Beneath the Night Tree (26 page)

“Who?”

I rolled my eyes. “Grandma.”

He shrugged, but I suspected he felt her absence even more acutely than I did. Ever since he came to live with us nearly six years ago, he’d adored her with a devotion that betrayed his need for a mother figure—for someone to love him unconditionally. When Janice abandoned me, I at least still had my dad.

Simon didn’t bother to respond to my question, so I filled in the silence for him. “She’ll be home in two days. It’ll be nice to have her around again, won’t it?”

Still no answer.

“It’s okay to miss her, Si. It’s okay to be sad. And confused.” At least, I hoped it was okay to be sad and confused. I sure was.

“I’m fine,” Simon muttered.

I watched him for a moment, torn between stomping out of the room and rushing over so I could wrap him in a bear hug. Neither option seemed quite right. Finally I rose from the rocking chair I had been sitting in and joined him on the couch. I kept my distance, but he seemed to shrink away from me as if he feared my touch.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Look at me.”

Simon didn’t turn his head, but he peered at me out of the corners of his eyes. His hair was getting long, and it flopped over his forehead so far, it brushed the line of his dark brows. I had to resist the urge to smooth it away from his skin, to press my lips to the curve of his temple.

“Simon, I know you’re hurting,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “You don’t have to pretend that everything is okay. It’s not. But it’s going to be. You’ll see. Grandma will be home soon and everything will go back to the way it was.”

“Until June,” Simon grunted.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. With two words, my brother had conjured up every fear and uncertainty I faced. What would happen now? With Grandma diminished by her illness and my wedding on the horizon, what would become of our family? Simon’s options had been taken away from him. He had to come with us whether he wanted to or not—Grandma couldn’t care for him on her own. And what would she do? join an assisted-living community? go into a nursing home? The thought made me ill.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said again, realizing how lame and deceitful the words sounded even in my own ears.

Simon acted as if my assurances were meaningless. He pushed himself up from the couch and disappeared into the refuge of his messy room. As I watched him vanish from sight, I wondered what his autobiography would look like someday. If he found himself faced with an assignment to recount his childhood, would there be a shiny side? memories he could treasure in spite of it all?

I found myself dialing the number for the triage station on Grandma’s floor before I even realized what I was doing. It was a daily ritual for me to check in with her nurses, but I had already made my customary call for the day. Besides, it was nine o’clock, past the time she usually fell asleep for the night, and I doubted that they would have any news to relay. All the same, I was desperate for some connection with her. For some indication that I wasn’t in this completely alone.

“Nurses’ station. Lindy speaking.”

“Hi, Lindy,” I said, clutching the phone tighter as I appreciated how silly it was for me to be bothering her again. But she had already picked up. I couldn’t just sever the connection. “It’s me, Julia DeSmit.”

“Oh, hi! I didn’t expect to hear from you again today.”

“I know; I’m sorry to bother you. I just had this strange urge to . . .” I faltered, not entirely sure what I wanted from her.

“Would you like me to put you through to Nellie’s room?” Lindy asked, her voice cheerful and accommodating. She probably got calls from concerned family members all day long.

“No, I don’t want to wake her up.”

“She’s not asleep. In fact, she has a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Mrs. Walker hadn’t told me that she planned to make the trek to the heart hospital. Normally she called if she was going to go so I could send along something for Grandma. “It’s kind of late for that, don’t you think?”

“Your grandma is doing very well, but you’re right. Visiting hours are over at nine. I’ll go tell him it’s time to wrap things up.”

“Him?” I repeated, dazed. In a flash, all of my worries about Simon, our shared lives, and the broken stories of our youth evaporated. They were replaced by a new, more urgent concern. “Who’s there?”

“A nice young gentleman,” Lindy said, sounding pleased. “Very handsome, if you ask me.”

“Could you put me through?” I asked thickly.

“Sure thing.”

There was a click and then the phone rang twice in Grandma’s room. I could picture her there, propped up in the bed, but it disturbed me that I didn’t know who occupied the chair beside her.

“Hello?”

“Grandma?”

“Hi, Julia. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“You too,” I told her. And she did sound good. Tired but content. Happy even. I knew her hair was still white, her frame still slight, but she sounded more like herself than the last time I had seen her a couple of days ago. “I just called to see how you were doing tonight, and the nurse told me that you were awake.”

Grandma gave a quiet little laugh. “Shocking, isn’t it? I’m up past my bedtime. Do you think I’ll get in trouble?”

In the background I could hear a man chuckle. His voice was deep and rich, resonant, even over the phone line.

“Who’s that?” I tried to make the query light, even disinterested. But the suspense was killing me.

“It’s Patrick, honey. He came to visit me.”

Parker? I nearly choked. Why in the world was Parker visiting my grandmother? And why did she sound so pleased about it? “Excuse me?”

“Just a minute, Julia,” Grandma said. “Patrick is leaving, and I’m going to say good-bye. Would you like me to call you back in a minute?”

I stared at the living room wall, mute and numb.

“Julia?”

“No.” I gave my head a clearing shake. “No, Grandma, don’t worry about it. I didn’t really have anything. Just wanted to say hi and see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing just fine,” she assured me.

“I’m glad to hear that.” I paused for a moment, hoping she’d say something more. When she didn’t, I murmured, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Julia. I’ll see you in two days.”

“Two days,” I affirmed.

“Bye, honey.” And then the line went dead.

I was left staring at the blank LCD screen, wondering how this unexpected scene fit into the winding narrative of our complicated lives.

The Night Tree

Grandma was discharged from the hospital the day before Thanksgiving. I had hoped that Michael would be able to help me with the transition, but since he was coming home for an extended Christmas break, he was stuck in Iowa City. And I would have asked the Walkers for a hand, but I felt guilty enough for dropping my boys in their laps every time I decided to make the drive to the heart hospital. Besides, though the Walkers celebrated Thanksgiving with their family before the official holiday, in recent years they had begun holding a second feast on the actual day—a gathering of sorts for the castoffs and lonely souls of Fellowship Community. I knew that my longtime friend and adopted auntie would have her hands full with preparing the stuffing, pumpkin pies, and a monumental, seventeen-pound bird. In the end, the task fell to the boys and me, and while I was still nervous about bringing her home, it felt right that my grandmother’s homecoming would be a family event.

I cleaned Grandma’s room from top to bottom in preparation for the move, wiping the walls, cleaning cobwebs out of the corners, and even changing dusty lightbulbs for new, low-wattage lights that glowed soft and golden. Simon helped me rotate her mattress, and the three of us took all of her bedding to the Laundromat in town, where we washed her plush comforter and fluffed her pillows and shams. Then we vacuumed and scrubbed and polished and shined until we could see our reflection in the wood of her heirloom armoire and the glass on her window was as clear as glacier ice.

“Spring cleaning in November,” Simon commented. His voice seemed tremulous to me, uncertain, as if he didn’t understand this new world we lived in. This place where we cleaned as if it were May instead of the beginning of a long, hard winter.

“Just Grandma’s room,” I told him. “We want it to be perfect for her.”

Daniel sniffed the air. “Smells like lemon.”

“Is that perfect?” I asked.

He nodded. “Smells like Grandma.”

I smiled because he was right. I had forgotten in the weeks that we spent in the hospital. Grandma’s signature, and inadvertent, fragrance of cinnamon and lemon dish soap had been replaced by the odor of antiseptic, of sterile rubber gloves and industrial cleaners and sickness. But that would change. She was coming home. It would be only a matter of time before she was up and around, smiling as she baked cinnamon rolls in the kitchen or humming while she helped Simon with his homework.

When everything was exactly the way we wanted it, I made sure every light in the house was off and hung a fresh towel over the handle of the oven. Then I ushered the boys to the mudroom. As we donned our coats and boots, I felt a rush of gratitude that they didn’t have school and I wouldn’t have to bring Grandma home alone.

I knew nothing important had changed—she was still the woman I had always known—but in the aftermath of her heart attack I found myself timid in her company, as if the landscape of our lives had undergone a natural disaster because her heart had stopped working the way it was supposed to. It was ridiculous, I knew, a mixture of panic and worry and helplessness, but I couldn’t seem to talk myself out of it. And it didn’t help that Grandma herself was subdued, tired. Our conversations were brief and graceless, punctuated by long stretches of silence and often cut short when she fell asleep midsentence.

The repercussions of her illness were ripples that hadn’t yet reached the banks of our present reality. It was going to take time to sort out, and I was glad to have my boys at my side. I gave them each a hug as they finished zipping up their plush coats.

We stepped out onto the porch under the cold, midmorning sun and were greeted by a bashful-looking Parker. He was carrying a laundry basket overflowing with incongruous items. Among a half-dozen or so indiscernible objects, I saw a Crock-Pot, a bag of McIntosh apples, a jar of popcorn kernels, and a large package wrapped in white paper like the kind we used at the Value Foods meat counter.

“Hi,” he said. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of timidity in his careful greeting.

The boys rocketed across the porch and assaulted Parker with hugs and playful punches. Simon poked at the bag of apples, unable to contain his grin.

“What are you doing here?” I was more surprised than upset, intrigued by the odd assortment of things in his basket.

“I know Nellie is being discharged today, and I wanted to make her homecoming special. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, you know.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, stunned that Parker would be so considerate. How did he know we didn’t have any plans for Thanksgiving? And how did he know that Grandma was coming home? All at once I wondered if Parker had taken an even greater interest in my grandmother than I had realized. Maybe his mysterious visit to her hospital room was just the tip of the iceberg.

“I don’t mean to barge in,” he continued, “or to impose. I actually thought you’d be gone by now.”

I glanced at my wristwatch. “They told me to pick her up at noon. We’ve got plenty of time.”

He nodded. “Do you care if I use your kitchen for a little while? I’ll just prep your meal and be gone by the time you get back.”

My jaw felt slack and I realized I was staring at him gape-mouthed. I pursed my lips with a little pop and forced a dazed smile. “I forgot that you cook.”

“Spaghetti and anything I can throw in a Crock-Pot. I’m a bachelor, you know. It’s either that or ramen noodles every day of my life.”

“What are ramen noodles?” Daniel asked, trying to peer over the edge of the basket.

“Nutritionless cardboard,” Parker said. “That’s why I’m making you roast chicken instead. It’s not turkey, but—”

“I like chicken!” Daniel yelped.

“Me too.” Simon fixed me with a pleading look. “Can he stay? Can Parker cook for us?”

“I’ll be gone before you get home,” he promised again.

But the thought of bringing Grandma home to an empty house made a current of dread race through my chest. I shivered. “No,” I said, and Parker’s face fell. I rushed to explain. “No, I don’t mean you have to go; I mean stay. Go ahead and cook your meal, but don’t hurry back to Minnesota. We’ll be back sometime this afternoon, and the boys would love it if you’d eat with us.”

Simon’s eyes went round and even Parker seemed surprised by my invitation. I still felt awkward around him—even more so after the blizzard of emotions that surrounded the night of Grandma’s heart attack and so unexpectedly finding him at her bedside—but I felt like he deserved this much. If he was going to stay and cook for us, the least we could do was share our meal.

Parker regarded me with open curiosity. “What about you, Julia? Do you want me to stay?”

His question felt probing, intimate, though it would have been simple enough to make a joke and laugh it off. But I couldn’t. I brushed past him before he could see the color that had risen in my cheeks and said, “We’ll be back soon.”