"I meant to ask you about your mom. How's she doing?"
"She's pretty busy," I said. "But she's okay."
Ellie's mom patted my shoulder. "How about I drop Lena home after the party? It's no trouble."
"Um..." I glanced toward Grandpa Aldo. "Yeah. Actually, that'd be great."
We descended the porch stairs carefully, my grandpa holding on to the handrail. Luckily, Ellie's house wasn't too far from our place. It was in the small group of nicer houses at the base of the hill. Our walk home would be on the flats that ran toward the highway.
"Too many stairs," Grandpa Aldo said, making it to the last step.
"Yeah."
"Just a minute." He leaned on the handrail. "Out of breath."
"We can take the walk home slowly. Maybe we'll stop for a hamburger for lunch on the way. How does that sound?"
"Where's my truck?" he asked, suddenly scanning the block, his brow furrowed.
"Your truck? There's no truck, Grandpa. We're on foot." I tried to sound reassuring, calm.
"My truck. The red truck." He kept frowning, staring out at the line of cars at the curb. "Someone stole the truck!"
"No, Grandpa. You sold the truck years ago," I said. "Come on, now."
He eiglooked confused for another moment, and then, at last, his face relaxed and he accepted the hand I held out to him.
"It's okay. Come on. Let's go," I said, coaxing him along. "Let's get you some lunch."
Reluctantly, he began walking alongside me. And, after a few minutes of slowly navigating the crummy sidewalk along the four-lane road, we finally sat down in an orange plastic booth. Between us, a brown tray held Grandpa Aldo's cup of decaf coffee, my cola, a large pile of fries, and two hamburgers. A poppy boy-band tune pumped out from the hidden speakers in the packed restaurant.
"It's good," Grandpa said, around a bite of hamburger. He seemed so much better now that we were eating something.
I removed the pickle slice from the middle of my hamburger and then took a greasy bite. "Mmm. Junk food."
Aldo had a glob of mustard on his lip, and he tried to wipe at it with his paper napkin, succeeding only in smearing it around on his chin.
"Here," I said, giggling as I brought his face closer to me. "Let me do that."
Aldo smiled. "I'm a mess, cara mia"
"No, you're just enjoying your lunch." I set down the napkin and handed him his burger. "Have some more."
Just then, I saw Jason, Mark, and two of their friends at the counter, ordering. They were dressed in shorts, tees, and sneakers, like they'd just come from shooting hoops at the park.
"Oh, great," I muttered, knowing it was my own fault for bringing Grandpa Aldo to a spot popular with kids from my school. My grandpa glanced over to see what I was fussing about, but he didn't say anything. I tried to eat more of my hamburger, feeling the sooner we could get out of there, the better.
The guys moved away from the counter with their full trays and passed us, only to take the booth two down from ours. As Mark sat down facing me, he saluted me with his drink cup. Sitting across from him, Jason turned his head and gave me a casual nod over his shoulder.
"You know those boys?" Grandpa Aldo took a small bite of his hamburger and chewed it slowly.
I stared down at my tray and dragged a few fries through the ketchup. "Yeah, I know them."
"Hey," Jason said, passing our table.
He grabbed some napkins and straws from the condiment station and then gave me a small smile as he passed the table on his way back. I wasn't sure what his deal was, why he'd say hi here, and I was still wondering why he'd been hanging around my locker the other day. I decided not to worry about it.
I took another bite of hamburger. "C'mon, Grandpa," I said, "let's finish up."
He sippp>Heed his coffee and then reached for a fry, chewing it slowly.
I balled the empty paper wrapper from my hamburger and sipped the last of my drink. Everything was fine. We were just having a normal lunch, and who cared what dorks were hanging out at the burger joint. But, of course, when we got up to leave, we had to pass their booth.
"Hey, Holly," called out Mark.
"Hi," I said, unsmiling.
"So, you're into older dudes now?" he said, gesturing toward Aldo. Some of the guys at the table laughed. "That's hot."
I stopped and turned. "What?"
"You heard me—"
"Hey, don't be a jerk," Jason said. His face was flushed, and he was glaring at Mark.
"Uh, this is my grandpa." I was shocked at Jason shutting Mark up but still pissed enough to say something for myself.
"My bad. I'm just saying hello," Mark said. He held out a hand to my grandpa, who looked like he was about to punch him. Mark withdrew his hand. "Sorry."
"Enjoy your lunch," I said, glaring at him.
We moved off, and as I held open the door for Grandpa Aldo, I could sense the whole table was still staring at us. And I didn't care. Now I had more important things to worry about than Rob's dumb friends.
***
Jason couldn't bring himself to do it before or after chemistry on Monday, but he had to talk to her, especially after the lame incident at the restaurant over the weekend. He'd meant to do it last week, but he'd lost his nerve. So, today was the day. It was now Tuesday, and on Tuesdays after school, Holly usually took the number 6 downtown.
He sat in the brown metal and Plexiglass bus shelter, waiting for her. The once-clear walls of the place were pockmarked and scarred. Someone had taken the time to scratch BRIAN LOVES GINA into the paint on the metal framing. He checked his watch again, realizing ten minutes had already crept by since the last bell. And then—success.
Coming down the block in a blue track jacket and jeans, Holly was heading right for him. He smoothed a hand over his hair, suddenly feeling nervous. He always had trouble talking to girls. That was where Rob had come in. Rob had been the outgoing one, able to make some kind of random compliment or ask girls a simple question to get things rolling. Jason had admired Rob's skill at that.
He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the thought that Holly was someone he needed to talk to, that was all. What a lie.
His palms felt sweaty, because she wasn't just any girl. She was a girl he'd always thought was beautiful. And now that thm"> now things were all screwed up for everyone, but especially her, a girl that he needed to check in on.
He exhaled, ready for her to sit on the bench next to him, but Holly passed the stop and was heading down the block. He popped up from the slatted metal bench. "Hey," he said as he jogged up next to her.
Startled, she stopped in her tracks. Her expression wasn't friendly, but at least she was holding eye contact.
Jason said, "Um, I just wanted to—"
Frowning now, she turned and started walking again.
Again he matched her quick pace. "Hey, wait up."
"I have to be somewhere," she said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket.
"Okay, well. I'll just walk with you, then," he said.
"Your call."
They walked along silently for a moment, the traffic whizzing by on the road—first a string of cars filled with upperclassmen and then the long yellow-gold line of buses. Jason noticed the dandelions poking out from the broken sidewalk, the way Holly's feet shuffled along in her sneakers, how the hems of her jeans were frayed white on the bottom from dragging on the ground all the time.
"If you're not going to talk, then why are you walking with me?" Holly paused at the corner, her arms crossed. Her track jacket was the same light blue as her eyes. Even with her mouth turned down, she was still pretty.
Jason felt his cheeks getting red. "I did need to talk to you."
The light changed and Holly started into the crosswalk. Jason caught up to her at the other side of the intersection and reached out for her arm, stopping her. She whirled on him.
"What?" Her face was angry as she untangled herself from his grasp.
"I, uh..." Jason's tongue felt thick, stumbling for what to say. "I'm sorry about what happened on Saturday at lunch. And, well, I guess for a long time now, I've wondered how you're doing."
Holly's mouth was set in a grim line like she didn't believe him. Now he felt like an idiot for chasing her down. Felt like an idiot if what he was trying to do didn't mean anything to her.
Holly shifted on her feet, stepped back from the corner a little to let a lady with a rolling grocery caddy by. "You care about how I'm doing?" she asked, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder.
"Yeah. Listen, I don't know why I waited so long to talk to you," he said.
Holly raised her eyebrows. "Well, you said what you wanted to say. Was there anything else? I really have to be somewhere." She didn't wait for his answer, just turned and starturned and ed down the sidewalk again.
He considered just letting her walk away. After all, he'd tried to say what he needed to, and now maybe life could continue and this feeling of responsibility nagging at him would dissipate. But it wasn't going anywhere at the moment, that was for damn sure. "Holly, don't be like that," he said, following her.
"Do we have to do this now or ... ever?" she said, her voice steady, robotic. "We're cool, all right?"
No. Not good enough. Jason couldn't leave it like that. He couldn't leave something so messed up. "That's crap," he said.
She stepped closer to him. "Fine. I'm not cool with you or your friends."
"Our friends are idiots," he said.
"Your friends were never my friends," she replied in a low voice. "You tolerated me because I was with Rob. We both know that."
Jason let Holly walk away. "I was your friend," he called after her.
She turned and gave him a look over her shoulder. One that made him feel guilty, ashamed. He was sure he'd been kind to Holly while she'd dated Rob, but maybe she was right. Maybe his friends hadn't given her a chance, let her in the circle for real. And when she needed them, they'd ditched her so easily, so quickly.
"Some friends," he muttered. He turned and walked back the way he'd come, taking his time, mulling over what Holly had said.
Mark was waiting by Jason's car in the nearly deserted parking lot. "What's your deal?" he said. "I've been here for ten minutes waiting for your lame ass." Mark's parents had probably grounded him as usual and taken away his car.
"You getting in or what?" Jason replied, clicking the locks open. He started up the car, and the two of them flew down the side streets. They passed Holly a few blocks away, her head down, her footsteps quick. Another pang of guilt hit him and his foot eased off the gas.
"You gonna pick up a hitcher?" Mark said, jabbing him in the side.
"Dude. Shut up." He pressed harder on the pedal and sped toward the hills.
***
"Sorry!"
Grandpa Aldo winked at me from under his gray cap. "Hello there."
"I didn't mean to be late today." I took a seat next to him on the bench, knowing that I had to let the stress of my walk home and the strange conversation with Jason go. Everything is fine. "When did the senior center bus drop you off?"
He gestured with upturned palms toward what little landscaping existed out in front of our crappy building. "Been watching the birds."
I peered at him, trying to judge his coherence. "So you haven't been here too long?"
"I don't mind sitting in the sunshine." He gave me a kind smile, and his blue eyes lit up.
I didn't have a watch, so I pulled his left wrist over to me and checked the time on his big silver-faced one. Three fifteen. Lena's bus would be pulling up to the corner in a few minutes.
When I tried to let go of my grandfather's hand, he grasped mine tighter. "It's good to be with you, Holly. Isn't this nice?"
I let out a sigh of relief. He was having a good day. There hadn't been many of those since he'd arrived, but as I sat with him on the bench, it was like my old grandpa was back. When I looked into his eyes, he seemed there. More there than he'd been in days. "Yeah, it's nice," I replied.
He squeezed my hand and leaned in closer to me, his smile fading. "Listen, I want you to know things aren't quite right with me."
I sucked in a breath, surprised. "Yeah?"
"I can't remember things too well. I get confused. Something is wrong."
"Yeah, I know. Grandpa, you have a disease called Alzheimer's. It affects your brain."
He scratched at his left cheek, along the line of stubble. "It was so lonely over at the house without your nana." His blue eyes were watery, and suddenly he seemed to be drifting away. "I miss her so much."
"I know. Do you remember living in the apartment?"
He nodded. "It was lonely there, too. But I had Judge Judy."
I giggled. I hadn't heard him make a joke in the last few days. I was reminded of when I'd been even younger than Lena was now and I'd spent weekends with my grandparents in their big old house on Queen Anne Hill. It was never dull there.
Sometimes, Grandma and I had cooked pizelle or fried fresh zeppole. She wasn't Italian like Grandpa, but she'd learned to cook the things he loved. Together she and I had crunched through the sweet treats, laughing at the crumbs and the powdered sugar left around each other's mouths. Grandpa Aldo was usually working on something in the garage, or out in the back garden taking care of his zucchini and tomatoes. Always, he'd cracked little jokes, and threatened to spray me with the hose. The garden had gotten overgrown and too hard to manage as they both aged. The beautiful house was sold long ago.
"I miss Grandma too," I said.
"We had many good times." He let go of my hand and reached into his back pocket. "I want to show you something." He unfolded his dark brown leather wallet and pulled out a small square of paper.
I took it from his outstftiom his retched hand. It was a list written on well-creased stationery.
Sailing on the lake
Dinner at Mama Maria's Cucina
Walk at Discovery Park
Picking fresh tomatoes
Hawaiian Anniversary trip
Faces of my grandchildren
And it went on—more items written in my grandfather's sloppy cursive. I glanced up from the list at my grandfather's face. His lips were set in a firm line, his eyes closed like he was stemming his tears.
"This is my memory list," Grandpa Aldo said. "All the things I want to remember."
"Oh." I folded the list reverently. "That sounds like a good thing to have."
"I've carried it in my billfold for a while. If I forget these things," he said, "will you help remind me?"
"Sure, Grandpa." My voice sounded craggy, but I was trying to keep it together.
"I can't trust the others," he said. "They wouldn't understand. But you, Holly—there's something of your nana in you. You take the time with me. You're a patient girl."
I shrugged.
"You don't think the list is foolish?" Grandpa cocked his head at me.
"I think it's beautiful," I said.
"You keep it safe for me."
"No, no." I held out the paper, but Grandpa wouldn't let me hand it back to him.
"I know I forget things. I'm not the same as before. I want you to hold on to it."
"Um ... okay." I slid the tiny paper square into my pocket.
Lena's bus rolled up then, and she tore off of it squealing and nearly jumped on Grandpa. The spell was broken. Grandpa seemed to fade back to his normal, sedate self.
When the apartment was dark that night, I sat at my desk and took out my grandfather's paper. I was struck again by the things on the list—the things he wanted to remember. I thought about how maybe people went through their whole lives and never rounded up all those good things. They made lists of things they dreamed of doing someday. Grocery lists. Lists of chores.
Grandpa Aldo had it all figured out. The way to remember something was to write it down. To read it over and over so it burned into your mind. And maybe then you'd be sure that what happened actually did happen. Yo
u wouldn't forget it.
It was a funny thing, trying to remember>
I spent the moments before I fell asleep that night forcing the good times to my mind. Making myself remember Rob and me laughing and smiling, remembering him kissing me, remembering him holding me. I was sure that it had been as real as anything. Even if it was work to hold those images close, I wasn't going to let them go.
***
You don't sleep. You sit in chairs you can't feel beneath you. You lie on couches, benches, steps that give you no comfort. All this time, you're awake. Conscious. Waiting for the freaking light they're always talking about on TV and in movies. You wonder if maybe you took it a little too far complaining out on the cliff the other night. Maybe now you've pissed off whoever's in charge and you'll be doomed to walk the planet alone forever.
You expect to see other wanderers. Seriously. Where are all the other dead people? You think maybe this is hell. Yeah, maybe hell is being completely alone.
To waste time this evening, you stroll through your old house. Your kid sister, Kayla, is snoozing peacefully in the bottom bunk bed in her room. At the other end of the house, Mom's watching a late-show comedian with the sound turned down so low, you can barely hear it over Dad's snoring. Your golden retriever, Chuck, is in the kitchen, sleeping on the blue mat near the sliding glass door. He snorts in his sleep, paws still from twitching as he looks up and sleepily sniffs the air in your direction. His eyes tell you he senses something. It's like he knows you're there.
"Thanks, Chuck. That means a lot," you say.
You walk by the piano, hand brushing the air atop the pictures set in a line. Your senior picture at the end, freshly taken before you bit the big one. Your smile is electric, fake. The picture of you and Holly at last year's spring dance is missing, though. The one with you in a gray sport coat and Holly in a sexy black cocktail dress she found at some yard sale. It used to sit right next to your portrait on the end and now it's gone. You wonder where it went. Wonder if your mother ripped the photo into a million shreds.
You find your answer back in Kayla's room. The gold-framed picture is perched on your sister's bookshelf, next to her favorite stuffed animal, a giraffe named Rudy. Someone remembers you. Someone remembers how happy you and Holly were. And that makes you smile, all the way down to your deep, nonexistent bones.
Wherever You Go Page 4
