21…Partial Truths…
It should come as no surprise to me that this little overnight jaunt to Philadelphia for the graduation has turned into a two night stay. Em decreed, via text—I've not seen her all week—that we should leave Friday evening instead of Saturday morning. I didn't even protest, for several reasons.
One is that Granddad has been pensive and near implacable all week. He's banished me from the Rehab almost every afternoon, not even allowing Bea to bring him dinner on those nights. He claims to be "tired" and "has a lot of things to figure out," and for me "not to worry."
Pfft… Yeah, right!
He doesn't know that at least for the first couple afternoons, I've stayed anyway. I would go downstairs to get coffee or walk around the block and then come back up to lurk on the fifth floor. One of those afternoons, I caught him midway through a conversation with Dr. Grinch. I shamelessly eavesdropped in the hall. It was frustrating for me because the doctor was not speaking loud enough for me to hear everything as he paced around the room, and Henry seemed to be typing his responses on his laptop. He is a slow typist at best. I get only the barest hint of details from the odd sentence I can make out of the doctor's side of the conversation. "One of the main check-off points is being able to get outside…" "That is a great indicator of…" "…blood levels are stellar…responding to the medica…" "…scans…great…" "…met every criteria…" "Is that really you with Golda Meir?" "Everything points to a very speedy healing…"
For some reason it reminds me of listening to the twins!
But then the conversation turned slightly argumentative, at least what I can hear of it from the doctor's side. "If you say so, but really…" "I do not understand this at all, because everything is positive, exceptional, even, but…" "…should be happy…what every patient aspires to…" "…until early next week only and then…"
When it sounds as if the doctor's about to leave the room, I run halfway down the hall and turn as if I'm walking toward Henry's room. When he doesn't come out immediately, I walk backwards until I see the doctor, and then quickly stride forward again. I stop right in front of him, pasting a smile on my face.
"So, Dr. Grange," I say his name carefully so Grinch doesn't slip out again. "How is my grandfather? Anything new I should know about?"
"You'll have to talk to Mr. Ellis about that." Clearly exasperated, and with a heavy sigh, he steps around me and continues down the hall.
I want to shout after him, "I can't! He won't tell me anything!" but of course I don't.
The other reason is that since Granddad mentioned that I now live alone in The Rambler, all of a sudden the apartment has become this huge cavernous empty place. School—especially with my accelerated schedule—filled up my life, and then taking care of Henry did the same. Right now I don't have either of those things. And Em's been working crazy hours all week.
My afternoons and evenings feel like one big gaping maw of time and space. I've walked Petal too many times; sat with Pat at our building's lobby desk and reread a book about Middle East youth written by an-ex Stanford student; looked everywhere for that note Adam left with his phone number, but it seemed to have disappeared off the planet—our new housekeeper must've moved it somewhere; practiced my Chinese writing and wrote to Professor Zhang-Lei again, to thank her for the book; caught up on emails to school friends and the Songs—five just to Dragon alone, who tells me he likes his new English teacher, a Chinese language student from Lebanon, but not as much as he liked me; given a cheery email update about Henry to Professor Gardner so she wouldn't worry; wrote Ito a long hand-written letter; went through the mail and sent out some bills since the pension and social security checks had been direct-deposited.
Truth be told, though, mostly I just bugged the heck out of Bea. I watched a couple movies with her, had dinner at her house every night, and was the most morose member of her "hype crew" when she did a live radio show. Bea's "hype crew" that night consisted of the twins, Pat, Mr. Pantano with his son Mason…and Mrs. Babic. So when Bea declared I was the lamest member, that was really saying something. I even braved her exasperation by helping her re-file the records she pulled out for her show: this is something I learned long ago never to do because her system is truly known only to her and her ire is just not worth it if you mess up.
But all was forgiven, as it usually is with her by my saying the magic words…"Bea, would you play me some music I've never heard before?" She will never get tired of this request. Her eyes light up like a kid's at a carnival. Each night before bed, Bea played me two songs from every decade starting with the 1940's. I discovered that Sam Cooke's "Bring It On Home To Me," is not the sexiest song ever sang. It's Nina Simone's "Sugar In My Bowl." I had Bea add that to my iPod, along with some Cape Verdean morna music and other songs I liked of what she played me during the week. Every night, I slept in the blue bunk.
So when Em texted Thursday morning during the time I was actually permitted to hang at the Rehab, I only turned to Granddad and said, "Is it okay if I leave Friday instead?" I already knew his answer.
The plan, as it was dictated to me by Em, is for me to pick up her car which is parked in a long-term lot on the block behind our apartment building. Then I am to get her suitcase from her building's doorman and swing by to pick her up outside her office in Times Square. It would be so much easier to just take the damn train, but I agreed because, apparently, I don't get a say in anything any longer.
I can't pinpoint the moment precisely, but sometime during this week I'd just given up.
The only thing added to the plan is that I'm also dropping Bea off at the Rehab with a cooked dinner for Henry before going to get Em's suitcase. It's right on the way, but even if it wasn't, I'd do it anyway because Bea has been extra nice this week. Sparing her the revulsion at having to take a "filthy" cab where you cannot know "what nastiness is waiting to climb all up on you," seems a small price to pay for me being underfoot all week.
"You're sure you don't want to come in for a bit before you leave?" Bea asks, climbing out of Em's screaming yellow Lexus hybrid hatchback in the drop-off area of the Rehab. I put the blinkers on and get out to help her retrieve the dinner bags from the back seat.
"No. I've got to get up to Sutton Place and then Times Square in this Friday afternoon traffic." I reply. "Besides, what's the point?"
Bea puts her hands on my shoulders. "Make sure to stay close to your friends while you're in Philly. And always have your cell phone on you. And don't answer the door at the townhouse." I see her repress a shudder. "And don't worry."
"That's what everyone says...don't worry." I shrug. Bea knows that by "everyone," I really just mean Henry.
She puts her hand on my cheek. "I'm going to have a talk with your stubborn as hell granddad." She places her hand on my cheek. "Just please…"
"Don't worry," we both say at the same time. I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes.
When I'd asked Henry why Bea seems so anxious about Philly, he replied that "That's Bea's story to tell, but don't worry." When I'd asked why Leif wasn't sure Henry would want to see him, he replied, "That's his story to tell." When I'd asked what Henry had to figure out and why he was so preoccupied, he replied, "We can talk about that later, child. In the meantime, please don't worry." Same when I asked him more about the townhouse, and why Grandmother stopped speaking to her family, and why Shad was so distant with me this week—that is, when I actually saw him. So I stopped asking.
Just before I start to pull out of the Rehab drop off area, I get a text ping from Em…I'm not getting out of here by five. Can you pick me up at five-thirty?
It is right after I type my reply that inspiration hits. Instead of turning left to go out onto the street, I go forward instead, turning right into the Rehab parking lot. It is good timing; there are a couple empty spots. I thrust a twenty and Em's car keys at the attendant with a promise that I'll be back in fifteen minutes. I run up to the fifth floor, stopping out of sight just outside Henry's room. Sure enough, it's almost like with Henry and Dr. Grinch. Bea, thankfully, has a radio voice. Or maybe it's just that she gets louder when she's angry.
"…can't dissuade you, then just leave me out of it. In fact, I don't even want to know about it so I don't have to be complicit by association. No…wait…I take that back. I do want to know about it because I'm the one who's going to be picking up the pieces when you go about this all wrong."
There's a long pause when I hear the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard.
"Trust you? I do trust you, and love you and Elle more than life itself, but…Have you not noticed how absolutely defeated she's been this week? Does it not break your heart, because I can tell you it breaks mine. And I'm sure," Bea's voice gets low, but I think I hear, "it's breaking Rosamunde's, too."
There's only a short pause this time.
"I think it's entirely fair. You've not fulfilled you promise to her! Remember that she didn't direct and determine how you did it, only that you did. The rest is on you."
Bea's voice goes mushy and soft. "Yeah, I admit that was kind of harsh, but it doesn't make it untrue. And I know it's hard on you and that you're trying and you didn't expect this kink in the plan." There is another pause, but I don't hear any keyboard tapping this time. "You know I made a promise to her, too." My throat burns when I hear the tears in Bea's. "I promised I would help keep you in line and make you complete your task, even when you were heartbroken. And take care of you and Elles."
More tapping.
"Yes, I'm sure I don't know the whole story and I wouldn't doubt there's a lot you're keeping even from me. And yes, I do remember what it was like then, but she's not seven anymore as she keeps reminding me. Look, I know you're worried, but she's worried, too. And God knows, you two are driving me crazy with your worry and keeping everything inside so you don't worry the other…so you won't burden anyone else. No wonder where she got that from."
"Em said that? When?"
"Well, that kind of makes sense, but she snapped out of it and I know that because she yelled at me that night. In English. I've never been so glad to be yelled at in my life."
"She won't go away again. She didn't when Rosamunde left us and besides, wouldn't it make it less likely if she understood? That was a completely separate thing and we, none of us know precisely what happened then."
"Oh, so now you want to know what I'd do instead?" I can hear Bea roll her eyes. "For one, include her in the process. We can dole it out. I can start by answering any question she asks me…"
"Ugh. That was a low blow, Henry. So maybe not that one, at least not the whole sordid tale. I don't want that in her head. In anyone's head. It has nothing to do with this anyways."
"Whatever…okay, but just the tiniest part."
"No way. You know as well as I do what the difference is. I was a stupid kid who didn't know love or caring before you and Rosamunde saved me, and she's not. She's always been treasured, even amidst the trauma."
"Fine, then I'll write it up for later."
"That's an interesting possibility. If you think he can."
"But how about we explain years seven and eight now. We can do that together. That crazy doctor can even help."
"Oh, I love that idea! I want to meet her, too!"
"We shouldn't wait on that, though. It might be months, but let's write a letter tonight. And speaking of meetings, why don't we invite Karen and the girls up sometime? She should at least know them so it's not a shock..."
"Yes, I already told you I've helped her on all the bills like I said. Several times now. But why can't I just…"
"Okay, fine. Baby steps. Her birthday is next week, you know, which means twenty-one is just around the corner. Alright, we'll wai…"
It is precisely at this moment that I see the evening nurse, Angela, start up the hall toward me, probably to do her rounds. She'll give me away if I stay here and plus, there's a distinct possibility I'm going to be late picking up Em. As much as I hate to leave my eavesdropping post, I scurry down the hall when I see her go into one of the other patient rooms.
It is not until I'm in the car heading towards Em's apartment that I truly start to ponder all this. I need to try to remember everything that was said, but I have so many questions and it all becomes jumbled in my mind. The whole conversation was apparently about me. I didn't know there were so many secrets in our family. None of this came up when I was away in school. Obviously, I've not been paying enough attention. What is Henry so afraid will happen? What did happen? And what's the big deal that I yelled at Bea the first night I came home? And in English? Include me in what process? Who are Karen and the girls? What's the sordid tale Bea mentioned? What? Who? What?
And what promise did Granddad make to Grandmother? I made one to her, too, just days before she died. Well, several of them, actually. The main one was that I would stay in school to finish up my studies, even through my grief. And I did that.
I'm no closer to figuring anything out by the time I've inched through Times Square traffic. I have identified one important piece of information, though. And that is that Bea wants to answer my questions—questions I didn't even know I had until now. I should talk to Em about all this to see if she can help me puzzle it out.
