Chasing Jupiter (16 page)

Mr. Leggett’s pickup truck sat parked in their driveway. The bed was filled with suitcases and other luggage.
That’s right. Frank’s leaving for college. Today
.

I pushed down the liquid building in my throat. Frank had showed up at the hospital as soon as he found out about Cliff. He sat next to me for a few minutes and gave me a quick hug. Said he was sorry and he wished he could undo what had happened. And then he left. And that was it. He didn’t say he’d write. Didn’t promise to call.

It was like I’d never known him. Like all the memories of one wonderful summer—every day filled with just the three of us—had been magically erased and forgotten.

Cliff might forget. Frank might even forget. But I’ll always remember. No matter how hard I try, all of the memories of this summer will stay trapped in my head
.

I
’d never really thought about what happened to people after someone they loved died. I guess I’d thought that they cried for a day or two and then went back to normal. Isn’t that what the rest of the world did?

Except our normal would never be normal, even if we did somehow recover that quickly. Cliff was very much alive. We went and visited him every day and tried to talk to him, but he never said a word back to us. He’d mutter to himself about people or places that we’d never heard of. Every now and then, he’d shout something at a nurse. Each visit was further proof the Cliff I’d loved was dead.

Cliff was worse off than Grandpop Barley now. After a week of dutiful visits, my parents decided that Cliff would take Grandpop Barley’s place at the facility for the mentally ill, and Grandpop would have to come home and live with us again. It made more sense to put him in Cliff’s room, where he’d be closer to us, but no one could step in there anymore. That door remained firmly shut.

We drove to the home one Saturday afternoon in late September, after Cliff had been there for about a month. It was a good hour’s drive for us, but we had been coming every weekend we could—even if he often acted like we weren’t even there.

Like always, Stacey, the blonde girl behind the reception desk,
looked up and beamed when she saw us come in. She had the whitest teeth I’d ever seen outside of a dental commercial.

“Oh, hey there!” she said, giving us a little wave. “I was wondering when Cliff’s family would get here. Just follow me and I’ll take you up to see him. Though just so you’re aware, I think he figured out that they’re going to take him on a walk this afternoon, so he may be a little wound up.”

She led us up the stairs to Cliff’s room on the second floor. Another young man, named Albert, stayed in the same room as Cliff. He was about twenty-five years old and had some kind of mental condition that made him think we were all apparitions, so he was pretty freaked out most of the time. I tried to focus more on Cliff than Albert whenever we were there.

Stacey knocked on Cliff’s door and beamed at us. “Cliff, there’s someone here to see you.”

Another nurse opened the door and motioned us in. Mama, Dad, Grandpop Barley, and I filled up a large chunk of the room once we were situated inside. Cliff was sitting on his bed in the corner, attempting to pull on a jacket. He was vibrating, practically shaking in excitement as he tugged at the sleeves. He grunted a few times and looked at the nurse with wild eyes.

For the first time, he seemed interested in something going on around him.
Maybe the therapy is working, maybe this hospital is a good thing … maybe he’ll recover enough to be Cliff again
.

The nurse walked toward my brother. “Oh, let me help you with that.”

Instinctively, I stepped forward at the same time as her, reaching out to help Cliff with his jacket. He blinked at me and jerked away. My skin froze.

The nurse smiled at me apologetically, then stepped forward and helped Cliff into his jacket, zipping it up for him. “There you go, bud.”

Mama lifted a hand to her throat, pressing her lips together. “Why—” Her voice was raspy. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Why doesn’t he ever respond to any of us, but he lets the nurses get near him?”

Stacey’s eyes became soft as she leaned against the door. I noticed she had little laugh wrinkles around her mouth, but she couldn’t have been older than thirty-five. “You’re not familiar to him.”

“Not familiar?” Mama’s face crumpled.

Dad stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “He saw our faces every day for ten years. How could we not be familiar?”

The nurse who’d helped Cliff with his jacket folded her arms. “He doesn’t have any memory of the last ten years. He doesn’t have any memory of the last ten
hours
. Cliff operates on a minute-by-minute basis. By the time you leave today, he’ll probably let you near him. He’ll recognize you. But when you come again next week, he won’t.” She let out a little sigh. “If doctors could explain it or fix it, he wouldn’t be here.”

Mama gasped and pulled her thin cardigan close. She turned to Dad and muttered, “Well, that was an extremely rude thing to say. Very insensitive.”

I watched the nurse closely to see if she cared. She didn’t seem to. Instead of apologizing, she grabbed a baseball cap off of a hook on the wall and placed it on Cliff’s head. “I’m sorry you folks can’t stay longer today, but he’s due for his daily exercise. Three loops around the building ought to do it. Stacey, will you hold the door?”

Stacey did as she was told and stood back as the nurse guided Cliff past us. “Say good-bye to your family, kid. They’ll be back next week.”

No one reached out to hug Cliff. Mama had tried that once and now had a small scar on her cheek from where Cliff had clawed at
her. Instead, we all stood there mutely, watching a strange woman escort him away.

He brushed past me, his light denim jacket touching my skin. My heart stopped, and my stomach felt like it was in my throat. Then he looked at me and smiled. It was brief, but it was there, from the little curve of his mouth to the twinkle in his deep brown eyes.

I gasped. Everything in me lit up, spinning around at a hundred miles an hour and singing. And then he turned away and walked out the door, his face solemn again.

Still, it was there. He may not have recognized me, but he smiled at me. And that was something.

I’d imagined that the house would be different with Grandpop Barley gone, and had even braced myself for it. But nothing prepared me for what it felt like with Cliff missing.

Some days, I could handle it. I’d get home from school early, watch Mama leave for work, and sit upstairs with Grandpop Barley. Or I’d let him nap, and keep myself busy around the kitchen, baking and cleaning the counters until they shone.

But other times I’d wander the house like a ghost, once everyone was gone and Grandpop Barley was asleep. When I was alone, everything seemed to make me think of Cliff.

I sat on the couch and stared at the spot on the floor where Cliff used to sit and look at the pictures in his Spanish dictionary. His spot. I stood by the sink, my eyes fixed on the pile of cans waiting to be taken out to the trash. Those used to be Cliff’s cans.

His spot. His chair
. I was going crazy. I was pretty sure I’d read a book about someone who thought like that, and in the last few chapters, they’d ended up going crazy and jumping off a cliff. I wasn’t
sure if there were any high places like that in Georgia, but even just thinking about cliffs made me sad.

Maybe I was losing my sanity too. Maybe I would have a heart attack and die because Dad couldn’t get me to the hospital fast enough in Old Clunker.

I wondered if death would be a good thing.

Dad’s Bible was sitting on the coffee table next to the couch. I picked it up and flipped it open. The pages weren’t worn at all; gold still glistened on the edges of the paper, undimmed by use.

Pastor Greene had announced he was preaching out of Psalm 25 on Sunday. Checking the table of contents, I flipped to the right page and started to read.

The words on the page tore at my chest: “Turn thee unto me, and have mercy upon me; for I am desolate and afflicted. The troubles of my heart are enlarged: O bring thou me out of my distresses.”

I felt the affliction. I felt the distress. Cliff was alive, but it wasn’t good enough. Grandpop Barley was home and fairly happy, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Because my life still felt shattered and broken and empty.

My eyes slid shut, tears pulling at the corners.
Why won’t the pain go away? Why does it hurt so much for me, God? Why can’t you take away the hurt and the sadness?

I closed the Bible and left my hand on the cover, feeling the cool leather beneath my fingertips. I couldn’t understand how everything had turned so black. I ached to know—to know the answers. To understand what God was saying and to hear from him directly why this had to happen.

I thought about what Mrs. Greene had said a few days before Cliff’s accident.
Sometimes it takes more than just your own strength to find true peace and contentment
. I knew what she’d meant. She’d wanted me to trust in God’s strength.

Wrapping my arms across my chest, I glanced out the window.
Nearly bare trees lined the driveway, leading to the road; no cars or people were in sight. I wished I could see Cliff come running back down the driveway. Or maybe Juli. It was hard to separate it all in my head anymore.

I woke up the next morning before the sun had risen and wandered to Grandpop Barley’s room. I pushed open the door and stood in the threshold, peering into the darkness. His large, bumpy figure curled into a tight ball filled the bed.

Closing the door gently behind me, I crossed the bedroom and sat by his bed. The last few moonbeams of the night cast their shadows across the hardwood floor at my feet, turning my skin an eerie white.

I sat silently, watching Grandpop Barley’s chest rise and fall in sleep. His face looked so peaceful. The faithful red necktie lie loosely tightened on his neck and the sheets were clutched in his gnarly hands.

The sun slowly rose in the window behind me, illuminating the room in rosy pink sunlight. I watched the shadows moving across the floor as the hours passed. Every time I got up to leave, I felt something tug me back to the floor. I didn’t know what it was, but there was something in that room that made me feel at least a little bit better.

Maybe it was the look on Grandpop Barley’s face. That slight smile that made me wonder what he was dreaming about. Where he was, which was so much more wonderful than this house and all its bad memories. Maybe in his dreams he was flying above Neverland or eating giant jars of peanut butter without getting any on his fingers. He hated having sticky fingers.

I rested my chin in my hand and imagined Cliff sitting on the floor beside me making quips about how Grandpop Barley’s face looks like some kind of gnarled Spanish tree. Or asking to turn on
the television and see what was going on with the rockets and astronauts. Suddenly, the room seemed too quiet and too still. I climbed to my feet and gently shook Grandpop Barley.

“Time to wake up, Grandpop Barley. It’s morning.” Well, technically, it was probably closer to noon by now. But I need him to wake up. To hear him grumble and complain and know that things might almost be back to normal.

His eyelashes fluttered and opened, and he frowned at me. “Whaddya want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

I shook my head and waved a hand nonchalantly. “Never mind. Go back to sleep.”

I left his room, closing the door behind me. I rushed across the hallway and into my room and pulled off my pajamas. Opening my dresser, I yanked out my oldest pair of jeans and a faded shirt. I had to get away.

The air outside smelled sugary and fresh. The last gasps of the hot Georgia summer were still kicking well into October, providing warmer temperatures and little breeze. I walked in sandals down the dirt road, kicking at little rocks in my path.

I stopped in front of Mrs. Ima Nice’s house. Pastor Greene’s pickup truck was parked out front. He stood by the front door with a large board in his hands. Not noticing me, he lifted the board and laid it across the door, hammering it into place.

“Hey!” I shouted without thinking. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He jumped and whipped around. “Scarlett?” His eyes squinted, and he took a step forward, like he thought I wasn’t truly there. “Scarlett Blaine?”

I crossed my arms and stomped up to the house. “You can’t just board up her doors. It’s not your property.”

Pastor Greene lowered the wood and nails. “The bank is closing up the house. It’s going to be demolished next spring to make way for a new grocery store. They figured it would be better for the community than to leave it vacant.”

“But …” Tears stung at my eyes. I looked around at the empty porch. “But this is where Mrs. Nice used to sit in her rocking chairs and yell at us. There were two of them.” My voice cracked. “Right here.” I pointed.

Pastor Greene scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Look, Scarlett, I know this is a very difficult time for you right now, but you have to understand. This is all for the best. If the house stays vacant, it will eventually become rundown and rickety. The paint will chip, and the bushes will become overgrown. Local teenagers will come here to throw rocks through the windows and do stupid stuff.”

I stared at the house that was no longer a home while he talked, my mind whirling. Just two months ago, it was all so different. I never knew—never imagined—that any of this could have happened. Everything had been so wonderful.

Pastor Greene picked up the board again, watching me to see if I’d stop him. “Mrs. Nice was very proud of her home, remember? She would turn over in her grave if she knew it had become a laughingstock of the community.”

My eye caught sight of something. A medium-sized cardboard box labeled
For Church Sale
. Photo frames and bits of clothing peeked out from over the side. I imagined the old ladies at church rummaging through her boxes and gossiping about her belongings. My temper flared. “You are not going to sell her things at a church sale!” Without thinking, I snatched the box off of the porch steps and ran, not looking back.

“Scarlett!” Pastor Greene shouted behind me. “Scarlett!”

It was a pretty good-sized box, and I was pretty winded not long
after I left the porch. He could have caught me if he wanted. I don’t even think he tried. Maybe it was meant to belong to me all along.

I ran until I reached our driveway. Then I collapsed on the ground by the mailbox and set the carton down next to me. A pile of framed photos lay on top, a little jumbled from the ride. I pulled them out one by one. There were photos of Ima Nice as a child, a bride, a mother, and an older woman.

Nestled underneath all of the photos was an unframed photo of Ima Nice and Grandpop Barley taken about fifty years ago. Photographs must have been pretty new back then. The picture was grainy and blurry, but I recognized him by the curve of his smile and the dent in his chin.