What I Came to Tell You (15 page)

With no other visitors around, his father unhooked the velvet ropes and let the Roundtrees walk throughout the rooms. Emma Lee hardly said a word the whole time. She seemed to soak it all in. One of the last rooms they visited was the bedroom where Wolfe’s father died.

“This is the very bed he died in,” Grover’s father said.

“I’ll be,” Clay said.

“Was he like Gant in the book?” Leila asked.

“A funny guy,” his father said, “full of life, quoted long passages of Shakespeare, built roaring fires and on occasion given to excess.”

“Given to what?” Clay asked.

“Drank too much,” Sudie said.

As Grover’s father led Leila and Clay on down the hall to
another room, Grover noticed Emma Lee linger. She laid her hand flat on the bed where Wolfe’s father had died. Grover came and stood beside her.

“They know of at least eleven people who died in this house,” Grover said.

He heard his father’s voice down the hall. Grover placed his hand on the bed. “Course everybody who ever lived in this place must be dead now.”

Emma Lee looked at him.

“Wolfe’s father. His mother. His brothers and sisters, all dead. Every boarder whoever stayed here has to be dead. And Wolfe’s been dead since 1938.”

“What are you saying?” Emma Lee asked.

Grover shrugged. “Just that everybody’s dead.”

“Or getting there,” Emma Lee said.

Careful to replace the felt rope, Grover led Emma Lee in the direction his father had taken Leila and Clay and Sudie, but found himself leading her down the hall toward the sleeping porch where Wolfe spent many nights and where he’d had to share the room with whatever boarder might be staying there at the time. It was Grover’s favorite room because it had so many windows and was lighter than the rest of the house.

“He never knew from night to night where he’d have to sleep,” Grover said. “Or who he’d have to share a room with.” He pointed to the two beds that took up most of the room. “His mother was so cheap she’d squeeze as many beds into a room as she could. She even rented to people with tuberculosis. When he
died of tuberculosis of the brain, they said he might’ve caught it from having to sleep in boarders’ beds.”

They could hear his father’s voice down the hall as he reeled off facts about Wolfe’s seven brothers and sisters. Outside, the wind whistled and a loose shutter tapped against the house. Grover reached for Emma Lee’s hand.

She looked at him and then down at his hand holding hers.

Her hand was warm and rough at the same time. He let go.

They didn’t say anything. The wind whistled outside and the shutter continued to tap against the house. The two of them stood watching the wind in the bare trees and the light fading outside. Down the hall, their families’ voices were coming toward them.

“C
lass, line up for lunch,” said Mrs. Caswell. Chairs scraped as the kids lined up with their parents. It was Wednesday, when the school served Thanksgiving lunch and family were invited. Sam’s father was in line. Mira’s mom. Ashley’s mom. Both of Daniel Pevoe’s parents and his grandmother too. Almost everyone had a parent with them, some had both. The other night Sudie had invited their father to the Claxton Thanksgiving lunch, but he had a business lunch he couldn’t miss. Sudie was disappointed but hadn’t said anything. All morning, Grover had held out hope that their father, who was known for surprises, might show at the last minute.

Still in her nurse’s uniform, Emma Lee’s mother arrived as Mrs. Caswell led the line down the hall. Emma Lee, who’d been quiet all morning, gave her mother a weak smile, and Leila put her arm around her shoulder.

“Is your daddy coming?” Leila asked Grover as the line started down the stairway.

“He’s busy,” Grover said.

“He has a lot on his shoulders these days,” Leila said.

Why did adults always make excuses for each other?

When his class filed past the offices, Grover noticed Miss Snyder at her desk, doing paperwork. He darted into her office. He’d been to see her a few times since the first meeting and had stopped feeling quite so strange passing her office. It didn’t feel like his mother’s anymore. Miss Snyder looked up from a form she was filling out.

“Would you sit with Sudie at lunch?” Grover asked. “Our father can’t come.”

“What about you?” Miss Snyder asked.

“I guess I
could
eat with her, but it wouldn’t be special.”

“What I mean is,” she said, “would you like me to sit with you too?”

“That’s okay,” he said.

“Why is it okay?”

“I don’t need anybody sitting with me.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m older.”

“I see.” Miss Snyder rubbed her chin. “So older kids don’t need people to sit with them?”

“Well, there’s that,” he said, “plus talking to people tires me out.”

“Like now?” she asked. “Am I tiring you out?”

He glanced back at the passing line of his class.

“Of course I’ll sit with her,” she said.

In the cafeteria he sat beside Sam, whose father sat across from him, talking and laughing. Dr. Newcomer was a very funny, very nice man and a good father, it seemed to Grover. He’d coached Sam’s soccer team for years, had been a troop leader in Sam’s Boy Scout Troop and was always doing things with Sam, like taking him camping in the Smokies or skiing up at Wolf Ridge or to see a basketball game in Chapel Hill.

Emma Lee sat on the other side of him, hardly speaking to her mother. This didn’t seem to bother Leila, who talked a lot to Mira’s mother, the mayor of Asheville and a big supporter of the Wolfe house.

Halfway through the meal, Grover leaned over to Emma Lee and said, “Pretty good turkey, huh?”

Emma Lee smiled but seemed to drift back to wherever she’d been.

After school, Grover went to work in the Bamboo Forest. As usual, Clay came over and helped. The tapestries Grover was working on had gotten so big he needed an assistant to stand on the other side to help him weave in the long limbs.

For Sale signs, like stubborn weeds, had kept sprouting up almost as fast as Grover tossed them into the bamboo. He’d stopped when a police car started cruising their street, slowing in front of the Bamboo Forest. His father said the lot might not sell, that times were tight and few people would be able or willing to pay $250,000 for two little acres. Grover continued to go out to the Bamboo Forest every day, working harder than ever since any day could be his last.

“What was wrong with Emma Lee today?” Grover asked as he pushed a long hemlock limb into an opening.

“This time of year is hard for her,” Clay said, taking the limb and sliding it back toward Grover. “It’s hard for all of us but it’s special hard for Emma Lee.”

“How come?”

“Daddy was killed on Thanksgiving four years ago.” Clay’s eyes looked at him through a slot in the tapestry. “His dying was hardest on Emma Lee. I didn’t know him as good since I was so little when he first went over there.”

It was about dark when Grover and Clay straightened up the studio, putting everything neatly away. Grover picked up his toolbox, and together Clay and Grover walked out of the Bamboo Forest. The streetlights buzzed on and snowflakes whirled down through the light.

“The first snow of the year,” Grover said, putting his hand out. His heart lifted a little at the sight of it.

“Back home they would’ve had a bunch of snows by now,” Clay said.

They walked up the middle of Edgemont, looking up at the snow. When they came even with their houses, Grover heard a cat cry. Merlin sat on the sill outside the Roundtrees’ front window. He seemed to be looking at a flame flickering.

“Merlin wants in,” Clay said.

“What’s with the candle?”

“Every evening from now till Christmas, Emma Lee will light that candle for Daddy and set it in the window. She’s done it
every year since he died. Says it’s to guide his spirit home. The only thing is that it’s also Merlin’s perch, and when Emma Lee set the candle there, he jumped up and knocked it down. Nearly caught the house on fire. Mama said we have to keep him out whenever Emma Lee lights that candle.”

A dark figure walked slowly up the street. Whoever it was, was tired. Grover recognized the battered hat. Jessie had on overalls and muddy work boots and snow collected on the brim of his hat. He looked at Grover’s toolbox. “Y’all been hard at it?”

“Grover’s working on a monster weaving,” Clay said.

“What’s that racket?” Jessie walked into the Roundtrees’ yard and lifted Merlin off their windowsill and carried him back, holding the cat in his arms like a baby. “Cat, you’re one bothersome feline.”

“Mama makes us put him out so he’ll come home to you,” Clay said, petting Merlin. “She says it’s important Merlin knows he’s your cat.”

“Merlin belongs to no man,” Jessie said as the cat squirmed out of his arms, dropped to the ground and disappeared into the dark.

Headlights swept across the bottom of the street, and Grover could tell by the engine’s rattle that it was his father’s car. The headlights lit up the air, showing how heavy the snow fell. Grover and Clay and Jessie moved to the sidewalk as Grover’s father pulled even with them. He rolled down his window.

“It’s coming down, isn’t it?” his father said, sounding like he’d had a good day at the Wolfe house.

“Charles said they’re calling for eight inches,” Jessie said.
Charles was the big guy who operated the backhoe at Riverside. “Maybe we ought to do our grocery shopping tonight? In case everything is shut down tomorrow.”

“We can grab a bite to eat at Five Points and then head over to the co-op,” their father said.

“Give me a few minutes to get out of these work clothes,” Jessie said. He started up the street.

“Clay,” their father said, “I’m glad y’all can join us for Thanksgiving.”

This was the first Grover’d heard about the Roundtrees eating Thanksgiving with them. As he watched his father pull into the drive, Grover thought there seemed to be a good bit of communication with Leila that he wasn’t in on.

“I better get home,” Clay said. “Mama’ll wonder where I am. See you, Grover.”

“See you,” Grover said, picking up his toolbox. He started up the front walk but then turned to watch Clay walk across their yard and disappear inside. The snow was coming down even harder. The candle flickering in the Roundtrees’ front window gave Grover a warm and dizzy feeling, like he was falling but being held up at the same time.

The waitress refilled Jessie’s coffee cup and then their father’s.

“Could I get some catsup, please?” Sudie said, looking at the pile of French fries next to her hamburger.

The waitress, a UNC Asheville student, had tattoos up and down her arms, and a nose stud. She pulled a bottle of catsup out of her uniform pocket and set it in front of Sudie.

“And I’d like some parmesan cheese,” Grover said.

The waitress grabbed a shaker of parmesan off an empty table across from them. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Five Points Café sat on the edge of Montford and was only a few blocks from their house. Out the window, snow had already collected on Jessie’s truck. Jessie’d driven them over in his pickup, which did well in the snow. Jessie and Grover sat on one side of a booth and Sudie and their father sat across from them.

Grover and Sudie had eaten at Five Points since they were little, always with their father. In the mornings it was filled with workmen sitting at the counter, drinking coffee and talking. Their mother wasn’t crazy about Five Points, saying the food was greasy, so they only ate there when their mother was away or at a meeting. Eating here tonight had given Grover the uneasy feeling that their mother was just at a PTO meeting or out with her book group.

“And cranberry sauce,” Jessie said, taking the pencil from behind his ear and adding to the grocery list he’d made on his napkin.

“And crescent rolls?” Sudie asked, dipping a French fry in catsup. “What’s Thanksgiving without crescent rolls?”

Jessie asked their father how the Wolfe house had gone today, and it struck Grover that Jessie had taken over the job of asking the questions their mother used to ask.

“I don’t know about this Thomas Wolfe Christmas thing,” their father said. “All we have so far is a couple of school groups scheduled for a tour after Thanksgiving.”

“That’s a good start,” Jessie said, just like their mother would’ve said.

“It’ll take a lot more than a couple of high school classes to recoup what we’ve spent on decorations and advertising,” their father said. “It’ll take even more to get Lunsford off my back.”

“Speaking of the old boy,” Jessie said. “How’d your talk with him go?”

Grover’s father frowned at Jessie.

“You went to see Mr. Lunsford?” Grover asked, wiping spaghetti sauce from his mouth with his napkin.

“Sorry about that, Walt,” Jessie said. “I forgot it was a secret.”

“The cat’s out of the bag,” his father said, giving Jessie a look. “I went to see him about your Bamboo Forest.”