With her trademark about-to-cry expression, Polly opened the front passenger door and slowly got into the car. Grace almost felt sorry for her, then bristled at the thought of how Polly had invited herself.
Grandpa Ernest sat behind the wheel in a short-sleeved checkered shirt with a starched collar. He didn’t have much hair, but there was enough to show comb marks.
“Frankie’s a lucky guy to have you girls around,” Grandpa said as he began to drive, “and your brother, too. I hope you kids come up here every summer now that the cabin is Bernadette’s.” He looked in the rearview mirror and caught Grace’s eye.
“Maybe we will,” she said. Why would Bernadette care where her family vacationed as long as she had a carton of cigarettes, somewhere to sleep, and a surrogate mother for the kids?
“It’s wonderful to have neighbors next door again,” said Grandpa.
Experimentally, Grace put her hand on the seat as she watched the trees roll by. Like a warm suction cup, Frankie’s hand attached itself to hers.
21
Grandpa dropped Grace, Frankie, and Polly off at Icey Ices. “There’s a park a little farther down Main Street,” he said. “It has a swimming pool built into the ground.”
“I know the park, Grandpa,” Frankie said. “I used to go wading in that pool.”
“The girls will want to see the town. That’s part of the tour.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Grace said.
Polly muttered something unintelligible and slipped out her door.
“I’ll pick everyone up here in, say, an hour and a half,” Grandpa said. “I’m looking up an old friend who may or may not be in. Wish me luck.”
“Okay,” said Frankie. “Thanks for the lift.”
Grace wished that they had agreed to walk back. Now they were stuck waiting for Grandpa. But maybe the walk would have been too long with Polly.
At the Icey Ices counter, Frankie stood firm. “Grandpa gave me money for everyone. So order whatever you like.”
Polly looked troubled, as if wondering whether “everyone” included her.
“Did Grandpa mean Polly, too?” Grace said.
“Don’t listen to her, Polly,” Frankie said with a wink.
This could turn ugly. Grace had seen what happened when two kids who didn’t know each other ganged up on a third person they both knew well. The twosome created a bond at the expense of the popular one, which would be her. She had to rise above it and treat Polly as if she were a real person.
“I bet you’ll get a strawberry cone,” Grace said to her sister. “I’m almost tempted to get one, too.”
“That’s what I am getting,” Polly said. A flicker of pleasure crossed her face.
“Chocolate for me,” Grace told the girl behind the screen.
“Single or double?”
“Double.”
“Could I have my strawberry ice cream in a root beer float?” Polly asked Frankie. “Would that cost too much?”
“Nope. Grandpa said to get whatever you want.”
The counter girl looked at them as if they mattered less than the gum she was smacking.
“I’ll have a root beer float, too,” Frankie said. “With vanilla.”
The girl turned her back, sighing as she dug her scoop into the chocolate ice cream.
“We might as well walk over to the park,” Frankie said when everyone’s order had been filled by the gum chewer. “We can cool our feet off in the kiddie pool.”
They moved along the sidewalk, the sun baking their bodies. Grace hadn’t considered the rate at which the sun would melt her ice cream in a cone. The napkins wrapped around it were damp with chocolate before Grace finished the top scoop, no matter how fast she licked the sides. Chocolate began to drip from the cone onto her hand. She held back, walking slower than the others as she tried to stem the flow of the chocolate river.
Soon they were in front of the grocery store that Bernadette hadn’t taken them to the week before. The store would have a restroom, or at least a water fountain, where Grace could rinse off.
“I’m stopping here for a minute,” Grace said, holding her streaked forearm behind her. “I’ll catch up.”
“What’s the matter with your arm?” Polly asked.
“Nothing is the matter with my arm.”
“Why are you hiding it?”
“I’m not hiding it.”
“Where’s your ice-cream cone?”
Behind her back, Grace shifted the soggy cone from her sticky hand to her clean one. She held the cone in front of her as if presenting Polly with a bouquet. “Please, Pol, try to think about something other than my cone. If you wanted one, you should have said so. I’m going inside to use the bathroom, if you must know.”
Polly looked embarrassed at the mention of the word “bathroom” in front of Frankie.
“Go on, you two. I’ll catch up in a flash.”
“We’ll save a swing for you,” Frankie said.
“See you there.” Grace pushed the grocery store door open. A cashier stood at the end of one of two checkout lanes, a flyswatter poised above her head. Her mouth was tight.
“Is there a restroom?” Grace asked as she walked toward the woman.
“Customers only.”
“I’m a customer,” Grace said, dropping her cone into a trash can. “Or do you only wait on flies?”
The woman looked at Grace with disdain. “Past the charcoal,” she said. “Last door on the right.”
“Thank you ever so much,” said Grace. She imagined finding a hundred-dollar bill on the bathroom floor. After that, she would pick through the penny candy and buy one of something that cost two for a penny. If she had more time, she would read all the comics on display until the cashier threatened her.
In the restroom, the towel on the roller looked as if it hadn’t been changed since it was installed. Grace scanned the room for paper towels. No luck. She turned on the faucet, and cold water ran out of a single spigot. Leaning over the basin, she moved her arm back and forth while she rubbed it clean with her left hand.
Had Bernadette ever been in this restroom when she was thirteen? It was an unsettling thought. Maybe Bernadette had seen the same towel. Grace dried her hand and arm on her shorts.
A fly buzzed around her head as she pushed the door to exit. Grace shooed the fly with her hand. The door resisted as if someone was standing on the other side. Ignoring the fly, Grace shoved the door with both hands until there was an opening almost big enough to slip through.
On the other side of the door was a woman with a soft, broad body in a plaid housedress. The startled woman, her face framed in looping brown-gray curls, stared at Grace.
For a moment, Grace felt frozen in a dream in which she couldn’t run but only mimic movement in ponderous slow motion. Then she pushed harder and smelled mingled liniment and sweat as she moved through the door. She was torn between the desperation to flee and the obligation to be kind.
“Hello, Gunda,” she said. Then Grace walked stiffly away from the frightened Gunda and past the two checkout lanes.
“You said you were a customer,” the cashier called, waving her arm as if she would reel Grace in with the flyswatter.
From the back of the store, a crackling voice called, “Gunda, where are you? I’m here, dear!”
22
Frankie and Polly sat on swings, their backs to Grace. She tried to control her breathing as she walked over the grass to them. Moving slowly and hoping that her heartbeat would follow suit, she took in the sweetness: the white bubble of a bandshell; bobbing snapdragons and lilies and pansies planted by the Interlude Garden Club, according to the hand-painted sign; the wading pool guarded by a watchful and weather-beaten sculpted sea horse.
As she drew close, she paused at a water fountain that burbled when she stepped on the foot pedal. The noise alerted Polly and Frankie, who turned in their swings, the chains crossing in front of them.
“What’s new in downtown Bagley?” Frankie s
aid.
“A new generation of flies.”
Frankie laughed and, for a moment, Grace relaxed.
Then Polly spoke. “Grace, why are you so pale under your blusher?”
“Pale?” She never wore makeup, but today she had lifted Bernadette’s cosmetic pouch from her purse and brushed her freckled cheekbones with blusher, then smoothed the edges with toilet paper to blend it.
Now Frankie stared.
“Pale,” Polly repeated.
Blurting it out would be a relief. “I saw Gunda, Polly, up close. You saw her once. But this was my second time, third, actually, if you count the long view. She has Bernadette’s eyes, a deep, velvety brown. Beth’s eyes, too.” But, of course, Grace couldn’t say that.
“I’m just so hot,” she said. It was too much to explain.
“Don’t people turn red when they’re hot?” Polly said.
“Speaking of people, why are we the only people here?” Grace said.
“My mom worries about heatstroke,” Frankie said. “I bet people bring their little kids out when the sun is lower.”
“Let’s go for a dip,” Grace said. “We might as well enjoy all of Bagley’s little attractions.”
The water in the pool reached the bottom of Grace’s knees.
“The only thing to do with this water is race in it,” she said. “First, the skipping competition.”
The bottom of the pool was slick.
“Help!” Polly screamed when she lost her balance, but she stayed upright.
“Victory!” Frankie yelled when he touched the other side, but Grace felt the pool’s edge at the same time.
“You’re louder than me,” she said. “That’s why you think you won.”
“Ask the photographer for the proof. Someone is covering this event, right?”
“I disqualify you.”
“On what basis?”
“For acting like my brother.”
“What’s the next race?” Frankie said. “You choose since you’re the Olympic committee.”
“Okay. We’re going to crawl.”
“Grace, that will hurt our knees,” said Polly.
“Just for a minute.”
They lined up, and Polly said, “On your mark, get set, go!”
Polly pulled ahead quickly, assuming the position of a dog swimming with a stick in its mouth. Grace couldn’t resist the urge to call over the splashing, “I think you’ve found your sport, Polly.”
Grace won the hopping race, and Frankie won the running backward contest. After that they tried to step on each other’s toes.
“Let’s go lie on the grass,” Polly said, hopping and cradling her foot. “We can take turns telling what animals the clouds look like.”
“I’m going to that grocery store for some pop first,” Frankie said. “What do you two want?”
“Orange Crush,” said Polly.
“Tahitian Treat.”
“Should I get some comics?” Frankie asked. “We still have more than half an hour before Grandpa shows up.”
“Perfect,” Grace said. She lay on the grass, hands behind her head. A towering maple shaded her from the sun’s glare. With every breath she took, Grace relaxed. Gunda was under Hilda’s control. Comics were on the way. Even though Polly was in tow, Grace was in town because Frankie had asked her.
23
“Grace, are you still mad that I came along?” Polly’s voice floated over the soft swishy noises in the grass.
“No,” Grace said. She didn’t want to discuss Polly’s stupid question.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” It took a lot of energy to talk when you were taking a nap.
“But you’ve been acting kind of mad.”
Grace didn’t answer Polly. Instead, she imagined being a kid who didn’t have to take care of her siblings. This could be her life: lazing in the grass, reading outside, letting the breeze ruffle her hair. But these times were rare, spoiled by the need to wash clothes so that everyone had clean underwear.
On the other side of the park, a car door slammed. Grace sat up and watched an old man emerge and walk around a car that looked like Grandpa Ernest’s. He opened the passenger door. Polly trained her eyes on the man, too.
“He’s pretty spry for a grandpa,” she said.
“He is a grandpa. Frankie’s.”
Frankie’s Grandpa Ernest was helping Hilda, the human pretzel, emerge from the passenger seat.
“Why?” asked Polly, distress in her voice. “Why is he with her?”
They watched Grandpa Ernest walk Hilda to the nearest park bench and help her sit. Grandpa returned to the car, but Gunda had already opened the back door. She got out and looked from side to side. Hilda called to her, and Gunda joined her mother and stood there listening for a few seconds. Then she moved away, repeatedly bending down to pluck something from the ground.
“Dandelions,” Polly whispered. “I think she’s picking dandelions.”
Grandpa sat down next to Hilda on the bench.
“Do you think that she’s the friend he came to see?” Polly asked in a voice filled with disbelief.
“He said it was an old friend,” Grace said. “Hilda qualifies as old.”
“But wouldn’t he try to get out of it when he saw her?”
“Maybe he’s too nice. What could he say, ‘I changed my mind. You’re too twisty’?”
“That’s my grandpa over there,” said Frankie as he approached. “Who’s with him?”
“That’s my mom’s aunt.”
“Last night Grandpa said he wanted to surprise his old friend.” Frankie stared across the park. “He never said it was a woman.”
“That’s her daughter,” Grace said. “My mom’s cousin.”
“Oh,” said Frankie. “From here, she doesn’t look like your mom.”
“You’re right about that,” Grace said, jolted by the inanity of Frankie’s remark. But if Gunda pulled her hair back and wore pedal pushers and smoked and didn’t have a baggy body, Frankie would see her differently. If, that is, she hadn’t been underwater too long.
“Frankie, why would your grandpa be checking up on Hilda now? Doesn’t he come up every summer?”
“Beats me. Maybe because he didn’t think of it while my grandma was alive? When Grandpa told you guys about hiding in the woods when Hilda got married and stuff, maybe he started thinking about her again. He wouldn’t really have run into her on water skis at the lake or anything.”
Grace tried to straighten the sequence out in her head. Grandpa Ernest could have gotten Hilda’s address from Bernadette. Or he might have known where Hilda lived in this little town. Hilda didn’t have a phone, so he couldn’t tell her that he was stopping by. When Grandpa arrived, Hilda and Gunda had been at the grocery store. He waited for them in front of the house. Grace could imagine Grandpa helping Hilda put the groceries away. Then he brought them to the park.
“I got the comics and the pop,” Frankie said. Grace realized that neither she nor Polly had remembered why Frankie had left.
Grace flipped through the pile that Frankie pulled from under his arm. “These are good,” she said. She took three and held the rest in front of Polly. Looking horrified, Polly was fixated on Gunda, who seemed to be collecting all the dandelions in the park.
“Pol, look, Frankie got Little Lulu,” she said. “He must have read your mind. Sit down with me and read.”
Frankie positioned himself against the trunk of the maple tree. “It doesn’t look as if Grandpa’s in a hurry,” he said. “Pick your spot.”
“Why doesn’t your grandpa see us if we can see him?” Polly asked, still staring.
“I guess he’s not interested in looking around,” Frankie replied. “I mean, he seems to be more interested in your relative.” He started reading the Archie comic.
Grace remembered her walk to town and back with Frankie. How simple that was, only the two of them.
“Grace,” Polly said quietly, “I can’t concentr
ate with her running around like that.”
“Really, Polly, what can she do to us? Pick our dandelions?”
“I’m so afraid of her.”
“What am I supposed to do? I let you tag along and you act like a baby.”
“Okay, Gracie.” Polly sniffled. “She won’t come over here. I’m okay. See, I’m okay.”
Why me? Grace said to herself. She willed Polly to vaporize.
“What’s the matter?” asked Frankie, looking up from the comic.
“That Gunda woman, the one who’s running around, scares Polly.”
Frankie looked past Grace to Polly, whose face was now in her hands.
“Polly,” Frankie said in a coaxing-a-kitten-out-of-its-hiding-place voice. “Hey, Polly.”
Polly splayed her fingers and peeked at Frankie.
“She won’t come over here. She’s totally happy over there.”
“She makes me so nervous.”
Frankie looked at Grace as if expecting an explanation of Polly’s behavior.
“Gunda scared Polly once, at Hilda’s house,” Grace said. “She didn’t mean to, but she startled her to death or something.” Grace looked at Polly, giving her the opportunity to add to or modify this interpretation. Polly stared in Gunda’s direction, eyes wide with fear. Grace looked for herself.
Walking with purpose, Gunda moved in a straight line toward the seated sisters. She was a giant growing larger and larger as she trod over the grass, her hand extended. Gunda halted abruptly in front of Polly, who appeared to have turned to stone, and presented her with a bouquet of dandelions and clover.
A word gurgled out of Gunda’s throat like a broken growl. “Girl,” she pronounced over Polly. “Girl.”
Polly did not move. Grace reached up and put her hand around the stems that escaped from the bottom of Gunda’s fist. “I’ll give them to her, to the girl,” she said. Gunda released the flowers.
24
As Gunda retreated, Grandpa Ernest crossed the park.
“Hello!” he called, waving a long, stout branch that he used as a third leg. “How long have you been lounging here for?”
Grace Above All (Fesler-Lampert Minnesota Heritage) Page 8
