“We’ve been through this,” said Ann, closing the door. “They don’t need you to stay here.”
“I understand that,” said Eileen, “but it would make me feel better.”
Ann walked to the fridge to get a bottle of water. “This isn’t about making you feel better.”
“I know,” said Eileen. “It’s about making you feel better. And I hope a weekend in San Francisco will do that for you. But I don’t want my grandchildren coming home to an empty house.”
“We’ve got a very sophisticated alarm system,” said Ann.
“I don’t care about your alarm system,” said Eileen, waving her hand in the air as if she were coaxing a housefly to move on. “I’m talking about making them dinner and keeping them company.”
“They don’t care about that,” said Ann. “They’ll be grateful, in fact, for not having company.”
“I don’t think so,” said Eileen.
Ann took a sip of her water and counted to five, as Mike had instructed her. “They like to be alone.”
“Let’s ask them,” said Eileen. “Let’s ask them what they want to do. If they don’t want me here, I’ll back away.”
“That sounds good to me,” said Ann, knowing her children would loudly protest having their grandmother hovering over them for the weekend.
Eileen put on her sweater. “I’ll come over after dinner and talk to them,” she said. “Don’t say anything about it until I arrive.”
“Oh, I won’t,” said Ann, “trust me.”
Nate and Lauren sat at opposite ends of the kitchen table eating a large pizza. Nate’s half had cheese and pepperoni, and Lauren’s half had peppers, onions, mushrooms, sausage, and black olives. The bagged iceberg lettuce, red cabbage, and shaved carrot salad Ann had insisted Lauren order along with the pizza had been emptied into a wood salad bowl and was untouched. Ann looked at her watch; Mike wouldn’t be home for another hour. She picked up the phone and called her mother.
“They’re almost done,” she said into the receiver. “You can come over anytime.”
“Who’s that?” asked Lauren.
“Your grandmother.”
“Why is she coming over?” asked Lauren, taking another slice from the pie sitting between her and Nate.
“She wants to talk to you,” said Ann, hanging up the phone.
“Ooooh,” said Nate with a mouth full of pizza. “Lauren’s in trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble,” Lauren snapped back.
“She wants to talk to you, too, Nate,” said Ann, wiping the island top with a sponge. Lauren stuck her tongue out at her brother.
“What’d I do?” asked Nate, taking his last slice from the pie. Pizza was the one food he ate consistently and without complaint. And while Ann knew it wasn’t the most nutritious option, it was better than a fast-food burger and fries.
“I don’t know, Nate,” said Ann. “What have you done?”
“Nothing,” said Nate, jerking his bangs out of his eyes. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” said Ann. Less than a minute later, Eileen came in the back door. “My God, Mother,” said Ann. “You must have been waiting by the door with your sweater on.”
“Something like that,” said Eileen, taking off her sweater and draping it over her arm.
“Hi, Gran,” said Lauren. “Are we in trouble?”
“Absolutely not,” said Eileen, “unless there’s something I don’t know about.” Nate figured he could devote an entire website to all the things his grandmother and mother didn’t know about. “Hello, Nate,” said Eileen. “How’s your pizza?”
“Good,” said Nate. “Lauren, are you going to eat that piece?”
“Yes,” she said, even though she was beginning to feel full.
“Did you have pizza, too?” Eileen asked Ann.
“I’m going away in two days,” said Ann. “Why would I be stuffing my face with grease-laden, calorie-packed pizza?”
Lauren looked at the half-eaten piece in her hand and then at Nate. “Go ahead,” she said. “You can have it.” Nate scraped off the black olives and shoved half of the piece into his mouth.
“Okay,” said Eileen, joining her grandchildren at the table, “this is why I’m here.”
Nate and Lauren both looked at her. “I want to stay with you this weekend.”
Shit,
thought Nate. He had already made preliminary plans for a party at his house Saturday night. Jenny was spreading the word to her friends, while Josh was rounding up the boys.
“I will not get in your way,” continued Eileen. “If you want to have friends here, that’s fine. I expect you to introduce them to me, and then I’ll disappear into the den. Lauren, if you want to go somewhere, I’ll drive you.”
Lauren smiled. Maybe her grandmother would let her drive. Even though she had had her permit for six months, her mother was always in too much of a hurry to relinquish the steering wheel.
“I’ll cook your meals, whatever you want, within reason.” Nate thought about his grandmother’s roast beef and mashed potatoes.
“What’s in it for you?” asked Nate, leaning back in his chair.
“I get to spend time with you,” said Eileen.
“Why would you want to do that?” asked Nate skeptically.
“Because I like you,” said Eileen.
“Yes,” said Lauren. “I want you to stay with us.”
Nate shot his sister a look. “What?” said Lauren.
“Nate?” asked Eileen. Nate looked at his mother, who was sitting at the center island and looking at him with raised eyebrows. He knew she thought he would say no. He always said no because it bugged her so much. In this case,
yes
was the right answer.
“Okay,” he said. “You can stay with us.”
“Why would he say yes?” Ann asked Mike the following evening as they were packing their bags for the weekend. Mike walked out of his closet with a navy blue blazer in one hand and four neckties in the other. He held the ties out to Ann. “The blue one and the yellow one,” she said.
“I don’t know,” said Mike. “Maybe it’s the food. Your mother is an awfully good cook.”
“So you’ve said,” said Ann, turning her back to Mike to place the first of eight pairs of shoes in her large bag.
“Or, more likely,” said Mike, approaching Ann and playfully slapping her bottom, “he’s just getting inside your head.” Ann wheeled around to face her grinning husband.
Mike kissed her forehead. “He’s sixteen,” he said. “And boys will be boys.”
When Lauren arrived home from school the next day, her parents were gone and her grandmother was in the kitchen, making chocolate chip cookies. “Well,” said Eileen, putting two warm cookies on a plate and handing it to Lauren, “how was your day?”
“Pretty good,” said Lauren, taking a bite of a cookie on her way to the table. “I got an A-minus on my history test.”
“Good girl,” said Eileen. “Would you like some milk?”
“Yes,” said Lauren, turning back to get a glass.
“Stay where you are,” said Eileen, holding up her hand. “I’ll bring some for both of us. I could use a cookie, too.”
Twenty minutes later, Nate walked through the garage door, a stuffed backpack hanging from his right shoulder. He tossed his car keys into the wicker basket. Before he had his coat off, Eileen had set another place at the table. “Did you treat Mom like this when she was growing up?” asked Nate.
“Yes,” said Eileen. “I was always in the kitchen when she got home from school.”
“She’s
never
here,” said Lauren.
“And she definitely never makes cookies,” said Nate, sitting down and taking one from his plate. “She thinks she’d jump a couple of pants sizes if she ate one.”
Eileen chuckled. “I think she could stand to jump a few sizes.”
“Tell me about it,” said Lauren. “Everyone in town calls her The Scarecrow.”
“Was she always skinny?” asked Nate, finishing his second cookie.
“No,” said Eileen, remembering the hurtful verbal battles she and Ann had had about weight. “I thought she was just right. She disagreed. But enough of that, now. Who would like more?”
Just after seven o’clock, Lauren took a deep breath and knocked on Nate’s door. “What?” Nate bellowed. Lauren opened the door and stood in the doorway. Nate was lying on his bed, looking through
Sports Illustrated
.
“We’re going to the video store,” she said. “Do you want to watch a movie with me and Gran?”
“Do I look like a loser to you?” asked Nate. “No wait, don’t answer that question.”
“It’s was Gran’s idea,” said Lauren, looking at her hands. “She thought we could all watch something together.”
“What, like
Old Yeller
or
Mary Poppins
? No thanks,” said Nate, returning to his magazine. “I’d rather jump off a cliff.”
“Why
don’t
you jump off a cliff?” said Lauren angrily. “I can drive you there.”
“Getting in a car with you driving would be like the same thing,” Nate retorted.
“Let’s go then.”
“Get lost,” said Nate, turning the pages of the magazine.
“With pleasure,” said Lauren, grabbing the door handle and backing out of Nate’s room. “It smells in here anyway!” Lauren slammed the door and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. Eileen was waiting next to the door leading to the garage with her coat on, keys in hand. “He’s so mean,” said Lauren, grabbing her coat off its hook. “I hate him!”
“He’s your older brother,” said Gran softly. “Older brothers are always mean.”
“You had older brothers, too,” said Lauren, lifting her ponytail out of the coat’s collar.
“Three of them,” said Eileen. “And I’m alive to talk about it.” Lauren wiped a tiny tear from her cheek. She looked into her grandmother’s warm brown eyes. “Let’s go,” Eileen said, handing Lauren the car keys. “Now we can rent a chick flick and eat all the popcorn.”
“Who needs him anyway?” Lauren said, opening the door to the garage.
“Not us,” said Eileen. “It’s Girls’ Night.”
When they got back from the video store, they found Selma in her long down coat waiting in the driveway, waving her arms. She ran to the car as soon as Lauren stopped it and opened the driver’s side door. “He’s gone!” she said, her eyes wide open, her voice warbling with fear.
Lauren looked at her grandmother, who was unbuckling her seat belt. She pushed herself out the door and ran around the front of the car to reach Selma. “What happened?” she asked, holding Selma’s hands.
“I don’t know,” said Selma, her facial features contorted with concern. “I don’t know how he could have gotten out that door. I had it locked at the top and the bottom.”
“Take a breath and tell me what happened,” said Eileen.
“He was on the couch, watching a John Wayne Western, and he seemed settled in for the night. He asked about you, and I told him you went out, but that you would be back soon—just as we decided. He seemed fine with that answer—fine in general—so I went into my bathroom to take a bath. And I checked the locks beforehand, so I knew he was secure. I was in there for twenty minutes or so and when I got out, Sam wasn’t in the house.” Selma was shaking.
“Okay,” said Eileen, putting her arm around Selma’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Let’s go into my daughter’s house. He’s probably wandering around inside.”
The three of them searched the main floor, as well as the basement level, but found no clues to his whereabouts. When they walked back into the kitchen, Lauren noticed the partially open microwave door and its illuminated empty interior. The bag of popcorn Lauren had left there for the movie was gone. The realization that he had been in the house and was now absent was somehow worse than if he had never been there at all. Lauren bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs to Nate’s room. She opened his door and found her brother lying on his bed listening to music. “Gramps is missing!” she shouted. Nate sat up and stuffed his feet into his sneakers. Together, they ran back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Eileen told Nate to put his coat on. It was below freezing.
C
HAPTER
9
W
earing flannel pajama bottoms, a sweatshirt thin from many washings, slippers, and a long black Windbreaker one of Ann’s female guests had left in the front closet of the guesthouse, Sam walked on the frozen, snow-covered ground in the woods behind the Baronses’ property. In one hand, he carried the bag of popcorn, provisions for his journey, and in the other, he carried a section of the local newspaper, specifically the want ads. He desperately wanted to know what time it was—he was worried he’d be late for the interview—but he didn’t have his watch. He hoped it was back at the hotel or Eileen would hit the roof. He shuffled through the tall, bare trees along a narrow pathway, which he guessed had been there for a hundred years. The company’s founder probably ordered it made so he could walk home from work without soiling his shoes and pant legs on wet grass or mildew-laced leaves. This path was like all paths, welcoming those who trod up them, giving direction and hope to their followers. Sam knew that if he stayed on it, he would reach his destination. Aside from not knowing the time, Sam’s only other concern was his feet, which were moist and chilled, like two bottles of wine sunk in twin ice buckets at a fancy restaurant. He tried to lift them out, but no matter where he stepped, they sank back in. And he was wearing his new shoes, too.
At the end of the path was a wide clearing framing a large house-like structure some 100 yards away. All of the windows were dark, however, which seemed odd. Was he that late that everyone would have gone home? He quickened his pace as much as his numb feet would allow. As soon as he was excused from the interview, he was going to sit down and write a letter to the manufacturer of his shoes. They were plenty comfortable, but they were absolutely worthless for wearing outside, which, as everyone knew, was the reason shoes existed in the first place. Sam shook his head. The world was changing, and not for the better.
He walked through the snow around the building to the front. It really did look like a house, with gabled windows, clapboard siding, and a porch that ran the width of the building. And even though it was very attractive—any family would think it hit the jackpot to live in such splendor—the company’s headquarters, he thought, ought to have more of a corporate presence. This down-home, informal image showed weakness, something a business should always go to great lengths to hide. What would the stockholders think? It might appeal to the women in the group, but most men would feel exactly as he felt, disappointed. Did he want to work for a company that housed its most important officers in a huge Dutch Colonial? Never mind, thought Sam, grabbing the handrail to climb the front steps. He could argue the merits of manliness over friendliness after he was hired. He’d add that to his growing mental list of concerns, which was just one of the reasons he wanted to work for the company. Frankly, they’d lost their edge. Sam was willing to help them regain it, for a competitive salary and a healthy pension. Surely their future was worth that much.
Now take the fellow at the hotel they were staying in—what was his name? Mark? Mike, that was it. He was part of the new generation, the men that wanted to get in and get out as fast as they could, taking a wheelbarrow of cash on their way out the door. The pension was all but dead in today’s business world, replaced by the almighty bonus. They had all the answers, these newcomers, and thought themselves smarter, more connected to society’s pulse than their forebearers. What they didn’t realize was that sound business acumen never went out of style. In fact, if there was one good thing about this Mike, it was his judgment. He knew what he was doing. And, after their heated discussion the other day, he ought to tell him as much.
Up on the ice-covered porch, Sam slowly made his way to the front door, flanked and brightly lit by large brass lanterns attached to the house. He rang the illuminated doorbell, and then waited for what he thought was a reasonable amount of time before he rang it again. No one answered. Sam reached into the pocket of his coat, where he had stuffed his interview invitation, and found it empty. Oh God, he needed that letter. Sam swung around to scan the ground and lost his footing on the slippery surface. He fell hard on the cold, unyielding floor, his head hitting the icy surface with a loud
thump
.
Nate drove at ten miles per hour, as instructed by his grandmother, around the neighborhood. They all agreed Sam couldn’t have gone far in just twenty minutes, well, forty minutes now. Eileen had successfully calmed Selma, mostly by telling her about the time she had lost Sam at the mall (she found him trying to buy a cell phone from a Verizon salesperson so he could call her) and by assuring her they would secure or change the locking system on the doors so this would never happen again. Selma was an excellent caregiver and cook, and Eileen didn’t want to lose her because of this one incident. Prior to tonight, her record had been perfect. Yet Eileen knew she uttered false promises. Sam, albeit sick, was a clever, persistent man. If he wanted to escape, he’d find a way. The only way Eileen could deter him from future escapes was to lengthen the time it would take him to get out.
Caught in their headlights was a couple walking a dog. Eileen told Nate to pull the car up next to them. Eileen lowered her window and asked them if they’d seen her husband. They shook their heads; they had not seen anyone at all. Eileen wrote her name and Nate’s cell phone number down on a pad she had grabbed from Ann’s kitchen and asked the couple to contact her if they saw him. Nate continued driving. He stopped after turning the car around in a cul-de-sac. “I’ve driven down all the streets in the neighborhood, Gran,” he said. “What do you want to do now?”
“We’ve got to keep going,” said Lauren. “We’ve got to find him.”
“Let’s go home,” said Eileen.
“Gran,” said Lauren, “it’s cold outside. We can’t stop now.”
“I know it’s cold,” said Eileen. “I think it’s time to call the police.”
Twenty minutes later, Officer Terry Handley arrived at the house in freshly falling snow. While the department usually waited twenty-four hours before acting on missing person claims, older people with health problems fell into a different category, especially in winter. What Officer Handley didn’t tell them, as he took down Sam’s physical description and mental status, was the window for finding people like Sam was smaller than those for finding any other group, including very small children. There was no rational pattern to what a confused elderly person would do. Every case was different, and many of them ended badly. “There is some good news,” Officer Handley said. “With this snow on the ground, we just might find some footprints. And we’ve got a full moon to help us see.”
“I’m going with you,” said Lauren, popping up from her chair at the kitchen table.
“Me too,” said Nate. “Gran, you and Selma stay here, just in case he comes home. Lauren, turn the volume up on your cell phone; I’ll leave mine with Gran.”
Eileen nodded, accepted Nate’s phone and quick instructions on how to use it, and then watched Officer Handley and her two grandchildren put on their coats, hats, gloves, and boots before walking out the back door. Eileen turned to Selma, who looked like she might cry, and asked her to make tea. “They’ll find him,” Eileen said aloud to the lime-green walls of her daughter’s kitchen. “I know they’ll find him.”
They did, indeed, find footprints in the snow that started on the path between the big house and the guesthouse and then veered off into the yard. “We may be in luck,” said Officer Handley.
Lauren ran ahead, holding the flashlight she had taken from the toolbox in the garage. “Gramps!” she shouted into the blackness.
“Not too far,” called Officer Handley, more concerned about what Lauren might find than about her safety.
She ignored him and ran faster. The cold night air flattened her lungs. “Gramps!” she shouted again.
Nate ran after his sister. “Wait for me!”
Lauren stopped and waited for her brother, who was quickly next to her. They walked together into the woods, following the uneven, muted trail of footprints while Officer Handley lagged behind, shining his flashlight this way and that. “We’ve got to find him,” said Lauren, her voice breaking. “We can’t leave him outside all night.”
“We’ll find him,” said Nate, trying to sound strong.
“Why did he run away?” asked Lauren.
“He’s confused,” said Nate. “He doesn’t think like you and me.”
“That’s so unfair,” said Lauren. “To have that happen to you is so unfair.”
“A lot of things are unfair,” said Nate, looking into the dark spaces between the trees to his left. Would his grandfather have gone in there? They continued along the narrow path until they reached the Nelsons’ spacious backyard. Officer Handley was twenty yards behind them, directing his light into the woods.
“Some footprints go this way,” said Lauren, shifting her light from the path to a set of new tracks in the yard. She started running; Nate caught up with her. Soon, they were at the front of the house, at the top of the front steps, and upon their motionless grandfather. A pool of frozen blood surrounded his head. “Oh God,” said Lauren in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
“Run and get the cop,” Nate ordered his sister. “Tell him he’s hurt.” Nate watched as Lauren flew down the stairs, around the corner, and out of sight. As soon as she was gone, Nate got on his hands and knees and lowered his ear to within an inch of his grandfather’s mouth. He listened carefully. At first, he heard nothing but the wind swirling around the porch. He moved closer, putting his ear against his grandfather’s cold lips. Only then did he feel a shallow breath. He was alive! Nate took off his coat and folded it in half. He gently lifted his grandfather’s head and slid the coat underneath. Then, he removed his wool cap, which he had worn every day to school lately because it was considered both retro cool and Rastafarian, and put it on his grandfather’s head. He took off his gloves and put them as best as he could onto his grandfather’s frozen hands. “They’ll be here soon,” said Nate to Sam’s icy, immobile face. Moments later, Lauren and Officer Handley appeared at the side of the house. “He needs an ambulance,” called Nate. “He’s cold and he’s hurt.”
“I’ve got one on the way,” said Officer Handley, navigating the icy steps. The officer took off his thick black gloves and knelt down next to Sam. He took clear plastic gloves from a leather pouch on his belt and quickly pulled them over his fingers. He checked Sam’s pulse, at his wrist and then his neck. He listened to Sam’s slow but consistent breathing. He looked up at Lauren and Nate, who were watching him. “Call your grandmother,” he said. “Tell her we’ll be taking him to Grace Memorial Hospital.”
As soon as the ambulance arrived, Lauren asked if she could ride to the hospital with her grandfather. Then she and Nate silently watched the technicians go about their ministrations, bundling their grandfather into blankets and then onto a cot with wheels, inserting an IV into his wrist, strapping an oxygen mask to his hard face. Officer Handley stood a short distance away, reporting the incident into a radio device he had unclipped from his thick belt. Soon enough, Lauren was whisked into the vehicle alongside Sam and various equipment boxes, and the doors were shut. The driver waved and then eased the ambulance out of the driveway. On the street, he hit the lights, the red flashes broadcasting distress and urgency into the night. Nate and Officer Handley waited until the ambulance had turned the corner before starting back through the Nelsons’ backyard. As they forged a new path to the woods, the icy layer on top of the snow gave way under their feet, crunching like the punch noises in one of Nate’s video games—a thunderous noise Nate had not noticed with his sister. After a few moments, Officer Handley spoke. “Does your grandfather have Alzheimer’s disease?”
“He’s got dementia,” said Nate. “I don’t know about Alzheimer’s.”
“So he’s forgetful?”
“Yeah,” said Nate. “He has a hard time tracking normal conversation. Sometimes, it seems like he loses his place in time.”
“Yes.” Nate glanced at the officer. “I think your grandfather’s going to be okay,” he said. “The cut at the back of his head may require stitches and will probably give him a bit of a headache, but I’ve seen worse.”
They walked several more steps. “Why would he go outside in his pajamas?” asked Nate. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Your grandfather’s brain is not working the way it’s supposed to,” said Handley. “It tricks him now into thinking he’s dressed appropriately or he’s a different person or it’s summer instead of winter.”
“That sucks,” said Nate.
“Yes, it does,” said Officer Handley, looking ahead to the lights of the Baronses’ house.
Nate pulled his car out onto the road for the second time that night. Eileen sat in the front with her grandson and Selma sat in the back. During the ten-minute ride to the hospital, Nate told them about finding Sam. He told them about the cut on the back of his head without going into detail about the frozen blood. He told them Sam looked okay without mentioning the fact that he’d urinated himself. And he repeated Officer Handley’s optimistic prognosis. All the while, Nate’s stomach churned. He could not erase from his mind the picture it had made of his grandfather on the front porch. It was the picture of a dead man, a street person in a rumpled, rotting heap at the end of a Detroit alley. And because Nate barely knew his grandfather and was afraid of his affliction—now more than ever—he had been tempted to run away from the Nelsons’ front porch. Like city dwellers passing homeless people on their way to the subway, Nate didn’t want to know how bad it was.
They met Lauren in the waiting room, busy and noisy with patients, family members, and medical personnel. They all made their way around children drawing in hospital-issued coloring books on the floor, parents trying to console crying infants, and older women in wheelchairs stenciled with G
RACE
M
EMORIAL
to the far end to several empty chairs. Eileen’s coat had barely touched the molded plastic when she started asking questions about Sam. Lauren told them what the emergency medical technicians, or EMTs, as Lauren called them, told her—that the wound was superficial, that the biggest issue was getting him warm. He’d lost a lot of body heat on that front porch. Nate made eye contact with his sister; Lauren stopped talking.