by Megan Hart
He won’t. This will be the last time he sees her for a long, long time, and he knew that before he came. She watches them from the doorway as they drive away, but though she raises her hand in a wave, Gabe doesn’t wave back.
He doesn’t head for home right away. He goes into town, parks on a side street in front of a small hospital thrift store. The mannequins in the window don’t have heads, and one’s missing an arm. There’s a shelf of sad stuffed toys at their feet. He needs to sit for a few minutes before he can drive home and face his brothers, knowing this secret they don’t.
Janelle doesn’t ask him if he’s okay. She sits with him in silence for a minute or so. Then she punches him in the arm.
“Let’s go in there.” She points at the thrift shop. “I love places like that.”
Because she did something for him without question, Gabe gets out of the truck and follows her into the dusty smelling shop, where she flips through old record albums and sorts through countless paperback novels. She passes up the housewares section, but stops in front of the large glass jewelry case to stare down at the velvet-covered boards glittering with costume pins. On top of the case are several spinning racks, and Janelle turns them slowly.
Her fingers push at the dangling chains and beads, the rosaries. She lifts a pendant engraved with the face of the Virgin Mary, and studies it longer than she has any of the others. Her fingertips cradle it before she lets it go, swinging on the peg.
“You think Jesus ever got mad that his real dad was never around?” Janelle looks at Gabe, totally serious. “I mean...he knew Joseph wasn’t his real dad, right? But his real father wasn’t around, and then he ended up dying for him.”
Gabe goes to church because his dad makes him, but he hasn’t prayed in a long time. He has no opinion on Jesus or his mother. “I’m never having kids.”
“Me, neither.” She twirls the rack again slowly, stopping once more at the dangling Virgin pendant. “If you ask me, she ought to have dumped Joseph and never told Jesus where he came from. Having no dad is better than having a shitty one. I guess having no mom is better than having a shitty mom, too.”
Janelle looks at him. “C’mon, Gabe. Let’s go home and get a little high.”
At home in his bed, her back pressed to his front and his chin tucked into her neck, both of them pleasantly buzzed, she curls her fingers in his again and holds them tight against her.
“How come you asked me to go with you?” she asks.
He thinks for a minute before he answers. “Because I knew you’d say yes.”
“How’d you know?”
“I just...knew,” Gabe says. “I knew you’d do something for me if I needed it.”
She shakes a little. He wants to ask her if she’s crying, but is afraid she’ll say yes, and after a while she stops. She turns to face him, her eyes dry. She slides her hand against him, inside his jeans, and then that’s all he can think about.
THIRTY-SEVEN
WHEN THE PHONE rang, jangling, Janelle picked it up automatically without looking at the caller ID. Nan was napping after having been awake on and off for another night, calling for Janelle to help her, which should not have been, but was, worse than if she’d tried to rearrange the fridge by herself, or any of the other useless tasks that took hold of her in the wee hours. She got argumentative when Janelle told her she needed to go back to sleep. Nan had been sick, too, dry heaving. Not since Bennett was a baby had Janelle been operating on such constantly interrupted sleep, and it was taking its toll.
She snapped up the phone with a curt “Hello.” Silence greeted her, going on for so long she was just about to hang up when a rough male voice said her name. She froze, twisting the cord of Nan’s old-fashioned landline in one hand.
“Dad.”
“Hey. Yeah.” He sounded pleased she recognized him.
She cut that sentiment off at the knees. “What do you want?”
“You never answered the messages I left on your cell. I thought I’d call directly.”
“What do you want,” she repeated, keeping her voice down so that not only wouldn’t it wake Nan, but she couldn’t possibly overhear if she was awake.
“I want to see my mother. And you. And my grandson.” He must’ve known she’d protest, because he added quickly, before she could speak, “You have every right to be pissed off at me, Janelle. But just listen...”
“There’s no money for you.”
He paused. When he spoke again, he sounded angry, not contrite. Typical. “Don’t you think I care more about saying goodbye to my dying mother than money?”
“I have no idea what sort of things you care about, but being there for your family has never seemed to be one of them.” Janelle twisted the cord harder, tighter around her fingers, until it hurt. She didn’t unwind it, either.
“You can’t keep me from coming to see her.” Another pause, then his voice was softer. “Look. I understand if you don’t want to have anything to do with me. But I want to see her before it’s too late. And it’s not your decision, Janny. It’s hers.”
“She won’t want to see you.” Even as she said it, Janelle knew it wasn’t true. Her uncles would want their brother to stay far away, but Nan... Well, Janelle had a son. She was pretty sure Nan would want to see her oldest boy, no matter what he’d done.
“Ask her.”
“She’s sleeping now.”
He sighed. “Fine. So ask her when she wakes up. I can come next Wednesday. Around noon.”
“No,” Janelle said automatically, then recanted. At noon Bennett would still be in school, assuming there was no more trouble. She hadn’t had a call since the last one. “Fine. Noon. But you can’t stay more than an hour. She tires easily, and I don’t want you here when my son gets home from school.”
“You sound like your mother when you talk that way, you know it?” He sounded begrudgingly admiring, not mad. “Fine. I’ll be there at noon. I’ll stay an hour. We’ll work from there. Okay?”
“Fine.” She hung up without saying goodbye, her stomach sour and her mouth dry.
Nan called out from the bedroom, crying Janelle’s name over and over again in a voice that rose in pitch until it was nearly a scream. Janelle got there as fast as she could and found her grandmother fighting at the sheets tangled around her. She clawed at them, kicking feebly.
“Nan, calm down. You’re fine. Did you have a bad dream or something?”
“Get me out of here,” Nan cried.
Janelle tried to ease her out of the blankets, but Nan kept fighting. Her hand came up and smacked Janelle in the face, hard enough to make her see stars. She staggered back, her hand on her nose.
Nan quieted at once. “Oh, oh, honey, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay.” Eyes watering, nose starting to run, Janelle grabbed a tissue. “It was an accident. I’m okay.”
Really, her nose hurt like hell and she wanted to scream, but she pasted on a smile and sat on the edge of the bed to let Nan take her hand. They sat that way for a few seconds, Nan patting her over and over. When her grandma had quieted, Janelle extracted her from the sheets and helped her sit up.
“Are you okay, Nan? Were you dreaming?”
She shook her head. “They were calling my name again, that’s all. I heard them, clear as a bell. And I thought they were leaving without me.” She smiled sadly. “I’m a silly old lady.”
Janelle squeezed her hand. “You’re not. Let’s get you up and changed. We can have a snack, watch some TV until Bennett gets home, how’s that?”
Nan nodded and allowed Janelle to help her swing her legs over the edge of the bed. “Did I hear the phone ring?”
Janelle paused, focusing on making sure both of Nan’s feet, clad in thick slipper socks, were firmly settled on the floor before she helped her stand. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Was it Helen? I told her I’d let her know about that recipe I was telling her about.” Nan struggled to get up, but couldn’t quite manage to push herself off th
e bed until Janelle pulled her.
The pain in Janelle’s eye and nose intensified, as did the almost constant ache that had cropped up in her neck and shoulder and refused to be put aside no matter how many hot showers she took. “No. It was someone trying to sell me something.”
“I hope you told them to buzz off,” Nan said fiercely, eyes twinkling.
Janelle smiled. “Yep, Nan. I sure did.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
JANELLE HAD HAD dates for which she’d spent way less time getting ready. She’d spent an hour on her hair. With her makeup. Finding the perfect shirt to go with just the right pair of jeans that wouldn’t make it look as if she’d tried very hard at all.
It wasn’t Nan’s best day. She’d woken later than normal, allowing Janelle to get Bennett off to school, but when she did finally get up she’d made a mess in the kitchen while trying to pour herself some cereal. She’d resisted Janelle’s help in the bath, insisting she was fine without washing her hair—but Janelle couldn’t let her grandmother see her oldest son after so long without making sure she looked her best.
Janelle also didn’t tell her why she was so insistent about everything.
She had experienced firsthand the disappointment of waiting for her dad over and over, only to have him be a no-show. There was no way she was going to put her grandma through that. So she insisted on a bath, a blouse and comfortable skirt instead of Nan’s usual nightgown and housecoat. Even a little lip gloss, all while Nan grumbled and protested about being “tarted up” and became more and more suspicious.
By 11:00 a.m., when it was time for Nan’s midmorning medicine, Janelle was running on caffeine and anxiety. She’d lost her patience for watching her grandmother fumble with the bottles. She opened them all and laid out the pills, poured the liquid iron supplement and set everything up before calling Nan to the table.
Her grandma paused, leaning on the back of her chair, when she saw it. Then she looked at Janelle. “Why did you do this?”
“I was trying to help. You need to take your meds and then have some lunch. I’m making grilled cheese and tomato soup.” And there needed to be enough time for both the medicine and the food to go down, as well as time for Nan to deal with cleanup or post-meds upset, which was happening more and more frequently.
“I can get my own medicine.”
Janelle sighed. “I know, Nan. I was trying to help.”
Her grandmother sniffed but said nothing else. She took the pills and drank the liquid, then settled everything back into place. When Janelle slid a bowl of soup and a sandwich in front of her, though, she shook her head. “I don’t want it.”
“You have to eat.” Janelle’s own stomach was jumping up and down. “Especially after taking your medicine. You know your stomach will get upset if you don’t.”
“My stomach gets upset if I don’t eat or if I do.” Nan pushed away the soup, turning her head. “I don’t want it.”
“Well...what do you want?”
“Chicken salad.”
There wasn’t any chicken salad. “I could make you tuna salad.”
“It’s not the same,” Nan said.
No. It wasn’t. Janelle went to the kitchen, anyway, to make some, adding mayonnaise and a little mustard. By the time she’d finished, it was close to noon. With an eye on the clock, she slid the plate in front of Nan, who didn’t reach for the sandwich.
“It’s not the same,” she repeated. “Anyway, I’m not hungry.”
Janelle had eaten only a dry piece of toast earlier, but now her stomach rumbled and gurgled. “Fine. I’ll eat it.”
She sat across from her grandmother and pulled the plate toward her. The soup, too, now cold. She spooned a bite, then broke up the cold grilled cheese and dipped it into the bowl before eating that, too. Nan frowned, watching her. Janelle ate with an eye on the clock as it ticked just past noon. Another minute passed while she ate Nan’s lunch and Nan ate nothing.
At quarter past twelve, still early enough that her dad could still be coming, but late enough she was convinced he wasn’t going to, Janelle finished all the food she’d put out on the table. Now her stomach groaned, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a belch. Nan had watched it all in silence, but now spoke up.
“You’re going to get fat if you keep eating like that, Janelle.”
Janelle laughed, regretting the gluttony for many reasons, including the way her jeans now cut into her gut. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Nan wagged a finger. “You know who makes a delicious chicken salad. The Pit Stop.”
“Is that place still around?” The diner had been a popular hangout when Janelle was in high school. She’d never had the chicken salad.
“Oh, yes. The Pit Stop’s been there for years. I used to go there when I was a girl.” Nan gave Janelle a significant look. “They have a very good apple pie, too. By the time we get there, you might even have room for a piece.”
Janelle looked again at the clock. Twelve-thirty. If her dad was coming, he’d better get there in the next ten minutes. “You want me to take you to The Pit Stop?”
Nan dimpled, and in that grin was the schoolgirl Janelle had seen in so many of the old snapshots. “Oh, that would be lovely. You did have me get all gussied up. It would be a shame to waste it.”
That was that.
At The Pit Stop, Nan held court in a way Janelle had missed seeing. Old friends, neighbors, acquaintances, all stopped by their booth to greet them and spend a few minutes chatting. She looked better than she had in weeks, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling. Nan was tired by the time they got back to the house, but in great spirits.
“I needed that,” she told Janelle as she let her settle her into her bed for a late-afternoon nap. She patted Janelle’s hand. “It was good to get out.”
“We should do it more often,” Janelle said. “I wish you’d said something earlier, if you wanted to get out. There are a lot of things we could be doing, if you wanted.”
Nan sighed, eyelids drooping. “I did tell you, honey. And we went.”
Janelle held her grandmother’s hand, watching her drift into sleep. “Nan...if there’s anything you want to do that... Is there anything you want to do? That you haven’t?”
Nan made an effort at staying awake. “You mean something foolish, like skydiving? Or what do they call it, that cord jumping. They do it off bridges.”
“Bungee jumping.”
“No bungee jumping.” Nan smiled.
“But is there?” Janelle persisted. “Anything you want to do that you haven’t? Something you feel you missed?”
Her grandma yawned. “No. Oh, do I have my regrets, here and there? Sure. I suppose we all do. But is there anything I ever did that I really wanted to do, that I wish I’d done? That I could do now, you mean. Before I die.”
“Yes.” Janelle swallowed, the sweet taste of pie still lingering. “Before you die.”
She shook her head. “No. But is that a question you’re really asking me, honey? Or maybe are you thinking about yourself?”
“There are a lot of things I haven’t done, Nan.”
Nan patted her hand and sank back against the pillows, her eyes closing all the way. “Still have time....”
Janelle sat there for a few minutes, watching, then left her grandmother to sleep. She was cleaning up in the kitchen when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, saw the number and pressed the button to send it automatically to voice mail. A few seconds later, when the phone buzzed again, this time with a message, she deleted it without listening. Then she opened up an app she’d downloaded some time before to deal with a blind date who’d become a little too stalkerish for her tastes. She entered her dad’s number.
Blocked.
THIRTY-NINE
SHE FOUND THE the report card in the trash can. The grades weren’t terrible—mostly A’s with a B in science, but math was still a big D. Janelle looked at it carefully, then took it upstairs.
Bennett
was hastily tucking a comic under his pillow when she opened the door. “What?”
She ignored the comic. Held up the report card. His face fell.
“You know I need to see this, right? I have to sign it and send it back to school. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Bennett frowned. “Figured you’d be mad.”
“Well. I am mad, but I’m also concerned.” She sat on the edge of his bed. “I haven’t had any calls lately, so that’s good. But you have to tell me if there’s something going on. More stuff like there was before.”
He rolled his eyes. “No. I don’t have any more stuff. You took it.”
“That’s not the right answer, Bennett!” Janelle said. “The right answer is that you wouldn’t do anything like that again, even if you did have more stuff!”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
She took a few breaths to keep her temper steady. “I’m so disappointed. You got a D? I thought Andy was helping you. I thought you were making an effort. I thought you were really going to try.”
“I did try. I worked hard.”
“You can’t have worked that hard,” she pointed out.
“Sorry, I guess I’m not perfect the way you want me to be.”
This stopped her. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just want you to try your best.”
“I did try my best.”
“Getting a D is not your best,” she told him, and stood, holding up the report card. “It’s unacceptable. You can do better. I expect better from you.”
The words spilling from her were an echo of the ones her mother had said to her all those years ago, and this stopped her. Janelle pressed her lips together. Oh, God. She’d been in high school, a teenager, when she’d gone out of control. Bennett was only in the sixth grade.
“I’ve tried so hard,” she said. “To make sure... I just wanted to make sure you grew up right, that you didn’t turn out like...”
He watched her, silent, eyes wide. Janelle swiped at her tears, embarrassed and angry. She focused on the report card, folding it in half, then again, making creases.
