The Goat Children
Page 14
“You’re late,” his wife snapped.
“We’re sorry, Marta.” Mama nodded towards Oma. “There were a few difficulties at home.”
Aunt Marta rolled her eyes. “Difficulties could’ve been dealt with later. We don’t have all day.” Aunt Marta, ever a ray of sunshine.
“Here, Oma.” I pulled out a seat. “You can sit here. I’ll fill your plate for you.” The air smelled of flowers and pita bread. I loved the restaurant already.
“Will you get me things I like?” Oma lifted her upper lip in what might have been a sneer. “Will they be things I can chew?”
“I know what you like.” I helped Oma settle into the seat and set her purse beneath the chair.
Aunt Marta had already filled a plate, but Uncle Jan and their son, Jim, rose. Jim’s long hair now sported a buzz cut, and he wore a fuzzy penguin sweater I guessed his mother had bought. It ruined his usual rocker look.
“So, what do you think of Mom?” Uncle Jan asked as we left the room for the buffet table.
My heartbeat increased; I wanted to hear what Mama answered.
Jim tapped my shoulder. “What’s up, kid-o? Been to any wild parties here?”
“No.” I glanced down when Phebe slid her hand through mine.
“Don’t like parties?”
“I, um, haven’t been invited.” I imagined a bunch of teenagers getting drunk, high, and hooking up. Guys playing beer pong and girls making out with each other wasn’t my idea of fun.
“No new friends? No good going to a new school?” Jim grinned.
I wondered if he found my antisocial attitude amusing. “Something like that.”
“Nah, probably nothing around here compares to the city.”
I wanted to say I wasn’t into the party scene like he was. I didn’t like getting so drunk I didn’t know what my name was and had to spend the night at Tiffany’s so my parents wouldn’t find out. I also didn’t like talking to complete strangers who all acted like idiots. Those reasons sounded dumb, though. Usually I didn’t care what other people thought of me, but I didn’t want my cool, older cousin to think I was a loser.
“Yeah. Everything around here just seems so tame.” I winked and flashed a grin, hoping I looked mischievous. “There really is nothing like a party in the city.”
“You never go to parties,” Phebe said.
I rolled my eyes at Jim, and mouthed, “Sisters.”
“Take the bus up to Syracuse sometime.” Jim chuckled. “My new apartment is awesome. I’ll show you a good time.”
“Sounds like fun.” My voice squeaked on “fun,” and he laughed.
We arrived at the buffet table, so I picked up a plate. It was warm from the dishwasher, with a few beads of water still clinging. I handed it to Phebe.
“Sweetie, come up here, and I’ll help you,” Mama called.
“But I wanna be with Kez,” Phebe whined.
“It’s okay. I’ll watch her.” I picked up two plates, one for me and the other for Oma. It was a challenge to pick out tender foods Oma would eat and keep Phebe from spilling everything, all the while finding food I liked. Most of the dishes contained meat, and nothing was labeled vegetarian, like it was at my favorite buffet in the city. Phebe almost took a piece of souvlaki before I caught her hand. “That’s lamb.”
When we returned to the table, Jim now he sat beside Oma. She used her fork to pick at a piece of apple pie.
I set the plate I’d prepared in front of Oma and moved the pie away. “Here’s your food. Where’d the pie come from?’’
“I got it for her.” Jim’s teeth were bright when he grinned. “I remembered how much she loved apple pie.” His gaze brushed past her to me. “When I was little, she used to watch me and my brothers before our parents came home from work. There’d always be an apple pie sitting around.”
I couldn’t remember Oma ever eating pie, but I nodded.
“I’m never allowed to eat dessert first.” Phebe stabbed a hunk of feta cheese with her fork and popped it into her mouth.
“Don’t eat, Phebe. We haven’t said grace yet.” I placed my hand over hers.
“Where’s my pie?” Oma slapped me away when I tried to shred her lettuce with a knife. “Where’d you put it?”
“It’s right there. You can have it after you eat.”
“I don’t want this.” Oma shoved the plate away. It hit her water glass and knocked it over. Water and ice spilled over the white linen tablecloth.
“Shoot!” I bolted to my feet and snatched the basket of pita bread away from the spreading water. I grabbed my napkin, to mop up the mess.
“Where’s my pie?” Oma shrieked.
“Can I help?” Phebe set her fork down to fold her hands in her lap.
“No, it’s okay, honey. I’m getting it. Hand me your napkin.” I righted the glass and dropped the ice back in. The cubes clicked together.
“I don’t want this. It looks disgusting.” Oma waved her hand over the plate I’d brought.
“You have to eat the food.” Frustration tears welled in my eyes, and I left the napkins in a soppy mess near the glass, not sure what else to do with them.
“No, it’s a holiday. She can just eat the pie first if she wants to.” Jim patted Oma’s shoulder. “Huh, Grandma? You can do whatever you want on holidays.”
I’d always liked Jim, but now I wished one of my other cousins had made it to Thanksgiving – one of the cousins who wouldn’t have given her pie.
“She isn’t going to eat the pie first. She’s only going to eat the pie,” I wailed.
“You’re creating a scene,” Aunt Marta had ignored the commotion, eating despite the lack of saying grace. Now, she glared across the table at me. “Sit down and stop yelling.”
I sat with a plop on the seat’s brocade cushion. Phebe squeezed my arm.
“How are you, Grandma?” Jim asked.
I ground my teeth. I was the one who took care of Oma. Jim lived an hour away and only visited on holidays. He never called in between times. Yet, now, he acted as if he and Oma were close. She is my Oma, not yours!
“You’re so nice.” Oma smiled at Jim as he put the pie back in front of her. She swung her gaze to me. “Why can’t you make anything pleasant?”
“So, Keziah.” Aunt Marta paused to chew a piece of lamb. “How’s school?”
“Fine.” I let ice flow from my voice.
“How about you, Phebe?”
“I miss my sister.” Phebe nuzzled my side with her nose.
“Right.” Aunt Marta cut another sliver of lamb.
“Lamb is disgusting.” The words bounded from my mouth. “Lambs are beautiful and precious. You have a dog. Would you eat your dog?”
Aunt Marta stiffened. “I almost forgot you were all vegetarians.” She spat the last word as if we were cannibals.
“Oma started it.” I wanted to add all Goat Children were vegetarians because I’d read that in one of Oma’s notebooks, but that was Oma’s secret world.
“Of course.” Aunt Marta looked away.
Phebe sang a Cascada song, swinging her legs beneath the chair. Jim told Oma about his new job at a bank. I glared at my plate, wishing I had the wits and nerve to fling a scathing comment at Aunt Marta. Uncle Jan and my parents returned to the table with fake smiles.
“Keziah, don’t let Oma eat the pie first,” Mama said.
I winced. “Jim brought it and—”
“Let’s say grace,” Dad interrupted.
“About time.” Aunt Marta kept eating.
“This is really fun. I like it when we all get together.” Phebe smiled at me.
I kissed my sister’s forehead. “I love you.”
“Keziah.” Uncle Jan’s voice boomed, a laugh lost somewhere between his words. “Your mom said you went on a date.”
“Her first date.” Dad didn’t sound as if he enjoyed the fact I was datable, so I avoided looking at him.
“Is he your boyfriend now?” Uncle Jan asked.
�
��No.” Domenick and I had sent a few text messages since the outting, but he hadn’t asked me out again. “Oma wouldn’t like that.”
“You wouldn’t care, would you, Mom?” Uncle Jan asked.
Oma wrinkled her nose. “Were you talking to me? I thought I wasn’t here.”
“Come on, Mom. We’re all in this together,” Uncle Jan said.
I glared at my plate of food, my appetite gone.
****
That night on the couch, Phebe pressed against my back, snoring. The garbage truck rolled down the hill with its familiar growl of machinery. Streetlights shone through the front windows, playing in the hallway like pixies.
I moved the blanket off my legs, tucking my pillow against Phebe. My sister murmured, eyelids twitching, but she didn’t rouse. I tiptoed across the room, past the mattress where my parents slept, and found my purse in the hallway. Clutching it to my chest, I sat on the last step of the stairs and took out my cell phone. I pressed the on button, hiding the vibration against my stomach.
The screen lit up bright blue. When it finished loading, I went into the messages folder and typed one to Domenick. Want to go to the movies next week?
Screw Oma. I could have a boyfriend if I wanted one.
He would have his phone off and be asleep, so I’d have to wait until morning for a reply.
“Keziah?” Phebe stood in the living room doorway.
I jumped. “Go back to sleep.”
“What’s the matter?” Phebe tiptoed across the hall to the stairs.
“Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“I miss you.” Phebe crawled into my lap. I leaned against the wall with my arms around her. “When are you coming home?”
“Soon,” I bit my lower lip. “I have to look after Oma. She needs me.”
“Why doesn’t Oma like me?” Phebe snuggled against me.
I should say Oma did, or blame the dementia.
“I don’t know.” I kissed Phebe’s head. “I love you. Mommy and Daddy love you. That’s all that matters, sweetie.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
The cell phone buzzed. I jerked and Phebe gasped.
My hand shook when I flipped it open to look at the message.
Would your grandmother like that?
I closed my cell phone and replaced it in my purse. If Domenick had really wanted to go to the movies, he wouldn’t have countered with a question. He would’ve said yes. Tomorrow, I’d text back and say never mind.
“Was that your boyfriend?” Phebe’s eyes appeared wide in the streetlight glow. “Are you guys getting married? Can I be your bridesmaid?”
“No.” I shook my head. “He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”
****
I am eight years old. It is a snow day, so Oma walks with me to the library. We rent a children’s craft book. Then, we walk to the craft store for supplies, and spend the next few weeks making every project.
My favorite is the rag doll. Oma sewed it for me out of an old sock.
“This will be Leontien,” I say. “I named her after you.”
We make her jewelry and dresses, and I give her yellow yarn hair. She sits on the piano to watch over us.
Chapter 19
“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to know you’re never going to see someone again?” Oma asked.
I stiffened before I finished closing the front door. When I flipped the lock, it felt like ice against my fingertips. “They’ll be back.”
“Of course,” Oma said.
I lifted the corner of the curtain to peer through the door’s window. Uncle Jan’s car backed out of the driveway. Phebe pressed her face against the window and waved. I imagined my sister’s eyes were tearful like mine.
“I knew I was never going to see my parents again.” Oma sighed. “I was saying goodbye for good. They passed on, and when I joined the Goat Children, I had to say goodbye to others then. I had to know I was leaving everyone and never coming back.”
Even when I walked away, Oma still stood at the door. She stared at it as if it was going to perform.
“You know,” Oma said, “sometimes I wish I hadn’t gone with the Goat Children.”
Uncle Jan phoned that evening. “Do you need anything from the store?” My parents had gone shopping the day before, but I carried on the message to Oma anyway.
“You know I never know if I need anything,” my grandmother snapped. Then, her gaze softened. “Okay, I’ll go.”
“What?” I almost dropped the phone. Oma never wanted to leave the house to go shopping.
“Yes. I want to go. Where’s my coat?”
“I guess she really is going,” I told Uncle Jan.
Oma opened the closet door to stare at the coats. “Which one is mine?”
“Where do you need to go?” Uncle Jan asked.
“Rite Aid. I can get some toilet paper,” I said.
I helped her put on a coat, a brown one with spots all over the sleeves from a spilled ice cream cone. The ragged hat Oma wanted to wear was one she’d knitted years ago. Pieces hung like ribbons. They must’ve tickled, because she kept brushing her hand across her forehead, frowning.
When I handed her the winter boots, Oma stuck her left foot into the right boot, and vice versa. “These are too small.”
“They’re on the wrong feet.”
“Stop trying to make me feel bad. You’re a wicked girl.”
The words sliced through my heart, catching my breath in my throat. I yanked them off and helped Oma put them on again.
She sat in the front seat of the car complaining it was too cold, so Uncle Jan turned up the heat. Then, she complained it was too hot, so he turned it off. It became too cold again, and the cycle continued until Uncle Jan pulled up in front of the Rite Aid in the shopping center. I popped out of the back seat and ran around the car to help Oma out.
“This way.” I kept my hand on Oma’s arm, guiding her toward the store.
A man walked toward us on the shopping center sidewalk, pushing a cart from Hannaford’s grocery store. The wheels squeaked through wintry slush. Creak moan, creak moan.
“What a nice looking lady.” Oma pointed at the man.
He glanced over his shoulder, as if seeking the lady, and frowned.
“Oma, that’s a man.”
“What? No, that’s a woman.” Oma pointed at him again.
The man sent me a half-smile and pushed his cart down the sidewalk. I led my grandmother to Rite Aid’s entrance, the electric door whooshing open.
Inside, Katy Perry blared over the radio. A little boy played with a Lisa Frank notebook. A girl tried to get it back, screaming at the top of her lungs. A man finished paying the cashier, ignoring the kids. I wondered if they were with him.
“Did you want to look around or just get the toilet paper?” It felt weird to be in a store with Oma, rather than shopping alone.
“Toitey paper.” Oma chuckled. A couple at the film counter looked at us.
I repeated my question.
Oma yanked her arm away. “Of course I want to walk around! Don’t hold onto me like I’m some kind of an invalid. Let me hold onto you. I don’t want people to think I can’t walk.”
“But, Oma—”
She marched into a fixture of movies. The red cardboard buckled and DVDs scattered across the floor, the thuds and plinks echoing throughout the store, drowning out Katy’s song. I screamed, darting to Oma. There wasn’t that much money in Oma’s purse. What if the DVDs broke and we had to pay for them?
Oma tried to continue walking, as though she were oblivious to the fact there were DVDs underfoot.
“Oma, stop!” I yanked her around by the arm.
“What are you doing? Let go of me.”
“You’re going to step on them!”
“Step on what?”
“The movies.”
“What movies?”
“The ones you just knocked over.”
Oma tried to pull away a
gain. “What are you talking about? Why do you always want to make me sound like I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“You just knocked over the DVDs.” I pointed at the ground. Oma squinted, and rubbed the corner of her eye.
“It’s too bright in here. I can’t see. Where are my sunglasses?”
“What’s going on?” the clerk from the film counter asked. “Is there a problem?”
“What do you want?” Oma asked. “Keziah, where are my sunglasses? I can’t find them.”
“They’re right here in your purse.” I pulled them out and opened them for Oma to put on. “I’m sorry, but my grandmother knocked over the movies and—”
“What?” Oma asked. “I can’t hear you.”
“It’s okay,” the clerk picked at his ear as if intent on purging wax rather than look at us. “I’ll clean it up for you.”
“Come on, Oma. This way.” I tugged my grandmother down the first aisle.
“Do you think I enjoy being dragged around the store?” Her glasses must not have gone on right, because Oma took them off and put them back on. “Is that candy?”
“Yes.” I bit back a groan. “We’ve got candy at home.”
“Get me a marshmallow bunny.”
“I can’t. They don’t have any. It’s not Easter.” Not to mention the gelatin ingredient made them not vegetarian.
“Get me a candy bar. Milk chocolate. Get one for yourself, too, and one for Jan and your mother.”
“Mama’s back in the city.”
“One for Jan, then.”
I chose a dark chocolate bar for me and two milk chocolates before reaching for Oma again. She grabbed my arm, instead, smacking her purse into a shelf of cereal boxes. They scattered across the floor.
“Why did you just knock them over?” Oma stared at me with wide eyes. “You need to be more careful. You have to start thinking.”
“No, I didn’t do it.”
“You’re so embarrassing.” Oma marched down the aisle, and almost collided with a man.
He reached out to steady her and she stepped away, nostrils flaring.
“Keziah, come here! This man tried to touch me.”
The man only smiled down at Oma.
“You scared the life out of me,” Oma exclaimed.