Edna in the Desert

by Maddy Lederman

  There weren’t many names in the residential section of the phone book, but there were lots of Bishops and one John. As much of a man as Edna thought Johnny was, he was still a high school student, and he probably didn’t have a phone bill in his name. Still, Edna called John Bishop first. That evening she proceeded to hang up on the nine Bishop families listed in the Desert Palms phone book. Grandma was in and out of the room. Edna noted that she wouldn’t mind getting back to her former amount of privacy at home. She almost never had to be on the phone in front of her parents if she didn’t want to be.

  There was no reason for these calls other than the childish fantasy that Johnny might pick up a phone and she’d get to hear his voice. He’d say, “Hello?” and then she’d say “Johnny?” and then he’d say “Edna…” and drop whatever he was doing to rush over and kiss her again. Then she could talk to him about Grandpa. He might know more than she did. It was an unlikely scene made up by a desperate mind, and Edna was embarrassed to admit to herself that she was doing anything in the hopes that it might happen, only she didn’t know why else she was doing it. It was a new low, but these came along so often lately, they no longer surprised her.

  She wished she’d thought quickly enough to write a note back to Johnny when Ken gave her the postcard. Someday she’d send him a postcard. She’d mail it to the store if she couldn’t find his address, and she’d put it in an envelope so no one but Johnny could read it, just like he did with hers. It would be some consolation if they communicated that way, with drawings and letters written on paper like pioneer people. It would be personal and more private than any other friendship. Edna liked the idea, but at the moment staying in touch with Johnny was just another figment of her imagination. She moped, and eventually settled into a stupor in the dead, August desert. She slept on the couch in the hot afternoons, and watched the sun drop with Grandpa before dinner. A few days and nights passed this way though it seemed time stood still. Slowly, and without her noticing it, Edna’s stupor was broken by a growing curiosity about Grandpa.

  Grandpa always just sat there. Did he want to move but couldn’t? Was his mind tranquil, like the basin he looked into, or a frantic place paralyzed with fear? Maybe there were so many wires crossed that nothing could be deciphered. When was the last time he was more than twenty feet away from this cabin?

  Edna tried, with what she’d seen of the town of Desert Palms, to think if they could take him somewhere. That Inn might be nice, as long as they didn’t run into any drunken volleyball players or Johnny. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. She wasn’t sure if they could get Grandpa into the Bronco or if it would be good for him to go somewhere, but Edna thought it was worth a try. Grandpa might enjoy a ride.

  26

  GRANDPA’S OUTING

  Quiet as they were, Edna’s grandparents looked like any normal old couple in the front seat of their Bronco. It had taken more effort than Mary thought it would to get Zeke out of the chair. He had a pretty set routine; she made him move at the usual times by telling him that it was time to get up over and over again, and by pulling him. It was not a scientific method. When it seemed to sink in that he wasn’t going to be left alone, Grandpa was able to get going, more or less on his own, to one of his usual destinations. Edna started to think they should forget the idea of taking him somewhere when he suddenly got going for no apparent reason. He knew to get into the car. Grandma had parked it in front of the porch. She’d shaved his face and cut his hair in anticipation of the trip. The last time he’d been that done up was for the party about three weeks ago, so this was frequent grooming by his standard.

  The small church was one of the nicest buildings Edna had seen all summer, just up the road from the depressing intersection where she and Grandma had sat the first time they came to town, the day she told Johnny she needed shampoo in Bishop’s. Everyone was already seated when they came into the church. Enthusiastic ladies Grandma’s age said, “Mary Miller!” and jumped up to greet her, but they were hushed and told that the service was starting. They whispered affectionate hellos. Grandma nodded and directed Grandpa to an empty row toward the back of the congregation, which was a sea of mostly gray heads turned toward them with interest. Edna felt guilty for thinking this crowd was too friendly, like people would be after taking social anxiety medication, or at least that’s how it was in the commercials.

  A wizened pastor in an embroidered robe stepped up to the podium, welcomed everyone and made announcements about a bake sale, a youth group and a senior citizens’ trip. Suddenly, Edna felt as if she were among actors in the church scene of a TV show or a play, but these people were really doing this. The colorful, stained-glass windows gave her eyes a delightful rush. The adobe interior of the church was white and smooth, and there was a high ceiling, the highest ceiling she’d seen in some time. It felt like the inside of a real building, and it made Edna realize how much she’d been roughing it. There was plenty to look at, but she was careful not to move her head too much and attract attention while the pastor spoke. She might be forced to introduce herself.

  The congregation sang along with an encouraging, elderly choir of eight behind the podium. Encouragement was needed because only the braver members of the group sang, and it was pretty spotty. Grandma’s voice was low and slightly out of tune, but it was better than Edna had thought it would be for someone who probably never sang and barely spoke. Grandpa remained seated for the most part, but once in a while he stood up and sat down with everyone else. Edna always wanted his movements to indicate some kind of awakening, but they were just never conscious enough to matter. He didn’t communicate. At least it was no problem, or not much of one, to take him out with them. Grandma hadn’t said a thing about how to deal with him in public. Edna presumed you had to watch him, the same as you would with a dog or a child. It wasn’t nice to think of Grandpa that way, but he could walk. He could go off somewhere.

  The choir was seated. It was time for the talk, which would be the most boring part of the service, but Edna was so thoroughly patient by now that a church sermon was no match for her Tibetan monk–like ability to endure it. School was going to be a breeze this fall.

  Edna had never been religious and had even stopped believing in Santa Claus at an early age. Her parents didn’t try to convince her of anything. They took their children to the minimal amount of church. They liked doing other things on the weekend, like playing tennis or going to brunch or almost anything else they could think of. Edna tried to daydream about her favorite moments with Johnny rather than listen to the pastor, but she’d exhausted the topic so completely that it was no longer satisfying, and it hurt her brain. She even missed missing him now. Soon, snippets of the sermon seeped into her consciousness, and she was following it, intrigued by the pastor’s charisma and conviction. He put on as good a show as any TV preacher, and it was a welcome one. Edna desperately needed some entertainment.

  “—it’s interesting that these philosophies throughout the world have different paths to so many of the same outcomes: to be good, and to find a oneness with our Creator. I follow my path to the Lord through knowing Jesus. What the word here does not say is that it’s an easy path. You know, it doesn’t rate the path as an easy or a moderate or a strenuous hike. It doesn’t tell me how many miles it is or what the elevation will be.”

  He held up his Bible for dramatic effect.

  “It is not that kind of a guide book. It wasn’t easy for Jesus, after forty days of starving in the desert. Most people, they’d tell the Devil to go ahead and turn that stone into bread. The Lord wants us to live! And if I want that bread so much, if I’m that hungry, then I probably should have it.”

  He paused and shook his head.

  “That’s a good one. I hear that one a lot nowadays: ‘If I want it so much, I probably should have it.’ It’s almost funny, if it wasn’t so dangerous. Jesus didn’t know how he’d ever eat again, but he knew if he ate bread from the Devil, he couldn’t still be the same Savior. Now, y
ou can say, ‘Well, I’m going to become one with the Lord,’ so you see the Devil’s bread, you say, ‘Thanks, but no thanks, Devil,’ it’s a no-brainer. But the Lord has provided us with all kinds of temptations, not unlike the ones Jesus had. It’s up to us to consider whether, in doing what we do, we remain on the path to the Lord.”

  Edna had never thought she had that much in common with Jesus. Up until this summer, her biggest temptations were ice cream and the petty satisfaction that came from one-upmanship with her mother, and tormenting her teachers the same way. Both Edna and Jesus had been lost in the desert, but Jesus was lost for forty days and Edna was only lost for four hours. She wasn’t sure that the constant ache to be with Johnny was analogous to being hungry for bread made by the Devil from a stone, but this was the kind of thing the pastor was suggesting everyone consider. Everyone had their own individual challenges.

  They sang another song before the service was over, and afterward several women named Mary who hadn’t seen Grandma in years told her so. There were three Marys and two Kathleens. Edna got tired of being told that she must be Edna while Grandma fielded questions that took her forever to answer, so she went outside to a bench in the shade. She closed her eyes. It had been a while since she’d heard the bustle of people. The sounds felt good. Someone sat on the bench next to her.

  “Hi,” he said.

  She opened her eyes.

  “Hi.”

  This was most likely a dream. Edna resisted the urge to burst into tears all over Johnny’s light blue, button-down shirt, and to tell him that she was heartbroken and did nothing but miss him every minute. It would have been cathartic, but she didn’t want to embarrass him or her grandmother. At the same time, not doing so felt like lying. She didn’t know which was more important, and the attempt at righteousness only confused her. But she was really with Johnny, as she became increasingly convinced that this was waking life. The air was heavy with the nothing they were saying.

  “Do you go to church a lot?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Just sometimes.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “I believe in…in something. In doing what’s right, and maybe church helps figure that out. Do you?”

  “Yes, but I think God is more of an abstract concept than the stories let on.”

  “Yeah. I’m almost certain of it.”

  Grandma and Grandpa came out of the church with the pastor, who gushed over Grandma.

  “I heard it was wonderful. Such an unusual cake. Everyone always makes something chocolate, but I think Pineapple Upside-Down will be popular and raise a lot of money.”

  “I just love pineapple,” added one of the Kathleens.

  Mary saw the young lovers on the bench out of the corner of her eye. She promised to make a cake for the bake sale and said good-bye to the pastor.

  “Hello, Johnny. Time to go, Edna.”

  Mary walked Zeke to the Bronco. Johnny took Edna’s hand and kissed the back of it quickly before he left. Again, they didn’t really get to say good-bye. Edna didn’t know what it would mean to anyway. Nothing less than an earth-shattering kiss would be a reasonable expression of how she felt.

  She wondered if other churchgoers could sense their encounter, and if she’d ever been around other people in similarly dramatic circumstances and not known it. She must have been. Of course she had, it occurred to her—with her grandparents. On the surface they looked calm, but theirs was a dramatic scene happening in slow motion. A married couple losing each other.

  Edna found it bizarre to feel so strongly about Johnny and not act on it, and she guessed it was just as tough for Jesus, and that was the point. It was going to be more difficult than she thought, being an adult, if it involved controlling these powerful emotions all the time, and she was not looking forward to it. Nothing made any sense. She had no idea why she wasn’t going with Johnny wherever he was going, why she wasn’t kissing him whenever she wanted to and staying with him for the rest of her life.

  Grandpa was already in the Bronco. He didn’t move much, but when he did, he was as fast as a shark, as if he wanted to get the event of moving over with so he could get on with his important business of staring into space. Her grandparents always seemed especially depressing after Edna spent time with Johnny, but this time Grandma suggested, “Let’s push our luck with Grandpa and see if we can go out to lunch.”

  The phrase “go out to lunch” was like a remnant from a distant past, and it sounded like a foreign language coming from Grandma. Every cell in her body ached with lovesickness, and Edna was sure she couldn’t eat, but going anywhere sounded better than going back to the cabin. She would only look across the basin and envision the precise moment that Johnny’s lips touched her hand over and over again. There would be plenty of time for that.

  “I’d love to go to lunch.”

  It was a short ride to the Railroad Diner, which beckoned travelers off the desert highway with a burger special and its classic, train-car look. It had booths and a counter and was in dire need of renovation. The writing on the specials board was faded, it looked like no one had changed it in a decade. Withering plants placed around to liven things up did the opposite. She recognized some of the gray-haired churchgoers from moments earlier, and she scanned the place for Johnny. Mirrors helped her see that neither Johnny nor any other Bishops she knew were there. It was a relief.

  They were seated in a booth by the window, which Grandpa naturally stared out of. It was perfect for him: he could look at cars going by for a change. His forearms rested on the table, and when Grandma sat down next to him, he put his hand on her knee. He did it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Seeing him do anything still surprised Edna.

  “We always used to sit next to each other like this when we were in a booth,” Grandma explained as she looked at her menu. “When I saw you and Johnny on that bench, it reminded me.”

  “Grandma, did you think of coming here just so Grandpa would put his hand on your knee?”

  “Maybe, but I was also hungry.”

  Grandma’s skin went a shade of pink. Edna learned that blushing must run in families and that, somehow, Grandma and Grandpa still loved each other.

  “When is Grandpa’s birthday?”

  “May fifteenth.”

  “Oh. He’s a Taurus.”

  “I guess.”

  “When is your birthday?”

  “March nineteenth.”

  “You’re a…do you know what you are?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I’ll look it up.”

  Edna took out her phone. Zeke’s hand left Mary’s knee. He was making some kind of gesture. Edna guessed it bothered him when her screen lit up, but it had nothing to do with her phone. Grandpa was getting a bus boy’s attention. Was it possible? The world suddenly seemed tilted; Edna didn’t know what was happening. The bus boy came over. Grandpa cleared his throat.

  “Coffee, please,” he requested, and he waved his hand around the table, indicating that all three of them would be having coffee.

  He sounded like an urbane man, like George Clooney. Satisfied that he was getting coffee, Zeke sat back. His eyes drifted to the window, and he was gone again. It was really hard to tell if he was out of it or if he was just ignoring them, totally uninterested in making conversation. Edna looked to Grandma for any possible light she might shed on this event, but she was just as stunned as Edna was. The two of them waited in case he did something else. The bus boy returned and put their coffees on the table.

  27

  EDNA LEAVES THE DESERT

  Grandpa didn’t speak again that summer, but Edna was glad she’d heard his voice the one time. She liked the person he sounded like he was. Grandpa knew that Edna would drink coffee, which was unusual for a girl her age, but he might have been politely ordering for the whole table. He may have had no idea how old Edna was, or who she was, for that matter. She couldn’t understand why Grandpa had spoke
n to a bus boy in a diner but he didn’t speak to her or Grandma. Grandma explained that the problems with his brain were so complex that the hundreds of doctors he saw couldn’t understand it, so there was probably no way to know. These unanswerable questions drove Edna crazy and they had probably driven Grandma crazy a long time ago. Mary had learned not to take anything about Zeke’s condition personally anymore, and she told Edna not to either. Edna couldn’t help but think it was better for Grandpa to be around more activity, and Grandma agreed that while it didn’t used to be, maybe it was now.

  Edna hadn’t expected to see Johnny at church, and unlike the party she’d planned, she didn’t conjure the outing for the purpose of seeing him, not even unconsciously. She was sure of it. No one she knew ever went to church except on Christmas or for a wedding, and it wasn’t her idea to go there in the first place—it was Grandma’s. It was strange: she liked that Johnny went to church, even though she never did. She wished she could learn more little things like that about him. She dwelled on how he’d kissed her hand and how now they’d even talked about God, but she knew she couldn’t stay in the desert forever, hoping to get a glimpse of him every once in a while. She thought about begging to live here with her grandparents, but they wouldn’t even be in the same school. Johnny was going to be a senior and Edna had one more year of junior high.

  She’d transformed her corner of the pantry into a cozy nest, and her collections of rocks and weathered glass sat on the windowsill and the shelf below it. She was going to leave them there. It was hard to believe this was the same place she’d at first so despised. She was almost finished packing when she felt Grandma lingering in the doorway. It wasn’t like Grandma to linger; she usually either went in or out.

  “Hi Grandma.”

  Grandma had something in her hand, a stack of papers tied with faded ribbon. She sat on the cot and watched Edna pack. There was a quiet intimacy about packing. Edna’s mother always watched her pack whenever she was going anywhere. Mostly Jill was checking on what clothes Edna was bringing, but it was more than that. She was holding onto their final moments together.