I’m spying from behind the terracotta pot on my front porch. At twelve I still fit into spaces more suited to a gerbil. Dad fills the doorway, blocking the inside light except for a little spilling over his shoulder onto my sister’s face. Zoe says, “Dad, please, call Sunnyside and tell them I can take Granddad.”
Dad chins toward Zoe’s boyfriend waiting by the van. “Is he coming?”
“Nana wants Manny there.” Dad closes the front door. Zoe whispers, “Night, Daddy.”
Manny approaches, “Any luck?”
“No. We’ll have to kidnap him.”
My pillow’s stuffed with dreams of justifiable felony and my single bed feels too short.
It’s 8AM, already hot, too hot to be wearing black, but it has a Bond feel to it. The kidnapping’s in progress when I arrive. Zoe’s in white. Very clever. She speaks angel-soft to the nurse, “I understand you have rules, but it’s my Nana’s birthday.” Zoe buttons Granddad’s shirt and flattens his scarecrow hair.
The nurse applies the wheelchair’s brakes. “He’s in no condition to be moved. Your father has power of attorney and he said no.”
Holy schmoley, Dad’s got powerful lawyers involved.
Zoe phones home. “Dad, Manny’s not coming today. Tell the nurse Granddad can go.” She hands off the phone and mops up Granddad’s drool. Manny commandeers the chair out the door.
I stealth through parked cars. I’m discovered coiled by the van’s rear tire. Manny says, “Hey, Jonah. You coming with us?”
“Um… yeah, Dad said it’s okay.” Truth is, he’d sooner see me deep-fried in porridge. Zoe crosses her arms waiting for my confession. “He thinks I’m riding with Auntie Violet.”
Zoe spreads a plastic cloth over the seat. Easy as lifting a Jet-Puffed marshmallow, Manny puts Granddad into the van. “Sit in back with Amisha.”
“Who?”
“Ami, my little sister. Nana invited her.” I peer into the van’s dark interior to– a jewel, a star, the total eclipse of my life…
Zoe positions blankets and pillows. “There, Granddad, how’s that?”
Granddad’s face has pinked up and his eyes look happy. I’ve been researching dementia. Brains need oxygen. All the O2 in Sunnyside has been displaced by poo fumes.
Zoe says, “Climb in. We’ll drop you at the lake road and you can walk in.” If I’m caught with Zoe there will be a Vesuvius from Dad. Zoe’s a fornicator, plus Manny’s a Hindu, making her a heathen fornicator. —She is who I aspire to be.
Dad kicked her out at seventeen when, while mining for a mint in the zippered compartment of her handbag he ‘accidently’ discovered Zoe was on the pill. Nana scooped her up quick. She knows a great cast-off when she sees it. Nana lives in her cottage so really Zoe’s punishment was a perpetual vacation. I hightailed it to Dr. Flaherty and requested this magic pill. He gave me a cuff on my ear and a confusing lecture about sex being a holy onion.
Manny takes the wheel so I guess he’s dropping us off. Too bad he’s not coming because I have a new excommunication plan: marry a Hindu. I have 160 kilometers to win Ami’s hand. I tug the sweaty wool at my throat. My opening line, the best I can come up with is, “Nana likes me in black. It’s her birthday so I… ”
Swedish Berries linger on Ami’s breath. “I like black.” It’s the best thing any girl has ever said to me. Cherry breasts rise and fall with her sigh. “Can you figure this one?” When she lifts the brainteaser in my direction her right baby finger grazes my left.
I receive the book and yellow pencil, still warm from her touch and place the number six where it belongs. I pass by obvious squares and pencil in a nine. Our eyes meet. I think she understands. She bites her bottom lip on one side. “You want some berries?”
I take five, as a dowry. It’s more than enough.
Granddad’s struggling with major phlegm trouble. As I thwap his back everything feels cosmic big: young Jonah with my new love smuggling old Jonah to his forever love. I catch sight of the cottage cutoff ahead. Since Dad’s always hogging the Jesus help-line with requests I call upon Vishnu for a smooth entry. Manny stops to let Ami see two deer at the side of the road and holy dharma Aunt Violet pulls up behind and asks, “Car trouble?”
Three steps and my butt is planted in her ancient Caddy. I kiss her saggy cheek. “How’s the rheumatism, Auntie V?”
Nana’s waiting. She’s sun-warmed and family-gathering rosy. Dad has more of an exposed-oyster hue. I whisper in Nana’s ear. “Wait till you see Zoe’s present.”
Nana scolds, “Anybody brings me more crap they’re going headfirst into the outhouse.”
The van coasts in and gods have mercy, Manny’s forgotten he’s not allowed to come. I’m guessing Nana knew the surprise because before Manny has the door fully opened she’s hugged up to Granddad, crying, “Jonah, Jonah. Oh, my Jonah.”
Zoe stretches and Dad’s teeth scratch. “You lied to me.”
“No, Daddy. Manny’s sleeping in the boathouse with the rest of the boys so he won’t be coming today.”
Dad lifts his hand and Nana says, “Son, that smack would be for me. They’ve only done what I asked.”
Aunt Violet tests Manny’s ready-for-rescue bicep. “Zoe, can he come to my birthday, too?”
Granddad is moved to the shade and he’s—smiling? Granddad is smiling, like when he used to catch a big fish or a grand sunrise.
Cottage birthdays are like no other. I think it’s because of the skin. Everything from spanking-new baby bottoms, wet-sand-testing toddler toes, cannonball-leaping cousins, fireman muscles, sinners in two-piece’s, uncles sucking guts back up to their chests, aunties with wags and sags and the Greats with more hills and valleys than a world map. Mom and Dad, fully-clothed watch from the back deck. I ask Nana, “Why didn’t Dad want Granddad or Manny here?”
Granddad is in an Adirondack set in the water, trousers rolled up, feet buried in weed mush. Zoe anoints his head with a kiss then puts his hat on. Nana says, “Your father can’t look at where he’s going and can’t bear seeing where he’s never been.” She pats my face with a floury hand that always smells of bumbleberry pie. “Always look Jonah. Don’t miss the firsts and lasts and all the life in-between.”
I give Ami the yellow feather I found and watch her weave it into the black silk of her hair. Ami softly gives me her sweeter-than-berry mouth. I wonder if Granddad is remembering his first kiss. He smiles through spasms and cramps and shitting his diaper. Manny lifts him from the chair, gentling him to the bed where baby Grace was just rediapered. Zoe cleans him up as if performing a holy ritual on a sacred day. Nana holds Grace and gazes at Granddad smile-snoring through a nap. “Gracie, I wish you could know your Great Granddad. His great spirit, mercifully strong and strongly merciful.”
I say, “Nana, we’ll just tell her to look at Zoe and she’ll see an exact reincarnation. Except for the boobs.”
Summer-suited ladies kick like Rockettes singing, “There’s no Nana, like our Nana…” Ami’s bathing suit is pink. Zoe’s is a rainbow. I wish Mom had a blue one. Everyone blows at the 75 candles so Nana will get her wish. Granddad smacks his mouth around cake, chokes, coughs then opens for more. Nana kisses a little icing off his lips.
Cottage nights always end with lakeside fires. Nana’s holding Granddad’s hand and he might be humming Danny Boy along with the uncles singing. Nana sighs, “This has been the sweetest day I can ever remember. Find your own beds, kids. Granddad needs his sleep.” Manny carries him inside. Ami releases my hand, knowing I’m needed to put on his warm socks.
Unraveled, Nana’s hair falls past her waist. Her nightgown floats like a ghost bride. “Your Granddad and I spent our first night in this old bed.” Beneath quilts she burrows under Granddad’s arm then looks at Zoe. “Bless you for this.”
Granddad’s propped on pillows. Zoe places a pill back of his tongue. “Swallow, Granddad.” He swallows one, then another, another, then several more. They must be Zoe’s magic pills because he doesn’t cough once. She whispers, “Night Nana, see you in the morning. Bye Granddad, come visit my dreams.”
Granddad’s lips rise like a sleepy moon when Nana kisses his papery cheek. “My sweet, sweet love.” The fragrance of cedar floats in with the soft kum-ba-yah. “Go sing with the others. Sing for Granddad.”
I nestle beside Ami, feeling too big to hide in small places anymore. I watch my father’s tired face from behind the fire and pray he’ll discover Zoe’s mercy and the smile that follows great spirits into eternity.
Winner of the WCDR Short Prose Competition
Published in From the Cottage Porch Anthology, 2010
What a lovely heartwarming story. It made me giggle at times and sniff away tears at others. Let us all never forget the good and the bad; the old and the young.
I do meet some wonderful characters in my head. I imagine this story had special resonance for you right now.