“Norm, remember Patty, the dog we had when you were growing up?” Grammy asked. Her eyes were closed, but she had a faint smile.
“Boy, did I love that dog,” Daddy said. “I remember writing a poem to Patty when I was about ten. Let’s see if I can remember it. ‘My dear dog, Patty. She is not a fatty …’’’ Daddy and I started laughing, and Grammy smiled at Daddy’s terrible rhyme.
“But she was. Remember how fat she was?” Daddy added.
“That was the year I had a crush on Allison Rockwell,” Daddy said. “On the playground I used to flirt with her by running past her really fast.”
How funny to hear about my dad having an elementary school crush! I started thinking about how amazing it was that we were sitting here in Grammy’s hospital room while Grammy was so sick, but we were still laughing.
Then Daddy and Grammy started coming up with more memories of Daddy’s childhood, like the time he sledded down the hill at the golf course and cut his chin and the time he flooded the basement when he was washing his first car.
They kept telling stories until Grammy complained that laughing made her stomach hurt. About that time, a kind-faced woman with short, stylish gray hair in a white coat came in. A stethoscope was hanging around her neck.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Claiborne,” she said, shaking Daddy’s hand.
“I’m Norm Verra, Mrs. Verra’s son, and this is my daughter, Stephanie,” Daddy said.
“Hi, Stephanie,” she said. “What grade are you in?”
“Ninth,” I said.
“Oh, your first year of high school.”
“Right,” I said.
“It’s great that you’re here keeping your grandmother company. Mrs. Verra, how is the pain today? Are the pain meds helping?”
“Yes, it’s a little better.” Grammy tried for a smile.
“Well, we’ll keep up with that” She turned to Daddy. “Your mother has acute pancreatitis, or inflammation of the pancreas, which was brought on by the passing of a large gallstone. A gallstone is a deposit that forms in the gallbladder, and when it passes out of the gallbladder, it can be very painful. This is a very serious condition. As soon as the inflammation has gone down, we’d like to do surgery to remove her gallbladder so this doesn’t happen again. Meanwhile, she won’t be able to eat anything; we’ll have to feed her intravenously.”
“How long before the surgery?”
“That will be determined by how long it takes the pancreas to settle down. If all goes well, I would say in three or four days,” said Dr. Claiborne.
“And then how long will my recuperation be?” asked Grammy.
“Oh, we hope to be able to do laparoscopic surgery, where we only make a few small incisions, so you should be able to go home the same day or the next day,” said Dr. Claiborne.
“The same day!” Daddy said, amazed.
“Yes, hopefully. Let’s see how things go,” said Dr. Claiborne. “Right now, let’s keep working on getting that inflammation down. You’re lucky we caught this when we did, Mrs. Verra. I’ll be back to check on you later this afternoon. It was nice to meet you both,” she said on her way out.
“It’s hard to believe I may be able to go home the same day as the surgery, considering the way I feel now,” said Grammy.
“Well, you should start feeling better soon,” Daddy said. “How about a nap?”
Grammy nodded, her eyes fluttering. “Okay. That sounds good.”
Daddy and I fluffed Grammy’s pillow and straightened her covers, and then Daddy went out in the hall to call Lynn. I sat in the chair, watching Grammy sleep. Her breathing was slow and even, and her face looked trusting, like a little girl’s. There was a faded blue stripe on her blanket. A transparent bag hung from a stand beside her and dripped slowly, one tiny drop at a time, through an IV into her arm.
It was sort of dark in her room, but shining from between the blinds, bright strips of sunshine played across the foot of her bed, so I knew it was sunny outside.
Listening to the rhythm of her breathing, I got out my phone and checked my text messages. Popping up among texts from Colleen and some of my other friends, I saw another text from Noah.
“How is your grandmother doing?” it said.
I’d decided that I wouldn’t lead him on, but he was being really thoughtful, asking about Grammy. So I answered, telling him that she would have surgery in a few days.
And then I got a text from Mama. It said, “So far Matt has not regained movement in his left arm.”
9
DIANA
After Stephanie and Norm left, Mom and I decided to take Jelly to the beach using the golf cart. Mom grabbed her cell phone and the shell bucket from the back porch, and we put on our coats, gloves, and scarves.
When I approached Jelly with the leash, he growled faintly but allowed me to attach it. Outside, he jumped into the passenger seat on the cart, looking at Mom and wagging his tail. He ignored me.
“Look! He’s used to riding in the cart,” Mom said. “He knows we’re going to the beach.”
“Why doesn’t he like me?” I asked. “Grammy asked me to take care of him. How can I when he doesn’t like me?”
Mom shrugged. “I have no idea. You just have to hope he gets used to you, I guess.” Mom climbed in the driver’s seat.
“Hey, can I drive?” I said impulsively.
Mom looked at me thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, you will be taking driver’s ed next semester,” she said. “Okay.” She showed me how to use the key to start it and how to move the knob next to my knee to go forward or backward. She also showed me the gas and the brake.
“Duh!” I said. Who doesn’t know where the gas and the brake are?
“All right then,” she said, walking around the cart to the passenger side. She poked me. “Slide over.”
I climbed over Jelly into the driver’s seat, my heart speeding up. I was going to drive! I jammed the knob into the reverse position and pressed on the gas pedal. The cart leaped backward, beeping loudly.
“Whoa! Too hard!” Mom said. I tried again, pressing my foot more softly, and the cart began to back up, still making beeping noises. Jelly leaned against Mom, his ears twitching as he felt us moving, and she cradled him with her left arm, rubbing his head.
“Okay, watch for traffic before you back out,” Mom warned.
As if I didn’t know that! Besides, there was hardly any traffic on Grammy’s street since it was a dead end.
“I know, I know.” I came to a stop in the street, then moved the knob over to go forward.
“Okay, head down the street, and let’s find the area where you can park the cart.” The front window of the cart protected us from the brunt of the winter wind, but the air still felt cold and damp. Light-gray one-story apartment buildings lined the street on either side, each with two apartments.
I steered the cart down the street, going too fast at first, then hitting the squealing brakes, then going fast again, then hitting the brakes again.
“Whiplash,” Mom said, grabbing the dashboard with a laugh as I sped up.
“I have to get used to it,” I said. “Don’t laugh!” I tried turning the steering wheel to the right and then the left, veering into the left lane, to see how quickly the cart responded.
“Diana! Stay in your lane!” Mom said. “Golf carts have to obey the rules of the road, just like cars.”
“I know, I know. I’m just messing around.” Mom always worried!
“You don’t mess around when you’re driving a vehicle. Even a golf cart.”
The street ended in a small parking area next to the beach. Jelly jumped down, barking, as I braked to a stop, and Mom gripped his leash. I asked Mom if I could walk him, and she gave the leash to me.
In front of us, between two dunes dotted with clumps of sea grass, a white sand pathway wound to the beach. With excited little barks, Jelly pulled on the leash toward the pathway.
Our shoes sank in the suga
r-fine sand as we followed the path down to the beach. A fierce wind blew, tugging at my scarf. The tide was low, allowing a long walk across the dark stippled sand to the water. Meandering just above the waterline was a dark frilly line of seaweed. The ever-moving water was gunmetal-gray, choppy, and had a lacy froth on the waves. No one else was on the beach.
About thirty yards away, splashing in a small inlet of water that was about three feet deep, was a huge, dark shape about the size of a Sunfish sailboat.
Jelly began to bark and pull me toward the splashing creature.
“Mom, what do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.”
We hurried closer. Jelly barked continuously as we approached, and the fur stood up on the back of his neck. Fear pricked the back of my own neck, and my heart started to beat faster.
When we were about ten feet away, Jelly suddenly stopped barking and didn’t want to go any farther. He planted his feet and began to actively sniff, holding his nose high in the air.
Closer, I saw the creature was shaped like a large dolphin, but it was black rather than gray, and instead of the dolphin’s bottle-shaped snout, it had a shiny, rounded, bulbous head with a small beak-like mouth. Its mouth was slightly open, and I saw a neat row of small, sharp teeth. The creature rolled back and forth, and the two fins of its tail flopped frantically in the shallow water. Its top fin had a nick in the top, as if something had taken a small bite out of it.
Jelly stood quietly, sniffing, his fur still on end.
“Oh, Diana,” Mom said. “I think it’s a whale. Look, there’s the blowhole.”
At that minute, the blowhole opened and the whale breathed, a rushing sound of air, out and then in, loudly and quickly.
“Oh!” Mom stepped back, surprised.
Mom must be right. A whale! Right here on the beach. But why was it here? Something must be wrong.
“Mom, the water’s too shallow for it! It needs to be in deeper water! We need to push it back out to sea!”
“I don’t know if the two of us can manage that, Diana. It must be twelve feet long.”
“But we have to help it!”
“But the water’s freezing.” Mom looked up and down the nearly empty beach. “Look, are those surfers down the beach? They’re wearing wet suits. Maybe we could ask them to help. Why don’t you run down and ask them? I’ll stay here with Jelly.”
The cold air burned my lungs as I took off running down the beach toward two guys sitting on surfboards in the water. I ran along the water’s edge, where the sand was hard and shiny and wet. I stopped in front of them, panting, waving my arms.
“Help! Can you help us?” I pointed down the beach toward Mom and the whale.
The two guys looked at Mom, then slid off their boards and into the water, and walked to shore, carrying their surfboards.
“That a whale?” Both of the guys were lean and muscular, wearing black, fitted wet suits. The one speaking was African-American, with a dripping ponytail of dreadlocks. The other had a sharp nose, a small mustache, and a wet shock of light brown hair.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s stranded in shallow water. We need help pushing it back out to sea.”
“Sure, no problem,” said the one with dreads. Both of them hefted their brightly painted surfboards and walked rapidly next to me toward Mom and Jelly.
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before,” Mustache said to Dreads. “I wonder how long it’s been there.”
Jelly started barking at the surfers when we arrived, and Mom had to pull his leash tighter and talk over his barking. “Thanks for coming over. We think this whale needs to be pushed back out to sea.”
“Sure,” said Dreads, and he kneeled and took some time to pet Jelly.
Jelly seemed to accept the surfers once they took time to pet him. He sat with his fat, little haunches on the sand, watching the surfers and the whale with a wrinkled brow.
The surfers laid their boards on the beach and stood at the edge of the water. There was an indentation, or small inlet, almost like a bathtub, of slightly deeper water around the whale. The double fins of the whale’s tail flopped crazily, and it made high-pitched squeaking sounds. Periodically, a rush of air whooshed from its blowhole.
“Ready?” said Dreads.
“Watch that tail!” Mustache said to Dreads.
“Be careful!” Mom yelled over the wind.
They took a few steps in, then leaned over. Each placed two palms on the whale’s side and, bracing their legs in the surf, began to push. The whale’s tail flopped again, and they jumped back, staggering a few feet through the frothy waves.
They needed help! Without another thought, I ran into the water.
“Diana!” Mom yelled.
I shut out her calls, wading deeper, until I was next to the whale, by its head. The freezing water splashed around my thighs. Cold water streamed over my arms. Half of my coat was soaking wet. The surf pounded and roared.
“Okay,” said Dreads. “On three. One, two, three!”
We all leaned forward, pressing our palms against the whale’s rubbery side, and pushed with all our might. I took two giant steps, my feet sinking in the sand, and as the whale made whistling sounds, its fins seemed to dislodge.
Then a freezing wave came in and pushed the whale back where we’d started. It whistled again.
“Aww!” groaned Mustache.
“Again,” said Dreads. “One, two, three!”
Again we leaned with all our might against the whale, pushing it deeper into the water. As I pushed, I looked into the whale’s large, wrinkled eye. It gave a plaintive call, almost like a birdcall or whistle.
“We’re going to get you back out there, buddy,” I said. “Don’t you worry.”
We worked out a rhythm where we’d wait for each wave to crest and pass, then, just afterward, we’d shove, using the withdrawal of the water to help pull the whale out to sea.
After we’d pushed four or five times, a guy and a girl walked up.
“Move down,” the girl said, and both of them splashed into the water. Their jeans turned dark halfway up their legs as they got soaked.
I was panting and my hands and feet were so cold I could hardly feel them.
“Okay. Wait for the wave.” Dreads let his arm drop as if starting a race. “Go!”
I gritted my teeth and groaned as I threw every ounce of my strength against the whale’s side. As the water drew back from the wave, we pushed the whale deeper, scrambling to make progress with our legs.
“Go, go, go!” yelled Mustache.
Suddenly the whale flicked its tail, trying to swim, and the guy at the end got knocked against Mustache. “His tail just nailed me!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet.
“Please be careful!” I could hear Mom’s thin voice cutting through the roar of the wind and the waves.
Then the whale sank under the waves, gave a powerful thrust of its tail, and began to swim out to sea. As I watched, a wave hit me and knocked me down. Water gurgled and boiled around my face, and I flailed, trying to get up on my knees.
A hand grasped mine and pulled me, gasping, to my feet.
“You okay?” said Dreads.
I nodded. The whale disappeared for a moment, then we saw its nicked top fin break the water as it swam. We all stood, dripping, with our chests heaving, watching the whale make its way back out to deeper water.
“We did it!” said Mustache. “What an amazing experience!”
“Nice work, guys,” said Dreads.
“Yes!” said the guy who’d come with the girl, pumping his fist in the air.
We all stood and watched the gray water for a few long minutes, but the whale had disappeared. I had ignored the cold while trying to push the whale, but now that I was standing still, my hands began to ache and my teeth started to chatter.
“Diana!” Mom was saying. “We need to get you inside and get you dry.”
But it felt great to be standing out here with my new frien
ds, basking in our success.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if the whale breached right out there, like it was saying thank-you?” said Dreads. We stood in silence, breathlessly watching the shifting waves, hoping that it might. But it didn’t.
“Well, I guess it’s gone,” said the girl. “I wonder what kind of whale that was.”
“I have no idea,” said Mustache.
“All’s well that ends well,” Mom said. “Thanks to all of you.”
Dreads and Mustache picked up their surfboards. “See you later,” Dreads said. “Hey, wonder if we’ll run into him later while we’re surfing.”
“He’s probably over a mile away by now,” said Mustache.
Everyone said good-bye, and we went our separate ways. I was shaking too much to try to drive the golf cart, so I let Mom do it. “We’re going to get you right in the shower,” she said as Jelly hopped up beside me. He leaned over and licked my coat.
“Hey, now that I’m a hero, Jelly likes me,” I said. The ride home was even colder with the wind whistling around the glass windshield. I was shaking violently. “Wasn’t that cool, Mom?” I said, my teeth chattering. “Wasn’t that the coolest thing ever? We saved a whale!”
10
STEPHANIE
That afternoon, in the car on the way back to Grammy’s apartment, I told Daddy I’d received a text from Mama about Matt maybe not being able to move his arm.
“That’s terrible! Which arm is it?”
“His left.”
“Well, if he’s right-handed, he’ll still be able to write and do some sports. Maybe he’ll still regain movement.”
“Yeah.” I wondered if Matt would still be in the hospital when I got back. What I would say when I saw him?
Daddy glanced over at me, his eyes very serious, and he patted my leg. “This has been a pretty stressful couple of days, hasn’t it, honey?”
“Yeah.” A memory of Matt flashed into my mind, the one where he put his face right up to mine and whispered, “If you tell, you’ll be sorry. Do you understand?”
A little shiver ran down the back of my neck. Why did I let him scare me? Was there a part of me that was happy that he couldn’t move his hand? That felt maybe he deserved it?
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