"It's Rob. Roberto. I thought we were friends. I'm not just some ghost."
"Sure, sure," Aldo says, gesturing with his hands. "It's whatever you say we are, right? You are the one haunting me, not the other way around."
You perch on the foot of his bed. "I'm sorry about the other day and what I said. Being a ghost has to be easier than what you're going through, okay? I admit it—I was an asshole. I get it now. I promise you, I get it."
"Not much to get," Aldo says, his mouth twisting a little.
You try to keep your cool. There are things you want to say. Things that you want him to hear. "I was there at the doctor's appointment today. Did you understand what he was telling you?"
Aldo shrugs. "I know he was trying to be helpful, I felt the warmth of what he said, the care."
"But you didn't understand what he was telling you and Holly."
He gives you a frustrated look. You both know he couldn't have comprehended everything going on around him in that state. "Help me understand, then, if you think it's best, ghost," he says in a weary voice.
"I'm not just some ghost, dammit. It's Rob," you say, firmly. "It's just plain old Rob, and you know that. Why do you have to be like this? I said I'm sorry."
"Fine," Aldo says, letting out a little puff of breath. "Explain what the doctor said."
You steady yourself. "He said you're not getting any better. It's going to get harder and harder for you to communicate with your loved ones. It's going to get harder for you to do normal, everyday things."
"That's nothing new," Aldo says with a small laugh. "It's a shame we had to pay for that appointment." He settles deeper into the bed, leans his back against the pillows and wall.
You get up {> Ygs. "Iand start to pace the room. "No. It's bad. I want to—I want to find a way to help you."
"Wait, wait. I thought you wanted me to help you, kid." Aldo's eyes are narrowed, skeptical.
"Yeah, I thought that was what this was all about, but maybe I'm supposed to help you. Maybe there's something I can do about your Alzheimer's. Help you tell someone something."
"You're confusing the situation. This isn't about me," he says in an exasperated tone. "I'm not sure why you're so thick-headed. You have something to tell Holly," Aldo says. "Otherwise we never would have met. You wouldn't be here in my life being a pain in the butt."
"Hey, now. A pain in the butt? Aldo, that hurts," you say, a hand on your chest like he's shot you through with arrows.
Aldo doesn't smile. "Kid, let's cut to the chase. I want to talk about the crash."
You can't feel it, but you hear the air suck out of the room like a whoosh of a vacuum. "That night was a blur. I don't have anything to tell you about that."
"You almost killed my Holly," Aldo says, his eyes fierce. "I think there's something for you to say to her. An apology—something. We've gone round and round about this, and I want to know the truth."
Your throat tightens. "I can't talk about all that stuff."
"If you want to keep coming here, to keep seeing me, then I need you to tell me everything," Aldo says. "Just think of me as your priest hearing your confession."
"If I tell you..."
Aldo's face is hard. "Then maybe you'll go into the light and quit haunting this old man."
"You want me to go?"
"Of course I do. The last thing they need to see me doing is arguing with the air. I'm one step from some kind of state rest home." You wish he were making a joke, but he looks you in the eye, squarely. "That's where they send you to die."
"Hey, death is ... It's lonely. Then again, life on Earth can be lonely, too."
"Don't I know it," says Aldo.
"Yeah."
"Spill it, Roberto. I'm tired of all this stalling." Aldo waves a hand at you. "Give me the awful truth. Tell me about how you got my Holly drunk and then the two of you went swerving down the road and off a cliff."
"That's not what happened! It wasn't like that at all."
He laughs and shakes his head. "Why you want to cover up this whole thing is beyond me."
"Okay, okay. It was a simple crash, a wet night on dark roads. You already know that. Rehashing it isn't going to change anything."
"Son"—Aldo pauses and scooches up on the pillows—"you are in pain. That's the quintessential part of being a ghost. You're a tortured soul. That means nothing is simple about this. And with you, I don't see how it could be, anyway."
"Thanks."
"Don't take offense, kid. I'm just speaking the truth."
"Yeah. I guess."
"You keep saying that you don't remember what happened that night, but I can't believe it. I want to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the truth. Do you think that you caused the crash?" Aldo asks. "Was it your fault?" "I'm not really sure," you say in a mumble.
"Tell me."
"If I say yes, you're going to hate me, and if I say no, you won't believe me."
"Why am I going to hate you? I'm not going to hate you, kid."
He's finally worn you down, so you make the words in your mind. "Yes ... I'm pretty sure it was my fault."
Aldo lets out a sigh. A sigh of disappointment, maybe. Or a sigh of weariness because he knew this truth all along. But then, when you look up to judge his reaction, you see his eyes watering.
"You poor kid," he says in a soft voice. "Poverino..."
"Don't cry. Do anything but that. I'm not here for you to pity me. I'm here to, oh, God knows why..."
Fat tears roll down his wrinkled cheeks. "I'm sorry, Roberto. I'm sorry for your pain, your guilt." The compassion welling in his soul is almost radiating—he's almost like a ghost.
You're so ashamed, you can't look him in the eye anymore.
***
With the apartment so empty and quiet, I could hear my grandpa talking to himself, or to his ghost, again. I stood outside his room, listening to the stream of Italian and feeling a growing hopelessness down in the pit of my stomach. What could I do, burst into the room, calm him—yell again at the empty space he was talking to?
Instead, I went back to the kitchen and worked on organizing the meds and all the notes I'd taken at the doctor's office. I wanted to make sure it all made sense. I laid all the little sheets of paper out on the counter and fished the pill bottles out of the big drawer. In the pile of medical stuff, I saw a business card that I hadn't realized I'd kept. MS. SHIRLEY GRANGER, SENIOR SERVICES COUNSELOR. She'd said to call her anytime. The more Grandpa freaked out, the more I thought about calling her for advice. The doctor had had some good suggestions, { su. T but maybe someone who spent all her time with older people who had Alzheimer's and dementia would know what to do. And she did see him at the senior center, so she knew him.
"Dinner," I muttered, realizing that it was nearly six o'clock and I hadn't started anything. Mom would be home soon to grab a bite and change into her work clothes for the grocery store. I walked down the hall to my grandpa's room and knocked on the door.
"Grandpa?" I turned the handle and let myself in. "What do you want to eat? Hamburgers sound good?"
Grandpa Aldo was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.
"Hey, what's going on?" I said, going over and touching his back.
He looked up at me, his cheeks wet with tears, his eyes red.
"Oh, no. Grandpa, whatever it is, I'm here." I sat next to him and put my arm around his hunched shoulders. "I'm here with you."
He didn't say anything, but his face was pained.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
A rush of soft Italian spilled from his lips. I heard the name Roberto somewhere in the jumble.
"Again, Roberto?" I said, letting out a frustrated sigh. "This is no good, Grandpa. I don't know who this guy is—and I doubt now that he's my Rob, because I don't think he'd keep messing with you if it was—but I'm about ready to kick his ghostly ass."
Grandpa Aldo gazed at me, understanding in his eyes, and something else—anger, maybe—simmering beneath
. "He should be free from this," he said in a soft, grumbly voice.
"Who wants to be free? Roberto? Well, I wish he would be, 'cause he's a real jerk."
His cheeks reddened. "No, no. We must help."
"Don't you see?" I said, rubbing a hand on his back. "It's too late to help Roberto or whatever it is. We need to help you. We just need to take care of you."
He looked at me again. We sat there for a moment in silence, and then I heard the front door close and the jingle of keys thrown into the bowl near the door.
"Hello?" my mom called out.
Aldo seemed calmer now—at least, his breathing was more regular.
"We're in here," I said. "Be out in a minute."
Aldo reached for my hand. "He needs to tell you," he said in a soft whisper.
I was pretty sure he was talking about Rob, Roberto, whomever, so I shook it off. "Come on, let's go say hi to mom and start dinner."
is back. "t="0em">
My grandpa let me help him to his feet, and we walked slowly toward the open door. He took each step like it required a separate thought to move his foot forward. Since he'd been here, he had seemed to have more trouble walking. I'd have to get him a cane soon.
"Good job," I told him. "Almost there."
In the kitchen I found Mom sifting through the pile of meds and notes.
"How did it go? This all from today?" she said, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and rallied enthusiasm.
"Hi," I replied. I got Aldo situated in a chair at the table and took him a glass of water. "Why don't you have a sip," I said to him.
He curled his hand around the glass.
"Where's Lena?"
"Play date at Jenny's," I said, not surprised Mom hadn't checked the calendar on the fridge.
"Oh, that's right. So, uh, can you give me a summary here?" Mom said, glancing down at one of my small pieces of paper. "Just the highlights. I don't have time to read all this."
I looked up from filling my own water glass at the tap. "Dr. Wells gave us a prescription for sleeping pills. I wrote some of his suggestions down for helping Grandpa with remembering the order and steps of things."
"He wasn't too worried, then? You told him about the hallucinations?"
"Yes. That was the main thing," I said, trying to be patient.
She reached back and tied her hair into a bun. "And Ms. Granger? What's with her card on the counter?"
I let out a breath. "I was thinking about calling her. She might have some more ideas to help Grandpa."
"Don't call her," Mom said in a tight voice. "We're handling this. I don't want you getting a social worker involved."
"I'm not getting her involved, Mom—I just want to get some more ideas on how to help him."
"We can get some more books from the library," Mom said. "I can do more research online during my breaks at the dealership."
"He's getting pretty bad," I said in a quiet voice. It still felt weird to talk about Grandpa like he wasn't there, when I knew he was. Over at the table, Grandpa took another sip from his water glass, lowering it slowly back to the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sweater sleeve.
Mom stared down at her open pop can. "I have to go get ready for work."
"I know." I started getting stuff out to make hamburgers. "Can you at least say hello to Grandp {lloe to go gea first?"
Mom went over and gave Aldo a hug. "Hello, Papa. How are you feeling?"
After the embrace was over, Aldo brought his glass of water to his lips and took a deep drink. He didn't make eye contact.
"Of course." Mom threw her hands in the air and walked away from him.
"What?" I said, opening a pack of ground beef and dumping it into a bowl.
"It's like..." she began. "Oh, never mind."
"It doesn't matter what he does, Mom. It matters what you do. He wants you to treat him like he's still here. Remember?"
"Yes, of course, Holly. I can see he's still here. And I don't need you lecturing me on what to do."
"Okay, forget it." I started mixing the meat with the spices and salt I'd sprinkled in the bowl. "Are you having dinner with us?"
She checked her watch. "I've got to change. I'll just grab something on the way in to work."
"Hamburgers," said Aldo, spontaneously.
Mom looked over at him, surprised. "Yeah, Papa. That's right."
I started making the round patties, putting them on a plate next to the stove. "You can't stay? I think he'd like it if you did."
She paused and then said, "Yeah. How long till dinner?"
"About ten minutes," I said. "Can you fit us in?"
"I can do that." She sat down at the table and reached out for Grandpa's hand.
Chapter Thirteen
"You've got about ten more minutes, folks." Mr. Houston walked past the bank of computers in the library the next day. Jason glanced up from his laptop.
"You find anything good on the Phoenicians?" asked a familiar voice behind him.
He turned to see Faith standing there. Though she'd been in world history with him, they hadn't talked in months. She had a new boyfriend, some guy at the UW, and Jason had fallen off her radar. He'd been okay with that, figuring that sometimes it was easier to make a clean break than pretend that everything was normal as friends. Anyway, he was pretty sure he hadn't been in love with Faith—at least, he'd never said the words. He was glad for that now.
"I didn't have much luck," she added.
"Me neither," he said.
"Yeah, especially since you're ~him. ontat Recipes. com," she said with a little smile that made her gray-blue eyes twinkle. She took a seat next to him, opening her MacBook. "I didn't know you like to cook."
He clicked to exit the page on his browser. "It's a new thing," he said.
"Don't get all embarrassed. I know how bad your mom's stuff is. Rosie still running the kitchen at your house?"
"I'm just trying to branch out. Learn new stuff."
"You must be cooking for someone. I never got that kind of treatment." She smiled, and it was genuine. He'd seen enough of her fake expressions to know the difference.
"Faith—"
"I'm not complaining," she said, holding up a hand. "But can you at least go to Epicurious. com? They have better recipes. I won't be able to sleep tonight if I picture you scouring the web for the perfect macaroni and cheese for hours."
"Sure. I'll check it out." He typed in the new URL.
"You look good," Faith said, leaning back in the library chair. "I mean, you seem happier than before, you know?"
"Yeah. It was a little rough for a while," he said.
Faith ventured another smile. "You're cooking poi? Like, taro root?" she asked, watching him fill the search box at the site.
"I don't know. I was thinking about it."
"Craving Hawaiian food, huh? I'd stick to the ahipoke or lomi lomi salmon," she said. "Don't you remember that luau party at the club last year? My mom got so drunk on those mai tais." She laughed and then covered her mouth to quiet herself.
He nodded. "Yeah."
"That poi was pretty awful," she said. "I think you need to leave that delicacy for the real Hawaiians. At least, I wished the catering manager had. My dad was hosing poi off our driveway for a week."
Jason laughed, a little too loudly. Everyone, including Mr. Houston, glanced his way.
"Sorry," he said, ducking back down behind his laptop screen.
"Search kalua pork," Faith whispered. "I bet there's some way to do it without roasting the whole pig. I mean, unless you want to dig a pit in your backyard."
"Yeah, I guess Mom would appreciate me not making a huge hole by the pool."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Faith closed her Mac and sat there for a moment, watching him. "You know what? I'm happy for you."
"What?"
"You deserve to be happy with whoever it is that you're cooking for."
He powered down his computer. "Thanks."
"So, you're doing a luau or something for her?"
"Or something. I just want to cook some Hawaiian stuff for a friend's family."
"C'mon, I know it's Holly," Faith said, rolling her eyes. "Mark told me."
"Oh, great."
"Stop stressing. I think that's cool. I don't care what anyone else says, I always liked her." She shoved her Mac into her messenger bag. She gave him a little wave, getting up from the chair.
"Wait," Jason said, putting a hand on her arm. "About what happened with us—I'm sorry, Faith."
She looked surprised and slid back down into the seat next to him. "Well, don't be sorry. I didn't know what to do for you," she said. "I never had my best friend die, you know?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "You know, I miss us hanging out."
"Me too." She gave him a hug across chairs, surrounding him with the smell of her perfume, her hair.
He was suddenly remembering the good times they'd spent, the times before Rob had died and everything had imploded.
"If you need any help," she said, pulling away, "with the Phoenicians or the Hawaiian food, will you let me know?"
"Yeah," he said.
She got up and moseyed toward the door, passing Mark, who was on his way in with his next class. Mark gave her a smile and then nodded over at him. Jason slid his laptop into his bag and moved toward the exit. So, Mark was telling everyone, including Faith, about him and Holly. Well, fine. It didn't matter if the whole school knew, did it? He was proud to be with a girl like her.
He headed out the door while Mark was distracted at the circulation desk and made his way toward his math class. He had more important things, like a luau, to worry about.
***
You don't want to see him.
If ever he planned to scare you off, he'd done it yesterday. Aldo had stared you in the eye and tried to elicit a confession. A run-down. And all you could do was make him cry. Seeing his eyes fill with tears terrified you. Today you'll stay away.
It's funny how your afterlife so far is mostly being spent with Holly's family. You're not tied to your own house, haunting your own hood. The ghosts in movies always seemed tied to a place, but you are tied to people. Though they can't see you, you do feeou,tied to yol like being with your family today. Maybe they're the real reason you're still tied to Earth and all this Aldo stuff has just distracted you from the real answer to why you're here. Ironically, as a ghost you're attempting to answer the question philosophers can't even begin to touch...
Wherever You Go Page 17
