This wasn’t so much bravery as it was that I’d started to like Granddad. He talked like a guy who was used to getting thrown out of places. Thrown out, and not bothered by it in the least.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They didn’t throw us out. It was almost a disappointment, how easy it was to see Mom and hang around in her room. We found somebody to give her TV service for when we weren’t there.
Mom could only sit up halfway, because of her leg. She wore the flannel nightgown Mrs. Buttermark had brought her. She had some leggings too, since she couldn’t cover up very well with one leg hanging in the air.
“That was my biggest problem during the night,” Mom said. “The room got a little cold and I was under this tented blanket and I couldn’t warm up the air space around me.”
Granddad said, “Maybe we can bring in an electric heater for tonight.”
“They brought me one,” Mom said. “They took it away a few minutes before you and Jake showed up. I’m fine, Ned. Did I thank you yesterday for coming here so quickly? I can’t remember.”
He seemed embarrassed to be reminded.
I said, “You did.”
Granddad said, “Tell us what you want for dinner. Italian food? Chinese?”
“Oh, anything. What have you guys been up to?”
“Swimming,” I said, as if I did it every day.
“Cool,” Mom said, as if I did it every day.
“We unpacked the groceries,” I said. “I brought you the cookies. They’re probably frozen, though.”
“The groceries,” Mom said. “That seems like years ago. What day is it?”
“Monday.”
“Don’t you have—oh, Jake, today’s the Christmas party.”
“This is where I’d rather be,” I said.
“Well, it’s where I’m happy to have you right now,” Mom said. “I’m sorry you missed the party.”
“No big deal. There’ll be another one next year.”
It wasn’t long before we broke out the sandwiches. As it turns out, four pancakes don’t go far when you go swimming first thing in the morning.
We talked and laughed a little between bites.
Granddad went out for a smoke, which gave me a chance to tell Mom about his scary dog.
“You didn’t used to be scared of that dog,” Mom said. “He was a little scared of you.”
“Because I tried to pull his tail.”
Mom laughed. “You remember that?”
“Granddad told me.”
“We kept finding that dog in your crib. Or you eating out of his food dish.”
“Yuck.”
Granddad came in then and told a few stories of his own. He made it seem funny that he had to sit out on the fire escape to smoke a cigarette.
Mom looked at us both like we’d lost our minds.
“Smoking is hot work. I felt fine.” Granddad said that, and then he sneezed.
“Oh, no. You’ve caught a cold,” Mom said.
“One sneeze,” Granddad said.
The nurse was going by and she looked in. She said, “It’s my job to send away people with sneezes unless they’re in a bed.”
“One sneeze,” Granddad said. “I don’t catch colds.”
The nurse eyed the sandwiches. “I can be bribed with food.”
I got the peanut butter and banana sandwich and counted myself lucky. Mrs. Buttermark puts these strange lettuces on the ones with meat and cheese. Basil and arugula and stuff.
The nurse thought very highly of strange lettuce. “Mozzarella with basil, how does that sound?” Granddad said.
“Heavenly.”
Granddad sneezed again, and she said, “Sounds like you do have a cold.”
“Not me,” Granddad said. “I never catch cold.” He thumped himself on the chest a couple of times. “Hardy.”
“Lives in the South,” Mom said, folding her sandwich bag neatly. Folding something neatly is what she does when she’s getting tired or bored or nervous, whether it’s a napkin or the paper from a straw. I figured she was tired.
“Buy yourself a scarf to wear while you’re here,” the nurse said to Granddad. She looked over her shoulder as she was leaving with her sandwich. “Better go buy it now.”
I said, “We’ll come back later.”
“What?” Mom said. “You don’t have to go.”
“We have errands to run,” Granddad said. “Give us a list of what to bring you. Do you want a paperback book?”
“More magazines,” Mom said. “Anything with pictures. They relax me.” I had a feeling hospitals didn’t have nearly as many rules as schools, but it still didn’t feel like a fun place to be.
We’d stepped out of her room when Mom called me back. She said, “Are you okay?”
I shrugged. “I’m having a good time, kind of. Even the swimming and the scary dog are fine.”
“He’s a lot like your dad, I think you should know.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Except “He smokes Camels. Isn’t that weird?”
“Not at all.”
Mom did look tired. “We’ll see you later,” I said, and reached up and ruffled her hair the way she usually did to me. I think we both felt better.
Granddad found a store with nothing but magazines. Except for gum and candy bars and cigarettes, that sort of thing. He bought a ton of magazines, mostly about travel.
Also flowers, because I told him Mom and Aunt Ginny like to garden in pots on the rooftop. We got Cat Fancy and a few science magazines. Strange science, the kind Suzie likes.
He also bought a package of tissues because he sneezed a few more times. I reminded him about the scarf. He sneezed again while we were looking for a store that sold them.
“You didn’t dry your hair,” I said. “After the swim.”
He gave me a raised-eyebrow look. I thought he probably figured he didn’t have all that much hair.
“Aunt Ginny has hair nearly as short as yours,” I said. “She says she has to dry her head with a hair dryer before she goes out.”
He said, “I’ve never used a hair dryer.”
“Probably it’s warmer in North Carolina. You aren’t used to how cold it is here.”
He sneezed again. “Good point.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mom was asleep during visiting hours. We sneaked in and left the magazines for her. Granddad wrote a note like the one I’d left him, telling her we’d bring food later. Before she was forced to eat hospital food.
I wrote a note saying we’d left the cookies for her in case of a hunger emergency.
Then we went to the grocery store for things we’d had to throw away. Granddad bought those bags of lettuce that Mrs. Buttermark used in her sandwiches.
Then he spotted the loose candy in jars. “Jellies,” he said. “I haven’t had these in years.” He took them out of the jar with his fingers and handed one to me before he ate one.
“You’re supposed to use the scoop to put them in a plastic bag,” I said.
“That’s a plan.” He was quick about it, as if he’d been ordered to buy candies. I ate the one he’d given me and it was really good. Chocolate on the outside, raspberry jellied candy on the inside. He was loading up, and saying, “Let’s get the orange-flavored ones too.”
I had to tell him we couldn’t eat any more until we paid for them. It was sort of funny; he looked awfully disappointed. We went on with what he called “more important” shopping.
He knew practically everything there was to know about avocados. When he was in the marines, he’d lived someplace in Central America where they were grown. He kept squeezing the avocados and putting them down. He didn’t take any.
He moved on to mangos. He sniffed these before squeezing them and turning them all down. I’d seen Aunt Ginny say, I’ll run into the store for an avocado, and do it.
Granddad was not that kind of person. If he was some guy in a movie, Aunt Ginny and Mom would’ve laughed till tears ran down their cheeks. Exc
ept Mom’s the same way about tomatoes. She likes to grow her own. She starts them on the shelf under the aquarium. They finish growing up on the roof.
I stood on the other side of the cart while he was sniffing and squeezing, and I smelled the parsley and cilantro he put into it. These are the only things, after the tomatoes, that Mom bothers to pinch or smell. It’s hard to tell them apart.
I looked around, wondering if I looked funny too. I saw that old lady from the parking lot farther down the aisle. She’d gone past the fruit and veggies to the section where there were flowers in pots.
She seemed to be admiring some houseplants with big pink and green leaves. She’d pick one up and then put it back, like Granddad with the avocados. She picked up the ones with a lot of pink in them, so I figured she liked those best.
While she looked the plants over, I thought of going up to her and saying, Thanks, you were a big help the other day. My mom is going to be good as new.
I wondered if the old lady would even know it was me. If there’d be this embarrassing moment where I’d have to explain it was my mother who fell on the ice. Maybe I’d have to say she had to be operated on and now I was living with my granddad, or he was living with me. To tell you the truth, I thought I might cry.
Stupid, I know.
She turned away from the plants and saw me. She waved and started our way. I was glad I didn’t have to explain who I was, but now I had to explain who she was.
“Granddad.”
“Yep?” He’d started talking more like a regular person and less like those military guys you see in movies. He was choosing bananas with freckles.
I pointed. “That lady coming over here yelled for help when Mom fell.” He didn’t wait for me to say I wanted to thank her. He went to meet her and introduced himself. Us.
She put out her hand. “Lillian Martin. Call me Lillian. If you call me Martin, someone will expect me to have a mustache.”
Granddad looked surprised to hear her make a joke right off the bat. Me too. It made me grin to see him look like he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He pulled himself together real well, though.
“We’re very grateful that you have a good pair of lungs on you,” Granddad said. “Wouldn’t have expected it, looking at you. Size of a kitten.”
Lillian got all pink and fluttery. I figured they liked each other. Not like Lillian might be coming over to dinner or something. But it helps to like somebody you run into a lot.
Granddad thanked her so that I didn’t have to say a thing, really. I did say, “You were great.” And then, just what I was afraid of, I got that feeling I might cry again.
I shut up and let Granddad talk to her.
I wasn’t listening. I had to wonder how long I was going to go around feeling like a big crybaby. I doubted I was going to impress Granddad much if this happened too often.
When Lillian Martin left us to finish her shopping, Granddad went over to those plants. He grabbed up three of them and gave me the money to pay for them. They were mostly light and dark green.
I said, “Are these for her?” because it seemed to me he waited for her to go around a corner.
“They are.” He seemed a little embarrassed himself.
“She liked the ones with more pink.”
So we switched them. I gave Granddad my shopping list and I went off to wait for Mrs. Martin at the door. I helped her out to her car.
“It’s still icy out here,” I said when she told me what a little gentleman I was. She sounded a lot like Mrs. Buttermark. I sounded a lot like Granddad, I thought, except my voice wasn’t as deep.
I had the plants in brown paper sacks so she couldn’t see them yet. I figured they might not get as cold as they would in a thin plastic bag. Once we got outside, I decided fur coats wouldn’t have kept them warm.
Luckily, she was parked close to the store. “I’m more careful since your mother’s accident,” she said to me.
I put everything on the seat. She noticed the brown paper sacks then and said, “Oh, those aren’t mine.”
“Granddad and I wanted to give you something for a thank-you.”
She peeked into one of the sacks and said “Oh,” like a little meow. “You’re a special boy.”
“It was Granddad’s idea,” I said.
She kissed me on top of my head anyhow, the way I’ve made Mom stop doing. It was nice, though.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We went home to walk the dog. Max.
He acted like a different dog entirely.
He ran into the hall and wiggled all over the place with happiness when he saw Granddad. He didn’t bark at me or show his teeth. He didn’t ignore me either. He sniffed at my pant leg and gave a little sneeze.
I figured Mrs. Buttermark must have been thinking nice things about dogs and reflecting them onto Max all day long.
“We did some shopping,” Granddad said. He handed Mrs. Buttermark some bags of lettuce. Plants too, the same ones with pink leaves.
She looked surprised, and laughed. “Thank you, both,” she said. “I love these. I always mean to get a couple. Then, by the time I fill up my cart …” She shrugged.
I was glad Granddad had brought her some plants. I didn’t know how much she liked them until I saw her in the flower store, buying for Mom and even for the waiting room.
We put the lettuce and apples and bananas in our fridge. By then Max was standing on his hind feet, dancing around us. He was sort of cute.
If you like dogs.
We took him out. I noticed he was pretty cheerful about walks. His tail wagged faster or slower, depending on what he thought was most interesting.
Granddad had me hold Max’s leash for a minute while we walked him. He said he had to buy a paper. He said he couldn’t get along without a crossword puzzle. We walked a block or two with me holding the leash, passing one place where Granddad could’ve gone in for what he wanted.
Plus, he’d already done that when we got magazines for Mom. He could also have gotten cigarettes at the grocery store. I think Granddad mostly wanted Max to know he was supposed to trust me.
Granddad finally picked a store where he wanted to shop. A ladies’ shop, full of bath stuff and hair combs and change purses and little blankets to put over your legs when you’re watching TV. I’d been in there a lot of times with Aunt Ginny. Max watched Granddad go, his stubby tail wilting like a plant that needed water.
Max looked at me the minute Granddad went through the door. “Good boy,” I said.
He looked away.
I sort of knew how he felt. That time we were puppies together was a long time ago. We didn’t really remember each other the way Granddad hoped. Max wasn’t crazy about me. Some part of him knew I wasn’t crazy about him either. That probably I was saying something nice to cover it up. So far, he was right.
I was trying, though.
I thought about how he wriggled around Granddad’s ankles, so happy. How he danced around in our kitchen.
I’d gone to a science expo with Mom and Suzie the year before. We looked at weird science. Water running uphill, then down, then up again, through an up-and-downhill maze, like a rat, because the water wanted to find its way back to where it came from.
I saw a car that ran on corn oil.
I saw proof that everything, people, animals, paramecium—vegetables, even—have light shining from them all the time. It was possible to take pictures of that light. It even shone from a maple leaf with a corner torn away—it shone as if the leaf was still all there.
At the time, I thought it was more exciting that I went to New York City and rode in a subway. Stayed in a hotel and ordered room service.
I thought about the fact that everything has a little light in them. Aunt Ginny’s idea of reflecting made sense to me.
Max looked at me again, like maybe he was getting used to me. I imagined I could see that light in him and reflected it with a big smile.
He sat down and then he stood up again because the ground
was cold. I remembered he’d been sick lately and he was old, even if he didn’t look it to me.
Granddad was taking his time coming out, so I walked Max along the street until we’d passed two stores and then I turned around and walked him the other way. This was so Granddad would see us when he came outside.
Max looked nervous about the whole thing. Me walking him, and no doubt he wasn’t quite used to being reflected at so much. Probably the last few days hadn’t been easy for him either, hanging around by himself in the car and then in the apartment.
I made up my mind to sleep in my bed that night. Partly, I had the feeling Max understood now, I belonged there. And partly, he probably got it that Granddad wanted us to get along. If there was one thing I knew about Max, it was how much he tried to please Granddad.
When Granddad came out, I still had to hold Max’s leash, because Granddad had too many bags to carry and walk his dog at the same time.
Mrs. Buttermark was dressed to go out when we got upstairs. She was coming to the hospital with us, although we weren’t going until we’d eaten. Granddad said sometimes he had to eat as soon as he got hungry or he felt peckish, whatever that is.
“Are you catching a cold?” Mrs. Buttermark asked Granddad. “You sound a little stuffed up.”
“No, no,” he said. “I have a turtleneck in my suitcase.”
“Well, it won’t do you a bit of good if you leave it there,” Mrs. Buttermark told him. What really amazed me, Granddad grinned. “I made fresh sandwiches,” she said, sort of ignoring this miracle. “All we have to do is unzip them.”
“I could wait until we get to the hospital,” Granddad said.
“No, no,” Mrs. Buttermark said, heading for her kitchen. “We can’t have anyone feeling peckish. Besides, these sandwiches are best if they’re eaten right away.” Mrs. Buttermark turned to me and said, “Would you like a cream cheese and olive sandwich?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “Peanut butter and jelly will be good.”
We sat down at her usual window spot, with an extra chair pulled up to the table. “Do you by any chance play chess?” Mrs. Buttermark asked Granddad.
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