Dana's Valley (21 page)

After the party finally ended and all the cars had left, I just sat and stared, thinking back. Mom was busy trying to clean up leftover food, and Dad was gathering limp streamers and stuffing them into a black trash bag. Dana had been sent to put Corey to bed, and I just sat—and looked and thought. I guess I still couldn't believe it had all really happened. It was in such contrast to our entire last year. I was reminded of what a difference it made when everyone in the family was well and family plans could be made—and carried out. When life wasn't all pills and shots, and basins that needed emptying and sheets that needed washing.

I looked over at the heap of presents I would have to make room for in my room—
our
room, actually, since Dana and I were together again. Deep inside I recognized a truth. Not one of the items, no matter how special they were, compared to the best gift of all—the inexpressible feeling of things finally being right with my world, of our family laughing together and loving each other.

Dana was much better. The terrible bouts of intense illness after chemotherapy were now behind us. Gradu~ally—oh, so gradually—she had begun to feel more herself. And then the good news from the doctors. Her white blood cell count was to an acceptable level and a list of other factors was checking out okay. She was medically “in remission.” That in itself was enough to make our home seem like a brand-new place. Not a return to how things had been. I realized that things would never go back to the way they were before Dana got sick. I knew by now it was unrealistic to ever think things could. We had all changed so much over the year of her illness. It was different.
We
were different. But it was good. After all the family had gone through together, it felt like we had been released to live again.

And nothing was said about money and bills. I knew Dad must still be struggling to get us back on track financially and in every other way, but at least now he could see there was hope. He was able to return to a regular workweek schedule and gradually was catching up on the things that had been pressing. It was a relief to see some worry lines begin to leave his forehead. He even took some time on Saturdays to do things with the family. Like Corey's soccer games and little trips to movies or on picnics. It was wonderful.

For a time Brett continued his sessions with our youth pastor. But as the summer passed, it became tougher and tougher to get Brett to keep the counseling appointments, and finally they were dropped altogether. We all hoped he would find good things with which to fill his time.

There had been improvement in his attitude, but we all knew he hadn't returned to his old self. He was still too sullen at those rare times when he was actually home with the rest of us. In August he moved his belongings into the basement, where his promised room had never materialized, and he began to leave early in the morning and come home late at night—sometimes after everyone else had gone to bed. We prayed for him often, and Corey was relentless in asking for his involvement with family plans.

Corey seemed to be about the only one he'd talk to. Brett still called him Squirt and gave him occasional rides in his car. Corey loved it. He'd sit up there in the passenger seat, his hand thrust out the open window to catch the breeze, and grin from ear to ear.

I think it made Mom nervous when Brett took Corey off like that, but she held her tongue. She was convinced Corey was the family link that kept Brett still with us. In all fairness to Brett, I'm sure he would not have tried to influence Corey to rebel as he had. In fact, I think their relationship had just the opposite effect. I heard Brett telling Corey that it was important for him to go to church with the family. I didn't know how Brett could say that when I knew what he was planning at some point down the road. Corey didn't seem to question it, though.

Brett had found another job and was working in the city as a sorter and loader for UPS. I think he liked his job. He said it made muscles. He had grown so much over the last year—not taller as much as bigger. Sometimes I felt a little afraid of him—he almost looked like an adult. He was shaving too. Not just because he wanted to—it was actually necessary. And now he was into body building. I understood from Marcy, who heard it from some of her friends, that Brett spent a lot of time in the local gym working out. I knew he liked short-sleeved tight T-shirts, and he often rolled up the little bit of sleeve they had to show off his biceps.

So Brett was still in our lives—yet in a way he wasn't. He never had breakfast with the family, was rarely home, and drove himself to church. But he really didn't make many waves either. He just closed us out. I hated that feeling. I was awfully glad he was still in touch with Travis.

I knew Dad and Mom hoped Brett would settle down and show some interest in school again. Brett would be a senior in the upcoming school year and had some serious work to do if he wanted to graduate with reasonably good grades. Dad had established a college fund for each one of us, and though it wouldn't pay for all of Brett's schooling, it would go a long way toward helping him through. I think Brett would have liked to blow the money on a cooler car—or maybe on finishing his room downstairs. But Dad was firm about that. It was a college fund. That was the only way the money would be released.

On one of those famous
lazy
days of summer, Dana and I were sitting on our back porch sipping lemonade after a bike ride. Grandma came out with her own glass to join us. She had made a few trips recently to spend time with some of her former friends. That had been a blessing. Though Corey always missed her, we could live and breathe without worrying how our noise and bustle would affect an older person. I think Mom breathed a deep sigh and enjoyed the quiet. Mom still had a ways to go to be back to her old self. I think she was even slower to recover than Dana.

Anyway, Grandma was back with us again, and she came out to the porch, pushed back one of the wicker chairs, and sat down. I thought she looked just a little bit brighter and more cheerful than normal. I guess Dana noticed it too because we both just sort of fell silent and looked at Grandma.

“I've been thinking,” she began, “how would you girls like to be junior bridesmaids?”

It seemed like a very strange question—especially since we didn't know anyone who was getting married. But Dana was nodding her head, with its hair returning nicely, as though the question made sense. “It would be fun,” I heard her say and wondered what she was talking about. She and Grandma exchanged smiles. I just frowned, trying to sort out the strange conversation.

Grandma beamed. She reached down and smoothed out her new linen skirt. Her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes made her seem a lot younger.

“Ben and I have decided to be married.”

I don't suppose there was anything she could have said that would have shocked me more. In the first place, I didn't even know who Ben was. There had been no hints, as far as I could remember, about a suitor or a possible marriage for Grandma.

What about Grandpa?
was my first thought, and I quickly reminded myself that Grandpa had been gone for two years. He wouldn't be caring about whether Grandma married Ben or not.

I noticed Dana had straightened up from her relaxed position in the matching wicker chair. Her eyes reflected my own surprise, but she asked softly, “Who is Ben?”

Grandma flushed an even deeper pink. “You'll soon see,” she said. “I've invited him over to meet the family on Sunday.”

“Does … does Mom know?” asked Dana.

Grandma brushed at her skirt again. Then she looked up and her eyes were bright. “Your mother knows. I just had a nice long chat with her and David.” Grandma was one of the few people who still called our dad David.

“And it's okay?” I blurted out before I could check myself. “They said you can marry Ben?”

Grandma chuckled like a schoolgirl. “Well … I don't suppose I needed to ask their permission,” she said. Then she sobered somewhat. “But I did want their blessing. And yes … they gave it.”

I suppose we should have been congratulating Grandma and telling her how happy we were for her and all that. But I'm sure Dana was as dumbstruck as I was. Neither of us could think of a thing to say.

“So …” she prompted. “Junior bridesmaids?”

I tried to regain my wits, but it was Dana who spoke. “That would be fun,” she said. “We'd be honored—wouldn't we, Erin?”

I managed a nod … and finally a smile. Maybe it would be fun. But it would seem strange. To be bridesmaids at your own grandmother's wedding. I wasn't sure what our friends would say. You picture yourself as the bridesmaid for your sister or your best friend. But your
grandmother?

Grandma Walsh didn't waste time in preparing for her wedding. It seemed that she and her Ben had already been making plans.

We met him, just as Grandma had promised. He wasn't at all like Grandpa Walsh. That disappointed me a bit. He was shorter and stockier and had gray hair, what there was of it, and sort of washed-out blue eyes. He wore heavy glasses over them so you couldn't really see the color. But he was pleasant enough, and he sure made Grandma perk up. She had always been talkative, but now she was almost giddy.

The wedding, two weeks later, was a small affair. Grandma had one of her lifelong friends as her matron of honor, and Dana and I were junior bridesmaids. Corey was the ring bearer, even though Mom thought he was getting a little big for that role—he was seven now and had shot up to be quite tall for his age. Corey didn't seem to mind.

Ben, or Mr. Paulsen as I had decided to call him, since I didn't suppose I would ever be comfortable calling him Grandpa, had one of his friends as his best man and a couple of his grandsons as his attendants. One of them was rather cute, but the other had an acne problem and seemed dreadfully self-conscious. Dana and I made no real attempt to get to know them, and they were both so shy I think they were relieved that we didn't talk much.

Brett went with us to the wedding. He even wore a suit. I think Brett rather liked Grandma. He didn't say much, but I saw him give her a big smile. And he did arrive with a gift, all fancily store wrapped. I knew Brett, who was all thumbs when it came to artsy things, wouldn't have been able to wrap it like that.

A small moving truck had already come to our house for the things Grandma wanted to take with her into her new life. She had given a number of personal items to Dana and me as she had sorted through. I half hoped she'd pass me the special picture of Uncle Eric—but she didn't. She gazed at it long and hard, and I could see a tear form. Then she carefully wrapped it and tucked it in her suitcase.

It was strange to go back home after the wedding and not have Grandma in the house and to know she wouldn't be coming back to stay again. I didn't even want to look toward the door that led to her rooms. I knew what it looked like in there. All her little knickknacks and personal items were gone. Only a few pieces of furniture that she no longer wanted remained behind. I wondered what we would do with those rooms now. Maybe Mom and Dad would take them over and Brett could move up from the basement to their old room. But nobody brought up the subject, and I sure wasn't going to do so. We all made our own adjustments to Grandma's rather sudden departure and those empty rooms.

When school opened again that fall, Dana was feeling even stronger and was back to attending classes regularly. But she had lost so much school time we all wondered what the year would bring. Mom spoke with her school counselor, and they decided to have her proceed into ninth grade. She would begin high school and I would stay in junior high. Though I knew it would be a year during which she'd be diligently laboring to catch up, I still felt a little blue about being left behind.

I guess I still missed Marcy—even more than I realized. She had taken up with Sarah Brown, a new girl from church who went to the same school. She said that we were still best friends, but I could tell things had changed. There really was no one in my school, not even Bull, to whom I felt close enough to talk to about girl things and growing up and all that. In the past, I would have shared my questions and doubts and fears with Dana. But she already had her hands full trying to get back on track with her own life again. I felt sometimes that I was floundering. Trying to sort out my feelings and frustrations on my own. Whether I was still a kid or had to be an adult. It was all confusing—and rather lonely.

The kickoff event for the youth was an all-night party at our church. Dana and I arrived on Friday evening and threw our sleeping bags and pillows down in the classroom designated for the girls before going to join the rest of the group in the gym. We played some basketball, then ate pizza. Most of the kids, including Dana, left to watch videos, while a few of us stayed to shoot hoops. It quickly turned into a contest. Since Marcy had little desire to play, she sat chatting with Sarah on the sidelines, and they cheered periodically. After some time I quit and dropped down onto the bench beside them.