoni sitting on his laptop keyboard. She would have to remember to tell Emma to disinfect everything in here, floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Tiny red lights danced on Nat’s elaborate music system, but Ann heard nothing. She flicked on the light next to his bed and found her son, naked to the waist, sleeping with headphones over his ears. She gently lifted one of the headphones and Nate stirred. “What?” he said, opening one eye.
“It’s time to get up,” said Ann.
Nate looked at the clock next to his bed. “In another time zone maybe.”
“I’m not kidding,” said Ann. “Your father needs you.”
Nate rolled over. “Nobody needs me before noon on a holiday.”
“Get up, take a quick shower, and put some clothes on,” said Ann. “Dad’s in the guesthouse with Gramps.”
“Don’t tell me it’s time for a three-generation chat,” said Nate, still facing the wall.
“All I know is it’s time for you to get up. I wouldn’t want to have to send your father up here.”
“He hasn’t been in here in two years,” said Nate, farting.
Ann ignored this, waited a moment, and then said, “With good reason.”
“Ten more minutes,” said Nate. “I need at least ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes,” said Ann, looking at her watch. “If you’re not downstairs at quarter after, I’m sending your father up to get you.”
Twenty minutes later, Nate, looking like he had just gotten out of bed, appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Hello, dear,” said Eileen. “Did you sleep well?”
“Hi, Gran,” said Nate, scratching his head.
“Sit down at the table, Nate,” said Eileen, “and I’ll get you some breakfast.”
Nate held up his hands. “I can’t eat before noon. It turns my stomach.”
“No breakfast?”
“Never,” he said, “unless it’s lunch.” Eileen looked at Ann, who shrugged her shoulders. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s down in the guesthouse,” said Ann. “Put a coat on. It’s cold today.” Nate saluted his mother and then walked out the back door coatless.
“You’ve got to give him a good breakfast, Ann, if he’s going to start his day on the right foot,” said Eileen.
“Let’s not start, Mother,” said Ann.
Nate walked through the front door of the guesthouse and found his father and grandfather in the living room. Mike was watching CNN from the chair, and Sam was dozing on the couch. The table in front of them was covered with puzzle pieces, a half dozen of which were attached in a line. “Great timing,” said Mike, getting up from his chair and looking at his watch. “I’d like to chop some wood for a fire this afternoon.”
“If you’re going to chop wood,” said Nate, “what do you need me for?”
“I need you to stay here with your grandfather.”
Nate looked at the old man sleeping on the couch. “You mean, like babysit?”
“That is exactly what I mean,” said Mike, putting on his coat.
“No, no, no,” said Nate, backing up two steps. “You’ve got the wrong guy for the job.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Mike.
“Dad, be reasonable,” said Nate, feeling oddly nervous. “He can work with you at the woodpile.”
“Do you honestly think your grandfather is in any kind of shape to be near an ax?”
“I’ll get Lauren up,” Nate said. “She’s had a lot more babysitting experience than I’ve had. Give me five minutes. I’ll run back to the house and get her.”
“Nate,” said Mike, putting his arm around his son’s shoulder, “you’re overreacting here. He’s just an old man. And besides, he’s your grandfather.”
Panicking, Nate thought he’d try a line he’d heard from his guidance counselor at school. “I’m not comfortable with this situation,” he said, as calmly as he could.
Mike smiled at his son’s effort. “A little bit of discomfort in our lives is not a bad thing.”
When Mike started for the door, Nate followed him, asking, “Why does he need to be babysat anyway?”
“Because he wanders,” said Mike. “Your mother and grandmother are trying to put a nice Thanksgiving meal together, and they don’t need the distraction.”
“Mom’s really cooking?” asked Nate.
“Didn’t you just walk through the kitchen?”
“Dad, I just got up. I’m not awake yet.”
Mike patted Nate on the shoulder and opened the door. Nate looked back at the couch. His grandfather was still asleep. “It’s going to be okay,” said Mike. “He’s been asleep most of the time I’ve been here.”
“Tell Mom to make me a double espresso,” said Nate. “I’m going to need some juice for this job.”
“Will do,” said Mike.
Nate watched his father walk up the path to the house. Then he walked back into the living room and sat down in the chair his father just vacated. He picked up the remote and turned to the music video station. Five minutes later, he heard a knock at the door. It was his grandmother, holding a travel mug and a bagel. “Here’s your expresso,” she said.
“It’s espresso, Gran,” said Nate, taking it from her hand. “With an S.”
Eileen shrugged. “It’s all just coffee to me. And here’s a bagel. You’ve got to eat something, dear. I don’t want you to waste away to nothing.”
“I’m fine,” said Nate.
“Is your grandfather still asleep?”
“Yes. Dad said he’s been sleeping for a while.”
“Good,” said Eileen. “He’s been tired lately.”
“Thanks for the coffee, Gran,” said Nate, wondering what he was missing on I Love the 80s.
“You’re welcome,” said Eileen. “Just call or dash up the path if you need anything.”
“Will do,” said Nate, turning away from her.
Just as he sat back down in the chair, his grandfather opened his eyes. Averting his gaze, Nate willed his grandfather to go back to sleep. Sam blinked several times, and then struggled to right himself. “Can someone help me?” he said.
“What do you need help with?”
Sam stared at his grandson, searching for recognition. When he couldn’t place him, he decided it didn’t matter. He simply needed someone’s help. “Getting up,” said Sam. “I can’t seem to get up.”
Nate got out of his chair and
approached his grandfather. He took Sam’s outstretched hand and pulled. Nothing. Nate squared his body to his grandfather’s. He braced his feet against, but not on top of, Sam’s and pulled again, both arms this time. He was able to get him halfway up before Sam flopped back down on the couch, like the heavier kid on a seesaw. The density of his grandfather’s body surprised him. He was twice as heavy as he looked. “You have to help me here, Gramps,” said Nate.
“I am helping,” said Sam, scooting his bottom closer to the edge of the cushion.
Nate grabbed his grandfather by both wrists and pulled again. “That’s good enough,” said Sam. “Put that fancy pillow behind me, would you?” Nate followed his grandfather’s gaze, and grabbed the large checked pillow from the other chair. He put it behind Sam’s back. “There,” said Sam, now sitting up straight on the front half of the cushion, “that’s better. It’s a good thing you happened along, young man, or I would have been in a jam.”
“No problem,” said Nate, returning to his chair.
For a minute, they both watched the TV. Then Sam asked, “Who are those girls?”
“They’re dancers, Gramps,” said Nate.
“They’re naked, for Christ’s sake,” said Sam. “What kind of show are we watching here?” Embarrassed, Nate changed the channel. He stopped when he saw Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy in black and white.
“Are you hungry?” asked Sam.
“No,” said Nate, his eyes on the screen.
“Well, I am,” said Sam, trying to push himself up off the couch. “Help me up here and we’ll see if we can find some treats.”
Nate again positioned himself in front of his grandfather. He grabbed his wrists and fell backward, as if he were going to lie down on the floor. As Nate dropped, Sam rose. When his grandfather was standing, Nate put a foot back and righted himself. This, he thought, must have something to do with physics. Mrs. Marsten was always going on about weight distribution. Maybe he would tell her this story. Maybe she’d give him extra credit. Nate followed Sam into the kitchen, where the old man began to root through the cupboards. When he found a red tin, he took it down from the shelf and pried the top off, revealing several chocolate chip cookies. “Here’s the jackpot,” he said. “Your mother thinks she’s so clever, but I can find them every time. Do you want one?”
“Sure,” said Nate, taking a cookie from the tin.
Sam took two and shoved them into his mouth, which he couldn’t quite close around the sweets. Crumbs immediately fell through his open lips, down his pajama top, and onto the floor. “Gramps,” said Nate. “Slow down. There’s no rush.”
“I don’t know when your mother will be back,” said Sam, looking past Nate into the hallway.
“Trust me, it will be a while,” said Nate. “Here, let’s sit down at the table.” Nate steered his grandfather toward a kitchen chair, then got him a glass of milk from the fridge.
“Thank you,” said Sam, when Nate put the glass down in front of him. “Tell me again, what branch of the service are you in?”
Nate closed his eyes for a moment, scanning his mind for patience, and then opened them.
“I’m not in the service, Gramps. I’m in high school.”
“High school?” said Sam. “It’s time you moved along, son.”
“It sure is,” said Nate, eating his cookie, wondering how his grandmother put up with this nonsense day in and day out. He had been with him for twenty minutes and was ready for relief.
Sam finished chewing his cookies and drank his milk. As soon as he was done, he put his hands on the table and pushed himself up and out of his chair. “Thanks for your hospitality,” he said. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Going?” asked Nate, standing. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a meeting downtown,” said Sam, shuffling out of the kitchen. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
Nate followed him into the hallway. “I forgot to tell you. Someone called while you were resting. The meeting is canceled.”
“Canceled?” asked Sam, shifting his watery gaze from the floor in front of him to Nate’s face. “Who called?”
“I can’t remember,” said Nate.
“It was probably Ted Masterson,” said Sam. “We’re always rescheduling around his needs.”
“I think it was Ted,” said Nate.
“Well, God damn it, what are we supposed to do now?” said Sam. “What the hell do we do now?”
Nate studied his grandfather, a lost boy in a grown man’s body. “We could go back into the living room and watch TV. I think that Spencer Tracy movie is still on.”
“I love Spencer Tracy,” said Sam. Nate ushered Sam to the chair, figuring it would be easier for his grandfather to get in and out of, and sat him down. Nate took Sam’s place on the couch. “You won’t leave me, will you?”
“No,” said Nate, getting comfortable. “I’m not going anywhere.”
An hour later, back at the main house, Lauren was putting the brown sugar crumbly crust on the second of two apple pies. “Those are beautiful,” said Eileen, looking over her shoulder. “I can’t believe you’ve never made a pie before. You’re a natural.”
Lauren smiled. “My mom doesn’t like messing up her kitchen.”
“That’s not true,” said Ann, who was stirring the squash soup on the stove.
“It is true,” said Lauren, emboldened by her grandmother’s presence. “No one cooks in here.”
“Emma cooks in here all the time,” said Ann defensively.
“How about with supervision?” asked Eileen, who had walked back to the griddle where she was browning lunch sandwiches.
“Mom would have no more interest in supervising me in the kitchen than she would in eating anything I made,” said Lauren. “She’s much too busy for that.”
“That’s enough, Lauren,” said Ann, moving the pot of soup to the granite countertop to cool.
“You can ask me, then,” said Eileen, flipping four ham and cheese sandwiches on whole wheat, revealing perfectly toasted undersides. “Anytime you want to cook something, find me and I’ll do it with you. I love to cook.”
“Thanks, Gran,” said Lauren.
“Is anyone hungry?” asked Eileen, looking at her watch.
“I couldn’t eat a thing,” said Ann, hand to her stomach. “We’ve been looking at food all morning.”
“I am,” said Lauren.
“Good,” said Eileen. “Put a coat on and find your father. He said something about chopping wood. And then stop by the guesthouse for Nate and your grandfather. I’m just about done with these sandwiches. I’ll set the table. Ann, will you find the condiments? I think we’ll need ketchup, pickles, and maybe a little mustard. Do you have any potato chips?”
“Chips?” asked Ann, washing her hands. “I haven’t eaten chips since I was eighteen.”
“How about the rest of the family?” asked Eileen, moving the warm sandwiches onto a porcelain serving plate with the others.
Lauren walked to the large cupboard next to the fridge and pulled out a big bag of corn chips. “Will these do?” she asked.
“Where did those come from?” asked Ann.
“Perfect,” said Eileen to Lauren. “Now run along and get those boys.”
Lauren did as she was told; Ann stared, blankly, after her.
“Well,” asked Eileen, putting the platter of sandwiches back into the warm oven, “are you going to get the condiments or not?”
Ann looked at her mother crossly. “I don’t think pickles are a condiment.”
“How about just getting them anyway,” said Eileen, putting the chips into a large plastic bowl.
“Coming right up,” said Ann, with false cheerfulness. “But don’t count me in for lunch. If I don’t get some exercise, I’m going to explode.”
“I would imagine,” said Eileen, her back to her daughter.
Mike, red-cheeked and smelling like the fresh cold air, walked into the kitchen just as Lauren returned
from the guesthouse. “They’re on their way,” she said. “Nate said to tell you that Gramps is vertical and moving.”
“Excellent,” said Eileen.
“Something smells good,” said Mike, shedding his barn coat and then rubbing his hands together. “Eating after working outdoors is such a treat.”
“That’s what Sam and his boys used to tell me,” said Eileen. “You should have seen the lunches they put away after a hard morning’s work.”
“Where’s my lovely wife?”
“Exercising,” said Eileen, taking plates down from the cupboard.
“Well, good for her,” said Mike, taking the plates from his mother-in-law and setting them down on the table.
Nate opened the back door and walked in, followed by Sam. “What kind of restaurant is this?” asked Sam, looking around. “I hope it’s casual.”
“Very casual,” said Nate, helping his grandfather take off his coat. “You’ll be happy to know, Gran, that I’m actually hungry.”
“I’m glad,” she said, retrieving the platter from the oven and setting it down on a pot holder at the center of the table. “Everyone please sit.”
Sam took a sandwich from the platter and moved it directly to his mouth. After he had taken too big a bite, he said, “Where’s that woman?”
“Exercising,” said Eileen, grabbing a stack of napkins from the holder next to the fridge before sitting down.
“No surprise there,” said Nate. “She’ll have to get a couple of hours in if she’s even going to look at Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Is that much exercise good for you?” asked Eileen, passing the chips to Nate.
“No,” said Lauren, “but it’s essential if you want to remain a size two.”
“What’s a size two?” asked Eileen, just before she took a bite of a sandwich.
“Think thin and then cut that in half,” said Nate. “It’s a prerequisite for rich, attractive women.” Mike smiled.
“You know, it used to be just the opposite,” said Eileen, squirting mustard onto her plate. “If you were prosperous, you showed it by your girth. Wealthy women were rotund.”
“No kidding?” asked Lauren, taking another half sandwich.
The Good Life Page 10
