Clean Slate

by Isla Olsen

  I’ve just finished toweling myself off when a three-and-a-half-foot blur of red and blue comes bolting around the side of the house to crash right into my legs.

  “Uncle Slate! Uncle Slate! Grandpa Ted had an accident!”

  I detach my four-year-old nephew, Ethan, from my legs and crouch down so I’m eye-level with him. He’s dressed in the Spiderman costume I got him for his last birthday and is wearing an incredibly somber expression for such a little kid.

  “E, what are you talking about? What happened to Grandpa?” With Ethan an ‘accident’ could be anything from cutting a finger to falling off a ladder, but the way he’s looking at me right now definitely has me thinking it’s something pretty serious.

  “Him and Nanna were eating spicy food and the prostigate hurt his heart,” Ethan says with a sniffle.

  I blink at him a few times, trying to make sense of his words. What the hell’s ‘prostigate?’ My mind races for some sort of food item that Ethan’s four-year-old brain has replaced with that made up word but I’m drawing blanks. Then I land on the last part of what he told me. “Wait—his heart hurt? Like he had a heart attack?”

  I can tell by the look on my nephew’s face he’s not really sure what I’m asking, but I get my answer anyway. His lip quivers and then he throws himself into my arms. “His heart broked, Slater.”

  I hold my nephew tight, rubbing my hands over his back as I try to come to terms with the fact that, unless Ethan’s completely misunderstood the situation, the man that has been like a second father to me died today. All around me, I sense people closing in. I glance up to see Web, George, and Axel all hovering around me. Each of them are wearing expressions of dread, their faces drained of color.

  “Ethan! I told you to wait for me!” I hear my mother’s voice, full of exasperation, as she rounds the corner of my house and appears in the backyard.

  I let go of Ethan and stand up to approach her. “Is it true?”

  “Mom, what’s going on?” Axel presses.

  Mom lets out a deep sigh, her eyes full of sadness as her gaze travels from me to Ax and then to our cousins and the other guys who have gathered around. “I’m sorry, boys.”

  “What happened? Was it really a heart attack?” It’s Web who asks. He’s standing right beside me now, his face drawn and pale.

  Mom glances around the yard for a moment, obviously looking to see where Ethan is. He’s sitting on the back steps with Chance, who’s taken off his cap and is letting Ethan inspect it, no doubt attempting to convert him to the Lakers.

  Seeing Ethan is well-occupied, Mom turns her attention back to us. She takes a deep breath before she starts talking. “It was an accident…” she hesitates for a moment, biting her lip. “Of the coital nature.”

  I blink at her a few times, my mouth parting in confusion. “Come again?”

  “They were…” She waves a hand about in a circular motion, as though searching for the right word. “Experimenting. It happens sometimes, you know. When you’ve been married a long time it’s important to keep things fresh. Interesting.’

  “Mom—stop!” I hold up a hand in dismay. “You’re obviously mistaken. They couldn’t have been having sex. They’re grandparents.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Mom asks, brows raised in question. “Your father and I are grandparents and we still—”

  I hold my hand out to halt her words, shaking my head furiously. “No, no. This day is horrible enough without hearing this!”

  “Dude, of course they were still having sex—that’s what Viagra’s for,” George says with a roll of his eyes. Then he turns to my mom. “What was this ‘experiment’, Aunt Gen?”

  “George…” Web shakes his head at the question. “I really don’t think that’s necessary.’

  George shrugs. “I think it’s important to learn from this tragedy. I don’t want to be having sex and worrying that it’s going to kill me.” He looks up wistfully, adding, “But what a way to go.”

  I cut George a sharp look. “Dude, that’s our grandfather.”

  He has the decency to look somewhat sheepish, but I know he’s still wondering exactly what happened, and I guess I can’t blame him—with the amount of sex George has, it’s got to be freaking him out to learn of someone actually dying in the act. But I, for one, don’t need to know any more about my grandparents’ exploits, so I’m glad when my mom ignores his question.

  “How’s Nanna?” I ask her.

  Mom lets out a deep sigh. “She’s doing okay, considering. Fifty-seven years…” she adds with a sad shake of her head.

  “Interesting that that’s how old your dad is, Web,” George says with a teasing smirk.

  “Can I punch him?” Web grunts.

  Ignoring my cousins, I reach out and wrap my arms around Mom, pulling her against my chest. Nanna and Grandpa are my paternal grandparents, but they’re the only parents my mom has known ever since her own kicked her out when she got pregnant with Ax, as if it were the 1880s and not the 1980s. I know this has to be hitting her hard.

  “Do the girls know?” I ask. “And Tucker?”

  Mom nods. “Everley’s driving down to tell Tucker and bring him home.” Well, that would explain why Mom’s watching Ethan; I can’t imagine my sister would want to bring him along for the drive to Davis. “And Tansie’s with Lorelai’s girls,” she adds, resorting to the widely-used collective term for George’s five older sisters. “They’re working out the details for the funeral and things like that.”

  “Already?”

  Mom offers a sad smile. “These things move quickly, honey. You know how this town is, and how important Ted was to it…” she trails off, letting out a soft sigh.

  Was. The word hits me hard and sharp in the chest. I’m not ready to hear my grandfather referred to in the past tense. I’m not ready for him to be gone at all.

  * * *

  After sending all our high school buddies on their way, we leave Chance in charge of the clean up and Web, George, and I go to pay a visit to Nanna.

  I pull up out the front of Nanna and Granddad’s house—the house that has always been like a second home to me—and we all pile out of my truck. Out of a force of habit that for some reason I haven’t been able to shake for the past twelve years, my gaze automatically drifts to the house to the right of my Grandparents’, where my high school boyfriend, Zack, used to live. But just as quickly, I look away, reminding myself—yet again—there’s no point dwelling on the decisions I made back then, or how I would change it if I could. The truth is, half the time I’m sure I wouldn’t change a damn thing.

  Nanna doesn’t come to the door straight away, so after a few minutes of waiting and intermittent knocking, I grab the spare key out of the potted plant by the door and let us inside. The house is dark and gloomy—the complete opposite of what I’ve come to expect upon entering my grandparents’ house.

  “What the fuck is that smell?” Web asks, his face screwed up in distaste.

  “Holy shit—is that smoke?”

  I follow George’s wide-eyed gaze down the center hallway and out the back window to my grandparents’ yard. Where a fire seems to be roaring in the bonfire pit out there.

  “What the hell is she burning?” George’s expression is uncharacteristically serious. “It smells like…plastic.”

  “C’mon.” I head down the hallway and gesture for the boys to follow after me. When I get outside, I see my grandmother fervently stoking the fire, a determined look on her face. “Nanna?”

  Her head snaps around at the sound of my voice, her eyes wide with alarm and…fear?

  “Oh, boys—you shouldn’t be here!”

  My brows draw together in concern. “Of course we should. We came to see how you are.”

  She’s in her late seventies, but until today, she didn’t look it. It’s scary to think how drastically she’s aged overnight, but I guess that’s just what happens when the person you’ve loved for over fifty years is ripped away from
you so suddenly.

  In a defeated gesture, Nanna tosses the poker aside before burying her face in her hands, her body heaving with desperate sobs. I rush to throw my arms around her, drawing her into my chest the same way I did for my mother just an hour ago. “I thought I would have more time,” she says in a ragged wail. I’m assuming she’s referring to time with my grandfather, but then she says, “I didn’t realize you’d be here so quickly.”

  “Huh?” I lean my head back so I can look at her properly. “Nanna, what’re you talking about?”

  She looks up at me, her eyes wide with fear. “I thought I’d be able to destroy the evidence and no one would ever know…”

  “No one would know what?”

  She breaks out of my hold, her hands flying up in a gesture of surrender. “That I killed him, Slater! With that…thing!” She points angrily at the bonfire before beginning to pace a short path back and forth, her hands clawing at her hair. “I can’t go to prison! Do you know what they do to people like me in prison?”

  I exchange a baffled glance with George and Web, and I can tell they’re thinking the exact same thing I am: No? what the hell do they do to old ladies with a passion for knitting and baking pie in prison?

  With a shake of my head, I turn to my grandmother, leveling her with a firm look. “Nanna—you didn’t kill anyone. Grandpa died of a heart attack.”

  “Yes—because of me. Because of that thing!” She once again gestures wildly at the bonfire.

  Sharing another curious glance with George and Web, we each step closer to the fire to see what all the fuss is about. The object in question seems to be made of silicone, and is clearly very flame retardant, because it doesn’t take me long to figure out what it is. I let out a groan of dismay once I realize what it is she’s trying to burn, desperately begging my mind not to provide me with the visual of it in use.

  “Dayam, Nanna. Under normal circumstances that’d earn you a fist bump,” George says, something like awe in his tone.

  “George…” Web groans in warning.

  George just shrugs, completely indifferent.

  At that moment, the fire gives a sharp hiss and a loud pop and we all take a step back as the flames grow higher.

  “Jesus, Nanna—are there batteries in that?” Web demands.

  “The sales girl talked me into it!” she cries.

  Shit. I scrub a hand over my face in exasperation. We need to get this fire out before it starts exploding out onto the grass. The last thing we need is to be responsible for starting a wildfire. Then Nanna really might be looking at charges.

  The problem is, Nanna can be one stubborn woman when she’s got her mind set on something, and right now she seems determined to see this sex toy burn.

  Fortunately, George steps in with a distraction. “Hey, Nanna? How ‘bout you and I go have a little chat. I want to ask you about something.”

  Nanna frowns at George for a moment before finally nodding and allowing him to guide her to the far corner of the yard, where there’s a little bench situated under a large cherry tree. George might be completely ridiculous the vast majority of the time, but he’s also one of those people that just oozes charm. He’s got this entire town wrapped around his little finger, and our grandmother is no exception. It’s hardly surprising to see her give in so easily to his suggestion.

  “Fuck, this is insane,” Web says as we take the opportunity to douse the fire. “Why didn’t she just bury it?”

  My brows shoot up. “Bury it? Dude, no one even knew she had it, and even if they did, no one would care. She could have just left it in one of her drawers, or thrown it out with the trash if she really didn’t want it.”

  Web shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, well, grief does funny things to people. And she’s probably feeling pretty guilty, too, if he died while she was…y’know.”

  I let out a loud groan. “Dude… Not. Cool.”

  He huffs a quiet laugh. “Sorry.”

  I cast my gaze over to the back corner of the yard and see Nanna and George are still talking, and she seems to have calmed down; that cornered, frightened look she had when we arrived is completely gone. She’s still not her usual sunny self, though, which is completely understandable.

  “We should probably get rid of this before she comes back,” Web suggests, nodding down at the silicone carcass, now covered in fire extinguisher foam.

  I nod. “Yeah, good idea.”

  We both stand there for a moment, before Web gestures at me in encouragement. I stare at him incredulously. “You’ve got to be joking. I’m not picking it up. You do it.”

  His face screws up in distaste. “Hell no. I’m not touching that thing. You know where it’s been.” We glare at each other stubbornly for a long moment before Web lets out a heavy sigh, offering me an entreating look. “Come on, man. You touch guys asses all the time. This isn’t that different.”

  My mouth falls open in horror, my voice going strangely high-pitched as I exclaim, “This is very different!”

  “What’s going on?”

  I snap my head around to find George has approached without us realizing.

  At my questioning look, he gestures behind him to where Nanna is still sitting on the bench. “She wanted to be alone for a bit. What are you idiots arguing about?”

  Web waves a hand at the fire pit. “We need to get rid of the strap-on before Nanna decides to try burning down Northern California again, but neither of us want to touch it.”

  George just rolls his eyes in exasperation and steps forward, plucking the crispy fried remains of the former strap-on from the fire pit without complaint. “You’re both idiots,” he mutters.

  2

  From the private Facebook group ‘Finchley Locals Community Hangout’

  * * *

  Post by Bennett Goode: On behalf of all the Goodes we’re saddened to announce the passing of a beloved husband, father, father-in-law, grandfather, and great-grandfather.

  Edward (Ted) Goode passed in the early hours of Sunday morning after experiencing a heart attack late Saturday night. He was 79 years old and completely irreplaceable.

  Beth Bowry reply to Bennett Goode’s post: Such a tragedy. He’ll be so missed *crying emoji*

  Charlotte Rowe reply to Bennett Goode’s post: Such sad news. You’re all in my prayers *heart emoji*

  George Goode reply to Bennett Goode’s post: At least he died doing what he loved

  Lorelai Goode reply to George Goode’s comment: George! Have some sensitivity!

  Nora Goode reply to Lorelai Goode’s comment: Don’t chastise the boy Lorelai, I take it as a compliment *wink emoji*

  * * *

  Zack

  * * *

  Here’s some free advice: don’t ever date your boss. I don’t care how charming he is, how amazingly he wears those designer suits, or how easily he can turn you on with one of his sexy smiles…

  Just. Don’t. Do. It.

  And if, on the off chance, you decide to ignore my words of wisdom, here’s another tip: when you walk in on your boyfriend slash boss balls deep inside Piedro, the nineteen-year-old intern, I urge you—nay, I beg you—to take the high road. Just walk out of there and don’t look back. This asshole is not worth your tears or your anger or your ill-planned drunken retribution.

  Perhaps if I’d taken this advice I could have avoided ending up in my current situation: sitting in a HR meeting, discussing my (non-existent) future at Burton Media while security footage of my best friend, Lawson, and me vandalizing Rick the Dick’s office with shaving cream and toilet paper plays out on a laptop screen in front of me.

  I bite my lower lip, deciding the only thing I can do is go for the Shaggy defense and pray they buy it. “That wasn’t me.”

  Of course, that holds up for about two seconds before I’m thwarted by Drunk Me on the laptop screen as I turn face-on to the camera and flip the double bird before folding over in laughter and then stumbling out the door, holding on to Lawson for support. Fuck. Damn yo
u, tequila!

  I look up at Anita Nelson, head of HR, to see her arching an eyebrow at me, as if challenging me to continue with my denials. I say nothing.

  “We’ve managed to talk Rick out of filing charges,” Anita tells me, “but he wants you gone. And seeing as how destruction of company property is a clear violation of company protocols...” she trails off, offering me a small shrug instead of the clichéd ‘my hands are tied.’

  This raises my hackles and I can practically feel the steam coming out of my ears. Why don’t you talk to Rick about company protocols? I’m pretty sure banging an intern on his desk—with the door open, I might add—is a violation of fucking company protocols!

  I don’t say this out loud, of course; while I may have no interest in remaining employed at Burton Media, I do have an interest in being employed in general. And that prospect will require a reference from this woman. Ergo, it’s time to kiss some serious ass.

  * * *

  By the time I leave Burton’s downtown offices a half hour later, my small box of personal possessions lugged under one arm, I have absolutely no idea whether I’ve managed to recover any semblance of good standing. Despite my suspicions that Anita has long disliked Rick and—although she’d die before admitting it—seemed mildly amused at my prank, that’s hardly enough to let me off the hook. I slept with my boss and then vandalized company property; for all I know, I’m about to be blacklisted from every media company in Chicago.

  When I get on the L, I manage to find a seat between a middle-aged woman reading a book, and a teenager typing so fast on his phone it looks like his fingers are in danger of catching fire. I hold tighter to the small box I have precariously balanced on my lap and rest my head back against the window, mentally counting down the stops. All I want right now is to get home, change into some sweatpants, open a bottle of wine, and watch some reality TV.