I keep bobbing my head, eyes closed.
“Honey,” Mommy says in her tired voice. “We know you can hear us.”
I toss her a glance: You want a gold star?
“We’ve been working ourselves sick for Granny.”
“You locked her up.”
“It’s not like that at all,” Dad says. “We can bring her out for dinners and overnights. She just can’t live unsupervised.”
“Like I said, she’s a prisoner.”
“A resident. In a home where she’ll be properly fed, hydrated, bathed and groomed,” Mom says. “Frankly, she wasn’t placed a day too soon. We’ve never seen her so confused.”
“Gee, wonder why? You barge into her home, practically give her a stroke, and she ends up in emergency. Then you move her stuff around, and when she defends herself from a break-in, she gets locked up in a strange place getting orders from people she doesn’t know. And she’s confused? No kidding.”
“Honey, it’s hard what’s happening to Granny,” Dad says, “but you can’t keep making excuses.”
“I’m not making excuses. I’m pointing out facts. Plus another fact: they’ve stuffed her with drugs, haven’t they?”
Dad squirms. “She’s only on antidepressants and sedatives. They’re to make her happy.”
“Well, guess what: she isn’t. So here’s an idea. Give me her meds. That way she’ll get her brain back, and I can forget you exist.” I turn up the volume and bang down the hall to my room.
Why do they have to be them? Why do I have to be me?
* * *
I get a couple of calls in the middle of the night. It must be too dark for Granny to read her hand. I turn off the ring and change my message: “If this is Granny, you’re not at home, but everything’s okay. Detective Bird will see you in the morning. Till then: Rhubarb!”
When I wake up Sunday morning I have seven messages:
“Pie! Okay then.”
“Pie! I can’t wait till morning.”
“Pie! Where’s Teddy?”
“Pie! Is that the cemetery out there?”
“Pie! Is this a dream?”
“Pie! Bring Teddy.”
“Pie! It’s morning. Where are you?”
Naturally, we can’t go to Greenview right away ’cause that would be too easy. Instead we have to go to church first. Why? ’Cause “We never miss church, you know that.”
“Yeah,” I roll my eyes. “God’s all, ‘People are starving, but stop the world — the Birds aren’t at church.’”
“Watch your mouth.”
I sit in the pew like a zombie with brushed teeth. Pastor Nolan goes on about joy everlasting, but the only thing everlasting is his sermon. Afterwards, we go to Swiss Chalet.
“Why don’t we bring Granny?”
You’d think I’d screamed: Release the kraken! “One day,” Mom says. “First, Granny needs to get used to where she is.”
Dad nods. “If we bring her out now, we’ll need a taser to get her back.”
I wolf down my food and skip dessert to get to Greenview faster. What does Mom do? Slows down. Apparently “learning to enjoy your food,” means chewing till your jaw falls off.
“Wasn’t that lovely,” she says, patting her lips with a serviette.
“You’ve got coleslaw in your teeth.”
* * *
We finally pull into Greenview.
“Behave or else,” Mom says.
My head is full of swears I didn’t know I knew.
“Granny’s room is the second window from the left on the third floor,” Dad says. “She has a perfect view of Grampa’s grave. When she’s thinking of Grampa she can just look outside and there he is. Isn’t that nice?”
Are you for real?
We sign in at the reception desk, which is between a tuck shop and a sliding door to a small courtyard garden. They’ve put me on the official visitors list as a peace offering. The woman behind the desk is a perky cheerleader from sometime last century. I’ve never seen her in town, which is probably why she smiles at me. “So you’re Zoe. I’m Amy. You’re all your grandmother talks about.”
Okay, so she’s a nice perky cheerleader. “Granny’s all I think about, too.”
* * *
We go up the elevator and through the security door into Granny’s ward. There’s a nurses’ desk at the end of a big recreation room: a few couches and dining-room tables on the right; on the left, a semicircle of people in wheelchairs staring at a TV with their mouths open.
“Isn’t this a nice place?” Mom says, as we walk to the corridor beyond the nurses’ station. “It doesn’t smell of pee.”
“Let’s check for that on TripAdvisor. ‘Great hotel. It doesn’t smell of pee.’”
Before Mom can say anything, the nurse from behind the desk introduces herself — “Hi, I’m Lisa” — and we go down the corridor to Granny’s room.
“The room is small,” Dad says, “but it’s private and it has its own bathroom. The food’s better than she’s been getting, too. Also, they give her two baths a week and her clothes are name-tagged so nothing will go missing in the wash.”
“Don’t forget the entertainment, Tim,” Mom adds. “Singalongs. Bingo. It’s like summer camp for seniors. Granny won’t be all alone in a house full of mould. And think of the company.”
“Yeah. Like Dr. Rutherford. Granny hates him. He’s a perv.”
“Zoe,” Dad pleads.
Outside each door there’s a glass case with pictures, medals and figurines. Dad says they’re to remind people which room is theirs. Through the doorways, I see old people staring out their windows. I bet they’re waiting for visitors who never come. Granny won’t be like that. I’ll be here every day.
We get to Granny’s. Her memory box has a picture of her and Grampa and us. How about a bird nest?
Dad knocks. “Mother. Guess who’s come to visit?”
“About time.” Granny’s sitting on her bed in a plain top, black sweatpants and her black sweater, her red leather purse slung over her shoulder. The closets and dresser drawers are open and empty. Her clothes are in a sack she’s made with a bedsheet. Her paintings are propped against the garden gnome.
“Mother …”
Granny stands up. “I’m all packed. Take me home.”
“You are home, Grace,” Mom says.
“I was talking to my son.”
“Carrie’s right, Mother,” Dad says. “This is your home now.”
“This is not my home. My home is the Bird House, 125 Maple Street. Your father died in that house and your grandfather and your great-grandfather. It’s where I’m going to die, too. There are my things. Make yourself useful.”
I pick up the sack of clothes.
“Put that down,” Dad says. “Don’t make this difficult.”
“Difficult for whom?”
“For all of us.”
“I won’t stay, Tim. There’s people yelling nonsense. If you’re not crazy when you come here, you soon will be.” Granny holds on to Dad. “Please. Whatever I’ve done, forgive me. Just don’t leave me here.”
“I’ll be waiting in the car,” Mom says quietly. She leaves, a hand brushing her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mother. We’ll come back when you’re rested.” Dad gently removes her hands from his arms. She sinks onto the bed. He gives me a glance. “Say goodbye, Zoe.”
“Dad, let me stay. I’ll get Granny settled.”
He shifts from one foot to the other; you can practically hear the sweat squish between his toes. “Fine. But be home by dinner.”
13
Granny and I sit by the window and watch Mom and Dad drive away. Her chairs and mattress belong to Greenview. Apparently they worry about bringing in bedbugs in people’s furniture — which, hello, Granny’s doesn’t have.
“I need Teddy.” She fiddles with her wedding ring. “If Teddy knew what was happening …”
“Uncle Teddy’s gone, Granny.”
“Gone, gone
. Why did it have to be like that?”
“Granny, whatever it was, it’s not your fault.”
“Teddy. I need him. He wouldn’t leave me like this. Not if he knew.”
“I saw a courtyard on my way in,” I go. “Would you like to go there?”
“What?”
“There are flowers. Would you like to see some flowers?”
“Flowers?” She looks confused. “Are there daffodils?”
“Let’s see.”
We walk down the corridor arm in arm. “We’re going to the courtyard,” I tell Nurse Lisa.
“Have fun.” She nods me over. “To unlock the exit, tap in the code that’s over the keypad by the door.”
“Why have a code if everyone can see it?”
“To keep the residents from wandering.”
“You mean they can’t figure it out?”
“Not on this floor.”
I glance at Granny, peering around the room in bewilderment. Will Mom and Dad ever get like that? Will I?
I punch in the code, the door opens, and I take Granny down the elevator. She’s not upset any more. What’s she thinking? Does she know where we are?
Amy gives us a wave from the reception desk: “Mrs. Bird, how nice to see you.”
“How nice to see you,” Granny nods vaguely.
“Enjoy yourselves.” Amy presses a button behind her desk; the doors to the courtyard slide open. We walk into the garden, sit on a bench and check out the flowers. Granny pats her thighs and frowns. She looks down at her sweatpants. “Where’s my dress?”
That’s what I’ve been wondering. “At the dry cleaners.”
“Remind me to pick it up.”
For the next couple of hours, she rests her head on my shoulder and I stroke her hair.
“I feel fuzzy,” she says. “My head’s moss. I think I should have a lie-down.”
“Whatever you say.” I bring us back to the elevator.
“Where are we going?” Granny asks.
“Upstairs.”
“Why?”
“So you can nap.”
“I think I’d be better off on the comfy couch.”
All the same, she takes my arm, gets in the elevator with me, and lets me lead her down the hall to her room. She stops dead when she sees the photos in her memory box.
“What are those doing here?”
“Mom and Dad thought you’d like them.”
“They belong at home.”
“We’ll get them there.” I walk us into her room. The support workers have put everything back the way Mom and Dad had it.
“I dreamt I was in this room.” Granny’s forehead twitches; she opens the closet. “What are my clothes doing here? I can see me taking them out.” She turns to the night table, runs over, and moves the family pictures around. “Where’s Teddy? He’s gone.”
“It’s okay, Granny. I’ll get you his picture by tomorrow.”
“Good. I need Teddy. I can’t forget Teddy.”
“You won’t ever forget Uncle Teddy.” I sit beside her on the bed. “It must’ve been awful when he died.”
Granny gasps. “Teddy died?”
I squeeze her hand. “Yes, Granny. Years ago, in Elmira.”
“Teddy never died in Elmira. He moved to Toronto.” Granny says. “I have cards and letters. He has a new place. There’s a park across the street.”
“Granny, are you maybe confused?”
“No. Are you?”
A support worker pops in and out of the room. “Dinner time, Mrs. Bird.”
“I’m with my granddaughter,” she calls after him.
“Actually, I should be going.” I get up.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Granny, I’m afraid you can’t come.”
“Why not?”
“Mom and Dad. If I bring you home, they’ll bring you back and never let me see you on my own again. Understand?” Her eyes say no. “Don’t worry. You won’t be here long. I’ll get you back to the Bird House soon.”
“All right then. I’m counting on you.” Granny hugs me. “I can always count on you, can’t I?”
“You bet.”
I get to the elevator as fast as I can. When I step outside to the parking lot, Granny’s at her window, waving down at me: She remembered I was visiting. If she was at the Bird House … If she wasn’t on those drugs … If it weren’t for Mom and Dad …
I walk backwards. We blow each other kisses. Finally, the trees block our view, and I can run away without her seeing me cry.
* * *
When I get home, our Carrie’s House of Hair sign is blinking up the front window. I’m too mad to be embarrassed. Mom and Dad are sipping lemonade on the veranda. I storm up the driveway.
“Back on time. Good,” Dad says, like we’re off to a new start.
“Nice visit?” from Mom.
“Whose idea was it to put Granny in sweatpants?”
“Shh!” Mom looks at the hedge, afraid the neighbours are listening. “Elastic waistbands are easier for staff when Granny goes to the bathroom.”
“She goes to the bathroom on her own.”
“Not on time.”
“What about you in Mexico? Plus another thing: Where’s Uncle Teddy’s picture? You thought Granny wouldn’t notice? She does.”
“What are you talking about?” Dad goes. “If it got mislaid, I’ll find it.”
“First, why don’t you find Uncle Teddy? He’s ‘mislaid’ in Toronto, right?”
Dad’s lemonade spurts through his nose.
Mom makes that sound with her straw.
“You let me think he died in Elmira. He’s not even dead, is he?”
Their eyes dart back and forth like rabbits.
“Might as well be.” Dad’s face is ashes.
“What do you mean, ‘might as well be’?”
“Teddy took off when I was seven,” Dad says.
“Why?”
“None of your business.”
“Says who?”
“Says I’m your father.”
Says what are you hiding? “Granny wants to see him.”
“Well, Teddy doesn’t want to see her.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Was Teddy at your grampa’s funeral? No! Not at your great-grandpa’s, either. No matter what your granny wants, it’s too late.”
“If you’re so sure, call him. Have him say it.”
Dad squeezes his plastic cup so hard it cracks. Blood runs down his hand. “Now see what you’ve done!” He runs into the house, Mom after him: “Tim, wait. Let me get you a tea towel.”
So Granny isn’t crazy: Uncle Teddy is alive. And in Toronto. I grab my phone and search for his number on Canada411. There are dozens of Birds in the city, but no T for Ted or E for Edward. Oh no. Maybe he has a cell. I check Facebook, Twitter, a bunch of sites. No luck.
I slump on the veranda steps. Granny says she’s had cards and letters, but what if they’re old? What if he’s moved again? Or won’t help? What if her hopes are a dream?
But what if they’re not?
14
Monday morning, I arrive at school as the buses come in from the country. Suckhole’s waiting for Dylan. We pretend not to see each other. I lock my bike and start to head inside.
“Zoe, wait up,” Ricky calls out. He lopes over from his bus. “About your grandmother. Just so you know, the same thing’s happening to my gramps. It’s hard.” He shuffles. “I’m thinking about you.”
Did I just hear that? “Thank you.”
He blushes. “You’re welcome. It was nothing. Just, you know.” He leans in, totally serious. “I told Madi she should apologize for what she said about your grandmother.”
“She won’t.”
“She should.”
My heart fills. “Whatever. It means a lot you told her off.”
Ricky goes to say something else, but stops. He gives me this shy, lopsided grin and disappears.
I’m a puddle of h
appy. Especially ’cause Suckhole’s jaw is on the asphalt. I go to geography in a bliss bubble: Ricky cares about me. Ohmigod. When he leaned in — gosh he smells great. What did he want to say when he left?
Stop it. Don’t get your hopes up.
Why not? He told Suckhole to apologize! He wouldn’t do that if I didn’t matter.
All morning, I go from thinking about Ricky to drawing pictures of Mom and Dad in Hell. Mom’s wig is stuffed in her mouth to stop the screaming. Satan’s shoved his pitchfork up Dad’s ass.
At lunch, I shoot Ricky a smile. He smiles back. I melt ’cause the way he does it is, well, so sweet I almost go up and sit with him, only I’m too scared to wreck it. For the first time in ages, I eat without wanting to heave.
That is, until right before the bell. Suckhole and the Suckhole-ettes plunk themselves down at my table without even asking.
“Poor you,” Suckhole goes. “I’d be so upset if my grandmother attacked a guy with a butcher knife. Good thing she’s locked up, hunh?”
I throw my Coke in her face and march out of the caf staring straight ahead.
“Zoe, it’s okay,” she calls, running after me. “I forgive you. I know how hard this must be.” A crowd follows us, hungry for action.
Don’t run. Don’t cry. It’s what she wants.
“Hold up. It’s just that I love you so much,” she pleads. “I want your granny to get the help she needs.”
If I can make it to the bathroom, lock myself in a stall, stick my fingers in my ears—
Suckhole grabs me by my elbow. “Please, Zoe, I care.”
I whirl round. “Bullshit. You’re a stupid suckhole, that’s what you are. And your dad’s a drunk. His uncle passed out on the train tracks. Dogs ate his guts.”
“That’s a lie!”
“Says who, you stupid ho?” I tap her on the shoulder.
Suckhole throws herself back against the lockers like I’m She-Hulk. She drops to the floor screaming, “Help! Make her stop!”
Everybody’s, “Fight! Fight!”
Dylan grabs me from behind. I flail away, kick his shins: “Let go of me!” Is Ricky here? Is he seeing this? Please no.
Mr. Jeffries wades through the crowd, underarm stains on his shirt, his breath like scrambled eggs. “Freeze!” He kneels down, puts his arm round Suckhole. “Are you all right?”
The Way Back Home Page 5
