Twice a Child

by Ann Elia Stewart

  “Oh yeah.” I pull out the card. “Where’s Boyer’s Flowers, what state?”

  She sits down in Mamie’s chair, next to me. “Here, Grandpa. Right on Elm Street. You asked me that in the car on the way home.”

  “Yeah, but what state?” I’m holding the card between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the raised letters, thinking how it feels like warts.

  She’s holding a plastic container, supposed to remind old people what day to take what pill, and that’s sweet of her, but Mamie always lets me know that. She clicks the plastic lid like she’s just found the last piece in a puzzle. “Now look, Grandpa, you start with tonight, which is Thursday.” She’s pointing to a calendar on the table next to my recliner where I put everything: glasses, a book, the paper that I never get through, a coaster, a lamp, a box of tissues. Now she wants me to keep this stupid plastic box there, too. “Do you know what day it is?”

  I wave away her comment. “Yes, yes, it’s Thursday. Where’s the kid?”

  “He’s in your bedroom taking a nap.”

  I hand her the card from Boyer’s Flowers.

  “Big of him to send flowers,” she says.

  Whenever her father enters the picture she gets this cold look. No matter how cheery she’s been a second ago, a chill drops over her. I want her to stay a little longer. I want her to tell me where this card comes from. I know she told me, but I forget. Should have written it on the back.

  “Grandpa, what are you looking for?”

  When I look up she’s smeary like someone put Vaseline all over her face.

  She takes off my glasses. “Wrong ones, Grandpa.”

  “I’m just trying to find out where this card comes from is all.” I go back to examining it, but nothing comes into focus. “Who’s Vi?”

  Tina checks her watch.

  “Maybe you should go, honey. Put the kid to bed in his own room.”

  “He’ll be fine. I want to make sure you know a few things, Grandpa. Like, what’s today?”

  Here we go. All I want to know is where the flowers come from and she’s giving me another quiz.

  “Grandpa, I know this is tough for you, but you can handle it. So. What day is it?”

  “Thursday.”

  “And the month?”

  I look at the calendar.

  “October. October sixteenth.”

  “Year?”

  I have to think. “Nineteen, nineteen eighty, no ninety.” A bird flies onto the patio. One of those black ones, I don’t like those.

  “Grandpa, what year is it?”

  “I’m thinking! It’s—oh yeah. It’s two thousand. Two thousand something. Six, seven.”

  “It’s two thousand and seven,” she says.

  “Really?”

  She laughs. “Really. Okay, now, who am I?”

  “My granddaughter.”

  “What’s my name?”

  “Jesus, Tina, I’m not senile. Teen-a. There, you happy?”

  “What happened today?”

  What happened today? I was somewhere where I recognized a lot of people, well, at least they all seemed to know me.

  “Can you tell me what happened today, Grandpa?”

  Her eyes are moist. I hand her the card.

  “I want to know where your father got those flowers he sent to Grandma’s—”

  To Mamie’s—to my wife’s . . . but I don’t have to finish the sentence. Tina got off Mamie’s recliner and bent down to hug me. Mamie and I bought these a few years ago so we could watch TV together, side by side. Sometimes we’d hold each other’s hands.

  We’re both crying.

  “Grandpa, I’ll go to Boyer’s and see if I can find out anything, like where the order originated, okay?” She made her way toward the bedroom where the baby was crying.

  “Wait! Who’s Vi?” I heard that croak again. Is that my voice?

  Tina looked me right in the eye just the way Mamie does when she’s angry with me and wants to let me know. “Vi is Dad’s new wife. She’s French. Remember? You and Grandma flew out for the wedding.”

  “Flew? We never flew.”

  “This time you did. First and last time for both of you. To Los Angeles. Couple years ago. Maybe he’s still out there, who knows?”

  I start to laugh. “Mamie left nail marks in my arm with every take off and landing. I remember now.” I look at my arm, thought I could still see the indentations. I could feel her next to me on that plane, smell her perfume. Tears brushed my cheek again and I was ashamed that I couldn’t stop them in front of my granddaughter.

  Her body shudders when she puts her arms around me again, and the baby’s cries grow louder as if he’s joining our pity party. We both realize what we face: life without Mamie. She knew everyone’s birthday, everyone’s favorite colors and desserts and meals. She’d give me my pills right on time. Everyone loved Mamie because Mamie loved everyone.

  And Eddie couldn’t come to her funeral?

  Maybe I just didn’t see him: maybe he ducked out before anyone noticed.

  She’s holding the baby now, his cheeks streaked with wet lines. I kiss the soft curls on top of his head when she hands him to me. He smells sweet and pungent, like sweat and saliva.

  “Let me know where the flowers come from, okay?”

  “I’ll check it out first thing tomorrow,” Tina says. She reminds me to take my blood pressure pills around six, pointing to a gray and red capsule, and promises to check on me later.

  Rain pelts the patio doors. Evening sets in and everything—outside, inside, all around—looks like a gray blanket smothering the dim light left in the room.

  I sit until the apartment grows dark. Don’t feel like turning on any lights. If I sit here long enough maybe I’ll go dark, too.

  two

  My older brother Charlie used to taunt me when we were kids. I was the better looking, but he was the brain. He almost made it through college. Decided instead of finishing his last year he’d head to New York City where he landed a job with a small paper, the News or Daily Banner or something like that.

  “You’ll stay in this Dutchie town ‘til you die, Frankie,” he said to me before he boarded the train. “Just don’t let your soul die with you.”

  Still don’t understand what he meant by that, so I guess that’s why he felt he had to visit me last night.

  He stood at the foot of my bed smoking an unfiltered Camel like he always did, his eyes crinkling at the sides, a look of perpetual sarcasm. “Always the softie.”

  I rose straight up out of bed and answered, “I’ll show you who’s soft. I’m going out there to see him. He can’t refuse me to my face.”

  The drizzle hitting my window brings me back to reality. No one stood at the foot of my bed, but God if I couldn’t smell his cigarette.

  “Do you smell that, Mamie?” I ask, but she’s not answering. I look over and see her bed perfectly made. Then I remember finding her there, rolling her over, seeing her beautiful lips parted. She was still sleeping. I kissed her, thinking maybe it would wake her up. I lay beside her, my arms around her. Spooning, we called it in our younger days. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but I couldn’t take not feeling her breathe beneath me anymore. So I called Joey because the two of them were always close, and he said he’d call 911. I didn’t want to let her go. I kept pulling the blanket up on her because she felt so cold. Joey came over and stayed with me for awhile after the two guys took her away.

  three

  Someone used my car. The mirrors are different so now when I use them I have to strain to see the highway. I keep getting the asphalt and mostly the sky. I try that knob that’s supposed to magically shift them into position, but it just raises the damn mirror. What happened to all the cars behind me?

  The rain’s turning to drizzle so I can see okay. I figure I can make it to the bank and the mechanic before noon when every nut escaping from work will be on the road.

  People keep telling me I should get one of those cards for the
machine and I understand the convenience of that—you get your money whenever you need it—but what’s to stop some thug from coming up behind me, knocking me down and robbing me? You’re so exposed at those machines. Give me a real live bank teller any day.

  I like the feel of walking into a lobby where people know you. The girls behind the counter are getting younger though. Barely look past their teens.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lillo.”

  She should be more covered up. Even these tired eyes go straight to the plunging neckline.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Mrs. Lillo.”

  Didn’t come here to talk about that. “Could you tell me how much I have in savings?”

  She punches something into a computer.

  “Twelve thousand one hundred and twenty-three dollars and forty cents.”

  Her warm little hand takes hold of mine.

  “Mr. Lillo? Is that all you needed to know?”

  Her eyes are so blue. Like Mamie’s. And Eddie’s. People wouldn’t believe Eddie was my son because when he was very small his hair was blond and he had these enormous blue eyes. Later, his hair turned dark brown, almost black like mine, but not quite.

  I’d like to see his eyes again.

  “I wish to make a withdrawal.” I say it with as much authority as this voice allows, but it still comes out all phlegmy. “Five.”

  “Five hundred?”

  “Thousand. Five thousand.” I smile at the sound of it. I never held five thousand dollars in my hand at one time. “I’m going on a trip.”

  “Oh, so you’ll want traveler’s checks. I highly recommend them.”

  “Cash, sweetie. Straight cash.”

  four

  Tina tried to reach her grandfather mid-morning and again at the beginning of her lunch hour, but the line kept ringing. A cold sweat shivered down her back—he couldn’t be trying to find Eddie, could he? He wouldn’t get far. Maybe to Hershey, even Harrisburg, but once the traffic started to pick up on the expressway, he’d turn back. Wouldn’t he?

  The thought of Grandpa driving on the expressway was too much for her to take. She cashed in half a vacation day and took off for his apartment, fully expecting to find him sitting in his recliner, taking a nap, but she had to know.

  The apartment door was unlocked. When Grandma was alive the place was barricaded like Fort Knox. Even if you had a key, if she were in there, she used the chain and you had to holler into the apartment to get someone’s attention.

  “Grandpa? It’s Tina. You in here?”

  She checked the living room first. Not in his recliner, but his glasses were on the table so that was a good sign. He wouldn’t be going too far without them. There was a scorched odor in the air like burnt rubber. A quick glance in the kitchen revealed the culprit: he had left the coffee pot on until it had boiled down, bone dry. Tina immediately flipped the switch and put the pot in the sink. It shattered when it touched the cold stainless steel.

  “Grandpa?” The bedroom was empty, his bed unmade, the dent still in the pillow. “Grandpa?” Not in the closet.

  Two pieces of antique luggage lay sprawled in the sitting room, still latched. It looked like he had been sifting through a pile of old clothes, boy’s clothes. She picked up the red and blue Izod polo, a men’s small. Further inspection unearthed a couple pairs of jeans and an old gym tee shirt that proudly proclaimed “Catholic High.”

  So where was Grandpa?

  A familiar whistle permeated the apartment hallway. Tina ran to the door to find Grandpa carrying a painting, half his size, up the stairs. He weaved and crashed into the wall under the weight of it, its heavy wooden framework slipping from his hands as he maneuvered each step. Any minute his legs would give way and down he’d go.

  “Grandpa! What are you doing?” She rushed down the steps and reached him in time to take the painting from his hands. He sat on the top step of the landing and wiped his brow.

  “Nick of time, honey,” he said. “Didn’t know how much longer these legs would hold out. I kept telling myself one more step, just one more. I figured I’d get to the top sooner or later.”

  Tina looked in the refrigerator. Besides a can of Folgers, some asparagus in a glass of water, and a few tubs of yogurt, the refrigerator’s otherwise clean shelves gleamed with the absence of food. “I’m going to have to get you some groceries.”

  “What for? I’m leaving in the morning.”

  He hadn’t mentioned California for a few days. In fact, he seemed to have written it off when she told him that the flower order did, indeed, originate from Los Angeles. She had hoped it was a distant memory by now.

  “Hey, know what else I found down in storage? A nice set of clubs. Eddie left ‘em here. I’ll be taking those along. We can do a few holes. He always beats the pants off me, but I don’t care. I learned a great backswing from him. You know, all this sifting through stuff worked up an appetite.”

  Tina called in a pizza, and they worked through the afternoon making piles of Eddie’s old clothing to take to the Salvation Army, setting aside the golf clubs, but tagging an old lamp and Christmas decorations for the SalvAl too. She had started on Mamie’s closet, but it was too soon.

  “Shut that door!” Grandpa ordered. “Nothing goes, you hear me?”

  By the time they had gotten to this point it was going on five anyway. Joshua could stay one more hour at daycare, but she used that cushion of time only in an emergency. She was trying to decide if this was one.

  Grandpa appeared stable now, sitting in his recliner, examining the painting from across the room as if it could tell its own story. She remembered seeing it when she was a child: a beautiful scene of a farm lane flanked with the full bloom of fall leaves and twisted trunks of maples, oaks, and a few towering pines. Grandpa had painted it long ago, and Tina remembered Grams’ smile when she told the story of how she’d sit on a blanket, watching him paint the scene before her, “like he held a magic brush,” she would say.

  Maybe Grandpa’s confusion was nothing more than grief. Death surprises even if you’re old or sick. Tina knew this all too well having worked in the ER from the time she received her diploma as a registered nurse. Eventually, he’d get back to normal. It would take some time, she knew, but this was Grandpa who takes care of everything.

  He sat staring at the painting.

  “I’m going to pick up Joshua now and then swing by and pick up some groceries for you, Grandpa. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

  When he turned away from the painting his eyes looked strange, far away, the irises as dark as buttons.

  “How did you get in here? No one has a key but me and Mamie.”

  “The door was open, Grandpa. I was here all afternoon.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know whose eyes you think you’re pulling the wool over, girlie, but you better get out of here before I call the police.” He started to stand up.

  “Grandpa, I’m Tina, your granddaughter.” A wave of fear landed in her gut. She should stay with him, but she had to pick up the baby. “Listen, I have a great idea! How about you ride along with me to pick up Joshua? He loves it when you do raspberries on his tummy, remember?”

  The corners of his mouth relaxed.

  “Nah, I just want to sit here. I need a nap.”

  “I’ll check back and bring you a few things from the grocery store then, okay? It’s getting chilly outside anyway. I know how much you hate the cold.” Maybe that would keep him here for as long as it took to pick up the baby and a few groceries.

  She kissed his forehead, but his attention drifted toward the painting, a moment in time captured forever by the stroke of his own hand many years ago when youth made all things possible.

  He didn’t say goodbye, but at least he didn’t mention California.

  five

  Damn sun. Big as a boulder right smack in front of me. Since when were trucks this long allowed on the turnpike? Ah, it’s rush hour, didn’t think about that, but I’m here now so I’ll
just stick it out until traffic clears. Everyone’s got some place to be. Yeah? Well so do I. I’m visiting my son, should have done this a long time ago. We kept telling him we’d come out, we’d be there, but we never got there, something always getting in the way—work, church, Tina having the baby . . .

  He’s never seen that baby, Joshua. His own grandson.

  “Hey, you son of a bitch! Cut me off like that again—”

  I have to pay attention, it’s a long way to Pittsburgh.

  Must be three state cop cars there, all three parked in a row, lights blinking. Some idiot’s probably holding up the Burger King. God knows these kids will do anything for money anymore, except work for it.

  “Just not like it used to be, Mamie. These kids will plug you for a couple dollars.”

  What the hell does this guy want from me?

  “Something wrong, officer?”

  “Frank Lillo?”

  He knows my name? Jesus.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I see your license, sir?”

  “Is there something wrong, officer? I was just stopping to take a leak.”

  “Your license, please.”

  Can’t remember the last time a cop asked me that.

  “Sir, do you have a granddaughter by the name of Tina Lillo?”

  “Yes, yes I do.” Oh my God, I hope she’s all right.

  “She called us after she couldn’t find you. Sir, do you have a cell phone?”

  “A what?”

  “A cell phone.”

  He’s showing me his phone. Like I don’t know.

  “No, I hate those things.”

  “Sir, we have your granddaughter’s number. We’re going to call her, have you speak with her.”

  “Why? You’ll wake up the baby.”

  “Could you step out of the car, Mr. Lillo?”

  Now there’s a crowd around us, gawking. Like I’m a criminal. I better get out of the car.

  “What’s this all about, officer? Was I speeding?”

  “No.”

  He hands me his phone.