By Way of Accident

by Laura Miller

  “Well, I’ll be,” he exclaims, breaking my thoughts before I ever get a word out. “There it is.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Aquarius. Look.” He stops and points to the star-soaked sky above us. “You see it?”

  I look for a little while and finally find the stars he’s pointin’ at. Then I trace with my finger the pattern he taught me to recognize before I even learned how to ride a bike. It’s like lookin’ at one of those pictures where you have to wait for your eyes to adjust to see it in 3D. It takes a little while, but you eventually find it. You always do.

  “Yep,” I say. “I see it.”

  He stares at the sky a little longer before he starts up the path again without me. Of all the stars and constellations, I wonder why he likes that one so much. I’ve always wondered that. But I’ve never asked him why—mainly because I don’t think he’ll ever tell me. Grandpa is good at teachin’ me things and tellin’ me everything he knows—fact-wise—but he’s never been good at tellin’ me the whys. Why do we do it this way? Why do you like it? Why do you think it is? Back when I used to ask the whys, he always gave me his infamous grandpa answer: The cow moos because it’s a cow. I still don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.

  I watch him take a few more steps up the path before I steal one last quick glance at Aquarius. It makes me think of Brooke and the little freckles on her shoulder. God, I miss her. She came and went so fast, and yet it was enough to make my heart feel as if it’s missing somethin’ now. It’s a strange kind of pain I’ve never felt before. It’s as if my heart aches for her—as if it always needed her to beat, but it didn’t realize that until after it had found—and then lost—her.

  Chapter Nine

  Is He Okay?

  “River!” I hear my mom callin’ me. Usually, I’d take my time and maybe act like I didn’t hear her the first couple times she called me. But this time, somethin’ in her voice makes me sit straight up. It’s that dang sense again. Somethin’s wrong.

  I reel the fishin’ line in as fast as I can, and then I grab my tackle box, and I run up the hill.

  It takes me maybe a minute and I’m inside the house and settin’ my pole and tackle box down in the hall. Mom’s pacin’ back and forth in the kitchen. I don’t say anything. I’m kind of scared to hear why she’s so upset.

  “River,” she says as soon as she notices me. “Sit down a second.”

  I just stare at her for a few quick heartbeats. I’m scared to even move. But then she gestures toward a kitchen chair, and I slowly walk over to it and then lower myself to its seat. She sits down in the chair next to me and pushes out a heavy sigh.

  “River, honey, Grandpa’s had a heart attack.”

  It’s a quick, swift blow. I can feel all the blood rush out of my face. That’s a lot of strong words to process at one time.

  “He’s at the hospital,” she goes on.

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yes.” She nods her head. “Yes, he’s going to be fine, but we need to go see him.”

  “Okay,” I say, refitting my cap over my head.

  “Now, your sister is upstairs getting dressed. As soon as she’s done, we’ll take off.”

  “What hospital?” I ask. Grandpa was visiting his brother again this morning.

  “New Melle.”

  “Okay,” I say under my breath. I’m still tryin’ to process it all. I feel a little light-headed, but at the same time, I’ve got so much adrenaline pumpin’ through my veins. I think I just need to see him. I stand up and make my way to the door to wait for my sister. I just need to see that he’s okay.

  ***

  We get to the hospital, and it smells the same way every damn hospital smells—like they need to open some windows and let some fresh air in. I ain’t a regular or anything, but I’ve had my fair share of hospital visits. My first one was to see my new baby sister. That one wasn’t so bad. It smelled like hospital, but people were smilin’ and laughin’ and there were balloons and toys everywhere. But then when I was ten, I broke my middle finger, and my mom had to rush me to the emergency room. That visit wasn’t as fun. Everyone around me looked like hell, and on top of that, my finger felt like hell. Then my last hospital visit was to see my grandma. She passed away not too long after that. So, lately, I’m not too fond of hospitals—or their smell, for that matter.

  Room 207. I stop at the door to make sure I have the right room number. Mom’s still on the first floor talkin’ to the doctor. I stayed for a little part of his speech. Then it just started soundin’ like a bunch of doctor mumbo jumbo, so I snuck off to find Grandpa.

  I stand at the door and suck in a big breath once I’m sure it’s the right room. I remind myself of how I really hate hospitals. Then I step inside.

  The first thing I see is Grandpa lyin’ on a little bed. He’s got a blue gown on and a white blanket coverin’ his lower half. He’s awake, but he looks tired. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Grandpa look so tired. I almost turn around and walk right back out the door. Somethin’ about seein’ him lookin’ this way—and not in his old jeans and work boots—terrifies me. But instead, I manage to swallow the lump in my throat and slowly start makin’ my way to the side of his bed. I have to keep tellin’ myself that he’s probably itchin’ for some company just so I can beat the fear risin’ up in me. The longest I’ve ever stayed in a hospital is probably a couple hours. He’s got to be in here all night and then some.

  He startles a little when he notices me—almost as if he wasn’t expectin’ me. And just then, there’s a part of me that gets the idea that he’d rather me not be here—that he’d rather not have me see him like this either. But I keep makin’ my way to him nevertheless. I’m already here. He’s just gonna have to deal with it. I take a seat in the chair that’s already next to his little bed as the clock on the wall ticks out a few too many seconds.

  “Well,” I finally say. “We balin’ hay tomorrow?”

  Grandpa seems to relax before he smiles slightly and then nods his head. “When it dries.”

  “Right,” I say. “When it dries.”

  We sit there for another few seconds in silence before I remember what I’ve got tucked away in my back pocket. I made Mom stop at his house so I could grab it.

  “I brought your stinky cap,” I say, shifting in my chair to pull it out. Since he was visiting his brother today, I knew he wasn’t wearin’ it. It’s the only time he doesn’t wear the old thing, and that’s only because Grandma always gave him hell about it. She used to say visitin’ days were fancy days. It’s funny, though. He still always wore that damn cap visitin’ people when Grandma was alive. She’d fuss, and he’d take it in stride, and then they’d both get in the car—Grandma’s fancy dress, Grandpa’s hat and all. It wasn’t until after she passed that he started leavin’ that cap at home on visitin’ days.

  I toss the cap onto his lap.

  He looks at it, then slowly reaches for it. Several IVs move with his arm as he takes the cap and fits it over his head. “What would I do without you, son?”

  I laugh to myself. “That’s a good question.”

  Tim walks into the room then and stops just past the doorway. “What the hell? How’d he get that thing?” He points at Grandpa’s head, then pushes his way past a cart full of hospital gadgets and saunters into the room. If you can count on Tim for one thing, it’s his ability to be completely unfazed—by anything. It’s almost inspiring actually.

  “Grandpa, they feed ya anything good yet? I’m starvin’.”

  Tim plops down onto the end of Grandpa’s bed, while Grandpa and I exchange the same looks we exchange just about every time Tim opens his mouth.

  “Hey, we still balin’ hay tomorrow?” Tim asks, makin’ himself comfortable by grabbin’ a pillow from a chair on the other side of the bed and using it to prop himself up.

  I can tell Tim really doesn’t know that Grandpa won’t be balin’ anytime soon. I guess he missed out on the first half of th
e doctor’s speech. I almost envy him.

  Grandpa doesn’t skip a beat though. “Yeah, when it dries,” he says, lookin’ over at me. I can almost see his eyes smilin’.

  I nod my head. “When it dries,” I repeat.

  Tim squeezes his eyes shut and balls up his face. “Damn it,” he says under his breath. “It’s supposed to be hotter than shit tomorrow.”

  Grandpa nods his head, and I do too, while I silently take back my thoughts on Tim. Nothin’ fazes Tim—except the weather...and work.

  Chapter Ten

  Like Bees and Honey

  It’s Wednesday. Grandpa was released from the hospital yesterday. He acts normal, and he says he’s fine, but Mom says he can’t do things like he used to do, like bale hay and feed the cows and stuff. Mom and Dad are down at the farm a lot more than usual lately, doin’ the things Grandpa can’t anymore. I’m doin’ more too—after the school day’s over on the weekdays and most weekends. And as soon as the mail comes, I’ll head on down there again today to feed and water the cows.

  I see the mailman’s car, and I take off runnin’. I’ve had a date with the mailbox every day for the last week, waitin’ for Brooke’s letter.

  I’m out of breath when I get to the big metal box, but that doesn’t stop me. I pull open the lid and drag out the newspaper and a few envelopes. I flip through them lookin’ for her red lips—she always seals her envelopes with a kiss. And sure enough, I find them. I throw the rest of the mail back into the box and tear open the envelope to get to her letter.

  Dear Riv,

  When I look up at the sky, I think of you, so you’re my happy too. And there are trains here. I saw one the other day. But I think you’re going to have to hold onto your plans of coming to see me—for now. We’re moving again. I’m not sure where yet. My dad will know soon where we’re going, and then I promise I’ll write to you and send you my new address.

  Dad promises this move is our last move. And I’ll be able to finish eighth grade and start high school in the same place next year. I’m nervous about high school, and it sucks we have to move again, but I’m happy that it’ll be our last time. I don’t even know what it’s like to stay in one place for four years. But you’ll come visit me, Riv. Won’t you? I miss you, River. I miss you so much. What I wouldn’t give to take a dip in that creek with you right now.

  I had a dream about you last night. We were together again, and we were happy. I wish I could see you now. But soon, right? There have been trains everywhere I’ve been, so I’m sure there will be a train in the next place we go! Please don’t forget about me.

  I’ll write again as soon as we’re in our new place.

  XOXO

  Love,

  Brooke

  P.S. Winnie-the-Pooh is doing great! He makes me laugh. I’m trying to teach him how to shake. He stinks at it. But I still love him. And a bear and a swan, huh? Just like bees and honey.

  I stare at her last line and laugh out loud. But then I’m sad for her. I know she hates movin’. And I really hope she doesn’t move farther away or to a place a train can’t get to. And then there’s another part of me that hopes her parents liked Missouri so much that they move her right back here to me. We could go to high school together, and I could take her on a real date when I get my license. And I’d even take her to prom when it comes time for that. I really hate gettin’ fixed up, but I’d do it for her.

  I take her letter and fold it back into the envelope it came in and then I push it down into my jeans pocket for safe keepin’ and head down the path to my grandpa’s.

  I’ll wait for her next letter and her new address. And in the meantime, I’ll save up for a train ticket—just in case her next stop isn’t here.

  A smile pushes its way to my face, and a happy sigh trails. But I wouldn’t be so happy if I knew what events were about to follow—or how long it would be before I’d hear from that sweet girl again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Unfinished Business

  “Grandpa.” I make my way into the old farm house. “I fed the cows.”

  He’s not in the kitchen, so I walk through the little room past an old brick chimney and to the living room. He doesn’t get around too well most days, so I know he’s around here somewhere.

  I turn the corner and find him in his old chair, starin’ out the window. It’s gettin’ late and startin’ to turn black outside, so I wonder what he could be starin’ at.

  He looks smaller somehow. I always saw him as the biggest, strongest guy I knew—even more so than my dad. And even when I got just as tall as he was, he still looked like a giant to me. But now, in these last few days, he looks as if he’s made a decision to take up less room all of a sudden. He always used to get on me for kickin’ off my shoes and sprawlin’ out my arms and legs. He’d say I was takin’ up too much space on this earth. I wonder for a second if he decided he was doin’ the same thing and went about fixin’ it.

  “There’s nothin’ like gettin’ old.”

  His voice snaps me out of my thought.

  “There’s no trainin’ for old age, son,” he goes on, shakin’ his head. “But I guess every path has its puddles.”

  He doesn’t move his eyes from the window. I watch him for another second. Then I make my way into the room. In the corner, there’s always been a chair pulled up to a small desk with a little rotary phone sittin’ on top of it. It was my grandma’s desk. Sometimes she’d spend hours talkin’ to her friends in that little wooden chair. The desk is next to my grandpa’s recliner. And that old thing is covered in red vinyl, and even though it’s not, you’d think it were the oldest piece of furniture in the house. And while it’s not the most attractive lookin’ thing, it is one of my grandpa’s favorite earthly possessions—right up there with that dang old leather cap.

  I slide Grandma’s chair out from under the desk and pull it until it’s next to Grandpa’s recliner. He’s quiet as I settle in. And within no time, we’re both starin’ out that window and into the black Missouri night on the other side of it.

  “Son, have I ever told you the story of how I met your grandmother?”

  I take my eyes off the window to look at him. But his eyes remain on the sky outside. And I just shake my head.

  “We were both young,” he goes on. “About your age.” His voice is faint, but it’s still got that grumble to it that it’s always had. “And we didn’t know anything about anything. But son...” He stops and turns his face toward me for the first time tonight. “We knew we loved each other. Don’t ask me how we knew because I couldn’t tell ya.” He shakes his head once and then stops to take a labored breath. “We just knew.”

  He seems to drift off to somewhere for a few seconds before he comes back. I just stay quiet and let him talk. I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard my grandpa tell me anything that might be mistaken for a love story. So I wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

  “Her daddy owned a general store right up the road.” He raises his arm a little to point toward the window. And I think he notices the question on my face.

  “Oh, yeah, there used to be a store out by that old shed. They sold flour, sugar, maple syrup, honey...things like that—things you couldn’t make very easily on your own. Her daddy closed the shop way before you were born, but that’s where I met your grandma.”

  He stops, and I notice the corner of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “She was a fiery, little girl—hated me at first. But your old grandpa wore her down eventually. And by the time we were both sixteen, we were goin’ steady.”

  I try not to laugh at his old use of words. He must notice.

  “Oh, what do you youngin’s call it now? Datin’? Hangin’ together? I don’t know.”

  I laugh but stay quiet otherwise.

  “Anyway, I just want you to remember somethin’, son. Can you do that for me? One last thing for your old grandpa?”

  Somethin’ stabs me right in the heart at his mention of the word last, and I think he notices that too.


  “Oh, son, don’t let that get ya down. Death is a part of livin’. It comes to us all.” He takes a sharp intake of breath. “And when you get old like me, it’s not such a scary thing, especially when you’ve got no unfinished business down here and you’ve got somebody waitin’ for ya up there.” He gestures with his eyes toward the ceiling.

  I try to smile, but it just doesn’t feel right.

  “Oh, and son, don’t let them bury me with this cap.”

  My eyes lift to the leather cap on his head.

  “I’ve gotta look my best for Grandma,” he says.

  Somethin’ stings the back of my eyelids, but I refuse to act like a baby in front of Grandpa, so I push it back as best I can.

  “You hear me, son?”

  I don’t like what he’s sayin’. I don’t want him thinkin’ about this stuff, but I dutifully nod my head anyway.