Anxiously clapping the phone to my ear, I sank down onto the sofa seconds later, relieved to hear Sam's voice, chanting, "I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sor-"
"Thank God...thank God you called!" I practically yelled. "I was about to contact the Seattle poli-"
"-ry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm so sor-"
"Whoa! Yes, I get it; you're sorry...but are you all right? What happened...and where were you?"
"-ry, I'm sor-Okay, do you want the long version or the short version of what happened?" she asked.
"The short version," I replied quickly, wanting to get straight to the heart of the matter.
"Okay," she agreed, "I was in such a rush to get to the Emergency Room, that I left my phone behind.
"Wh-what? The Emergency Room!"
"Yeah," she continued, "as soon as I got home from your place, I left it on my dresser to recharge; and then, when I was rushing back out the door, I forgot to grab it."
"But...but why did you have to go to the Emergency Room?" I asked, grabbing onto the arm of the couch with my free hand.
"Well, when I saw my mom staggering out of the kitchen, covered in blood, I had to take her."
"What!" I shouted.
"And, that's about it," she concluded. "So, how are things with you, Carls?"
"Okay, okay...give me the long version!" I demanded. "What happened to your mom?"
Sam cleared her throat and then began, "Well, it was around five in the morning, and the party was still going full blast. I was working the front door, and the music in the living room was turned up so loud that I didn't hear any of this; but according to Mom, she was in the kitchen getting more ice, when this creep who'd crashed the party decided to grab her ass."
"So, how could that be a problem?" I asked, now confused. "Your mom loves that sort of thing."
"Believe me, Carls, no one knows that better than I do; but, for whatever reason, she wasn't in the mood...so she said 'no'."
"And what did he say to that?"
"He said 'no doesn't always mean no'."
"And then?" I asked.
"So, then she told him, 'Right now, no means no'."
"And then what did he say?"
"He said, 'I love a challenge', while he reached around behind her and grabbed her butt again."
"And then?"
"Well, they got into a huge argument, and she shoved him because he still refused to take 'no' for an answer; so finally, he whipped his wang out...I guess he was trying to impress her...but Mom just pointed at it and laughed; and then she said, 'Put that little thing away before it gets hurt!'; which really pissed him off; so he grabbed an empty vodka bottle off the kitchen counter and whacked her upside the head with it."
"Oh, my God!"
"Yeah. The bottle shattered, and sliced the left side of her forehead open, just above her hair line."
"Is...is she going to be okay?" I gasped.
"Well, the doctor took x-rays, and he said she doesn't have a full concussion...just confusion."
"Huh?" I replied. "Don't you mean...a contusion?"
"Yeah, that's it," she agreed. "That, and twenty-eight stitches. Anyway, even though she looked really bad when we walked into the E.R., we still had to sit in the waiting room for four hours before we even got to see a doctor...and then it took another seven hours to get out of there. We didn't have any money for a taxi, so we had to walk home."
"You did? But isn't that like...twenty blocks from where you live?"
"Yeah, and let me tell you, that was One Long Walk, especially since Mom was leaning on me the whole time. We got home about fifteen minutes ago, and I just put her to bed; but the good news is, the doctor said that, since the cut is above her hair line, once it heals the scar's not going to be noticeable.
"That is good news," I agreed; getting up off the couch, and walking down the hall toward my bedroom...
...listening as she continued, "Yeah, we were both relieved to hear it; but he also told me that I need to stay here with her for the rest of the day, and to bring her right back to the hospital if she feels worse."
"Oh, I see," I replied, closing the guest room's door behind me and sitting down on my bed. "Well, I'm glad she's going to be okay, and please tell her that I hope she feels better."
"Will do," she agreed. "Anyway, I'm really sorry that I can't come over today because of all of this...but I promise you that I will tomorrow, first thing, and then we can-"
"Uh, no you won't," I corrected her. "You can't."
"What do you mean I can't-aw, come on, Carls...don't be mad for this...it wasn't my fault!"
"I'm not mad at you."
"Then why are you punishing me by saying that I can't come over?" she demanded.
"Um, Sam, are you sitting down?" I asked.
"Yeah, but why does that mat-"
"Well," I continued, kicking my sneakers off, "it's good that you are, because there's...there's something I have to tell you."
At these words, there was a long stretch of silence on her end of the line...
...and then, I heard what sounded like some very shallow and rapid breathing...
...which was followed by her asking with her voice shaking, "C-carls? You're n-not having second thoughts ab-bout us, are y-
"No!" I cut her off immediately...
...my heart giving a violent wrench at the fear I'd just heard in her voice; and I insisted, "No, nothing like that, honey...I promise! It's just that...well, are you sitting down?"
"Yeah. I just told you that I am."
"Huh? Oh yes...you did."
"Well? Come on, what is it then?" she asked, still sounding extremely apprehensive...
...and so, inhaling a deep breath...
...and exhaling a deep sigh, I told her, in as few words as possible, about Spencer's gallery exhibit.
"Are you kidding?" she asked excitedly, the instant I'd finished. "You really had me worried there, but that's so great...it's about time someone gave him a chance! And just think, Cupcake, while he's gone you and I are going to have the whole apartment to ourselves, for nine whole days...with no adult supervisi-"
"No, we're not," I stated flatly...
...and, immediately, she groaned, "Oh, no...now I get it. Don't tell me that Spencer asked Mrs. Benson to move in, and to keep an eye on us the whole ti...oh, God...she's bringing Fredfreak, too...isn't she?"
"Worse."
"Come on, Carls, what could possibly be worse than that? I mean, it's not like he's actually sending you to live with your grand-
"He is!" I blurted out...
...and she immediately yelled, "No!"
"Yes!"
"Aw, man! Today?"
"Unfortunately," I confirmed.
"Well...what time?"
"Nine-thirty."
After a second, long, frustrated groan, she continued, "Okay...here's what we'll do. Even though I'm not supposed to leave my mom, I'll sneak out for an hour or two anyway...right now...and I'll be there in about twenty minutes...because there's no way I'm going to let you leave Seattle without saying goodb-
"No, Sam...I meant nine-thirty this morning! I'm already in Yakima!"
"What?" she shouted...
...in a strangely-high pitched tone. "No! No way! Please tell me that you're jok-"
"Sam, I'm really, really sorry about this! I called you, over and over, last night, but I couldn't get a hold of you; so I stopped by your place this morning...but you weren't there...and I had no idea how to find y-"
"Carls...please tell me you're not going to be in Yakima for the whole nine days!" she begged.
I didn't answer her. I couldn't. Swinging my legs up onto the bed, I lay back, staring at the ceiling, watching as the late afternoon sun, which filtered into the room through the tree branches outside, threw an ever-changing abstract collage of light and shadow up onto the blinding white plaster; while hating that I'd just upset her so badly, especially after the stressful day she'd already had.
She sighed loudly, and then there was another long stretch of silence.
Finally, eyes still on the ceiling, I broke it.
"Sam, I'm really, really sorry about th-"
"Don't be," she answered quickly, although failing to hide the disappointment in her voice as she did. "You didn't do anything to be sorry for. The two of us are just going to have to 'man up' for the next week and make the best of it. So...is he driving you nuts yet?"
"From the minute I got into his car!" I informed her. "To make matters worse, he's in an extra-foul mood right now, because the landscaper did a sloppy job on his lawn and hedges...and then left without putting the mower back into the garage."
"Landscapers who don't even own their own equipment?" she cut in. "They sound really unprofessional...so, maybe he does have a point there. If they're that bad, why doesn't he just fire them?"
"Because...well, it's complicated. The guy is his friend's grandson, and he...oh, Sam...what am I gonna do? I hate it here! I absolutely hate it! And I m-miss you! You have no idea h-how much!"
"Shh," she interjected; then continued in a low, calming tone, "Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully."
"Y-yes?" I sad, tightening my shaking right hand's grip on the phone, as the sharply-defined light and shadow images above my head began to blur, due to the hot tears that were beginning to sting my eyes.
"Everything is gonna be okay;" she stated, "I promise...and my best advice to you right now is to stay as busy as possible for the next nine days. It'll makes the time go by a lot faster."
"But this is Yakima we're talking about here," I reminded her, sitting up and dragging my left sleeve across my eyes, "...the bloody boondocks! So, aside from Grandad's itinerary of insanely boring activities, what can I possibly find to do in this crummy lit-"
"You'll be fine," she insisted. "I'm sure that, in the morning, you'll be able to come up with a whole list of ideas; so just get some sleep, and then tomorrow everything will seem better."
I couldn't have disagreed more, but I didn't say so. When an entire minute had elapsed without me replying, she added, "And speaking of 'feeling better', did you um...do what you promised me you were going to do last night?"
Taking a deep breath, I (reluctantly) began, "Sam, I...I-"
"Carly? I'm home!"
"He...he's here...so I have to go now," I concluded. "Sam, I'm so sor-"
"Stop saying that!" she snapped. "None of this is your fault...so, let's just be happy for Spencer...both of us...and you know that I'm going to call you every day."
I hunched forward, resting my elbows on my knees, as I answered, "I...know."
"Come on, everything is going to be okay," she repeated. "Just stay really busy, like I told you to, and then the time will fly by."
I didn't, couldn't, and wouldn't agree...
...not in the least...
...but I wasn't going to start an argument with her over it, because I realized that she was only trying to help me.
"S-sam..." I faltered.
"I know, Cupcake," she answered slowly. "I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend."
At this, I bit my lower lip...
...while focusing as hard as I could on not crying...
...just as my bedroom door swung open, and Grandad's head appeared.
"Didn't you hear me call you?"
Dropping my misty gaze the floor, I nodded silently.
"Dinner is ready," he added, "so be in the kitchen within the next five minutes."
Without waiting for a response, he closed my door and walked back up the hall...
...and, suddenly, I felt incredibly relieved that he'd spared me from having to confess to Sam that I hadn't followed her, uh, 'explicit directions' last night.
"I...I have to go now," I told her.
"It's fine, Cupcake, go have your dinner. I don't mind that we have to hang up right now, because I need to get some sleep anyway. I've been up since yesterday morning and I'm completely wiped out."
Two minutes later, I reluctantly joined Grandad in the kitchen.
Neither of us spoke much during dinner, which was just as well with me; but, as we were nearing the end of the pretty decent grilled swordfish that he'd brought home, the silence was actually starting to get to me, so I asked, "Did you see that parcel on the coffee table? It was delivered for you this afternoon."
"Yes, thank you. It's the shirts I ordered from J.W. Gacy's."
"You buy your clothes online?" I asked, surprised. "Wouldn't you want to try them on first...to make sure they fit?"
"You know I hate clothes shopping," he replied. "Besides, I've been buying from that store for years...so I know exactly how they fit...and I know all my sizes."
"Oh," I replied, "but still, what if you needed to return someth-"
PANG!
As the obnoxious, deafening sound exploded through the house...
...and through my brain...
...I jumped reflexively to my feet...
...sinking back down into my chair as Grandad went to answer the front door. I heard the murmur of voices, and he soon returned, stating matter-of-factly, "Mrs. Payne is having trouble getting her garage door opener to work, so I'm heading over to have a look at it. Anyway, I'm about finished here, so when you're done eating just clear the table."
I nodded without hesitation...relieved to be rid of him for the time being, but still resentful toward Mrs. Payne for treating him like her own personal slave; since it seemed to me that he was forever at her beck and call. When he returned, nearly half an hour later, I mentioned this, as tactfully as I could.
"I don't mind at all," he informed me, sounding slightly annoyed as he sat down on the couch. "It's called being a good neighbor."
"Well, yeah...but can't she just hire someone to help her when she has a probl-"
"There's a good TV show coming on in about ten minutes," he interrupted, reaching for the remote, "Lesser Known Civil War Battles...why don't you join me in watch-"
Immediately, I yawned...
...loudly and on cue...
...which was easy, considering that I've had so many years of practice (every time I've visited Grandad(!)
"No, but thanks. Even though that sounds uh, fascinating, it's been a long day, and I'm really beat," I answered, in my best, exhausted-sounding voice (failing to mention of course that, in addition to my nap in the car, I'd also spent most of the afternoon asleep).
"Well, alright," he replied. "Run along to bed. I'll call you in the morning, and then we'll go grocery shopping."
"Okay," I replied, leaning forward and down, so he could give me his usual, hard little peck goodnight on my forehead.
After taking a long, contemplative shower, I returned to my bedroom...
...sadly realizing, as I did that, if none of this had happened, I would be in Sam's arms right now...instead of in my pajamas.
Sam. My Sam.
I missed her, so much that it was making my heart hurt...
...but she'd already been up for a day and a half, and was doubtlessly sound asleep at the moment, so there was no way I was going to call and wake her up.
And so, with a sinking heart, I turned my gaze away from the phone on my nightstand, walked across my room instead, and leaned on the sill of my open window...
...looking through it, to the familiar, depressingly-rural scene outside...
...staring dejectedly into the darkness, watching as a solitary bat flapped randomly around the front yard's solitary, ancient pine tree...
...while I listened to locusts humming...
...and crickets chirping...
...and followed the headlights of the occasional car that drove slowly up the street...
...until they dissipated into the seemingly endless void of inky blackness.
I have no idea how long I stood there, wrapped in mind-numbing boredom...
...and heart-wrenching loneliness...
...but it seemed like hours; until, finally realizing that it wasn't accomplishing anything at all (except making me feel worse than I already did), I came to my senses and, turning away from the window, I looked across the dimly-lit room, illuminated only by the lamp on my nightstand...
...over to my desk.
Less than five minutes later, I was sitting at it and, after getting my pen out, I found a legal pad in the desk's top right-hand drawer...
...because, even though my mind was empty and numb at the moment, I'd decided that the best use of my time would be to attempt writing a 'To Do' list, like Sam had told me to...
...so I spent the next hour and a half struggling, wracking my brain...I mean, how many things could I possibly think of to do in a place like this?
Finally, nearing physical and mental exhaustion, I had managed to come up with a few ideas, actually getting as far as #17: Call Sam at least five times per day and tell her how much I love and miss her...
...before passing out, with my left cheek pillowed on my arm.
April 13th:
With my face now lying directly on the desk's unpleasantly-hard, wooden surface, I opened my eyes reluctantly...
…to the loud, unwelcome sound of Grandad calling, "Carly! It's 5:30, time to rise and shine!"
Groaning loudly, I sat up...
...feeling every muscle in my back scream in protest as I did; and, sat in resentful silence, rubbing my aching neck.
Five-thirty? It's still dark outside!
But then again, was I really surprised? I knew, from past visits, that Grandad's always been an early riser...
...but why did he insist on constantly inflicting his satanic habit on me?
Ugh.
"Are you up yet?" he asked suddenly through the closed door, evidently puzzled by the silence. "I thought the two of us would take an early morning walk, to the east end of the park, and watch the sun rise from there. It's really spectacu-"
Turning (with difficulty) in the direction of the door, I called across the room, "No, thanks. I'm still tired from yesterday...but maybe later."
"The sunrise waits for no one," he replied.
"Sorry, but I'm still really-"
"All right then, go back to sleep," he replied, sounding surprisingly agreeable. "I'll call you again when I get back, around seven, and we'll have breakfast."
I murmured something in agreement; and, while listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps thudding down the carpeted hallway, I staggered over to the bed, sprawled onto it face-down, and passed out again.
Around 8 am, still feeling kind of stiff (despite a long, hot shower), I sat down to breakfast, only to find myself staring at...
...Oatmeal...
...which I can't stand...
...but Grandad's always saying that everyone need 'roughage', so I camouflaged the nasty, pasty stuff under a heaping pile of brown sugar and made the best of it; while the two of us discussed the menu for the coming week. After clearing the table, I (with his input) wrote a fairly long shopping list; grateful as I did that he was allowing me to have a say in what we were going to be eating...
..and conveniently forgetting to add 'Oatmeal' to the list(!) Anyway, Grandad's not much of a cook, so he suggested a lot of entrees like steaks and chops; which also seemed to indicate that he didn't expect me to do much cooking either...
...but I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. After all, the more time I spent hovering over the kitchen stove, the less I'd have to spend with him, participating in his tortuously-dull, overly-planned itineraries.
Once I'd washed the breakfast dishes, the two of us got into his car and drove to the grocery store.
Unfortunately however, even though we were only shopping for about a week's worth of food, it took us nearly three hours to get out of there...
...because we were stopped approximately every fifteen feet by someone Grandad knew...
...and believe me, he knows everyone in that whole damned town! Apparently not wanting to be rude, he graciously engaged in a lengthy conversation with each and every person we ran into...
...while I shifted restlessly from foot to foot, bored out of my mind, not giving a damn about their stupid gall bladder surgeries...
...or their drooling grandchildren...
...or their recent, unbelievably high property tax increases.
Finally, after what seemed forever, we arrived back home, where I spent my last shreds of energy and sanity putting the groceries away; while Grandad checked the morning paper, which he hadn't yet had the chance to do.
Upon finishing with it, he remarked, "I have to run down to the hardware store...I meant to do it while we were out this morning, but it slipped my mind. Est...I mean, Mrs. Payne needs a new towel rack for her upstairs bathroom, so I'm going to pick one up; and then head on over to her place and install it. Why don't you come along?"
"Uh, no thanks, I can't; because I have to, uh..." I did some fast thinking, "...to renew my Yakima library card. It's been almost two years since my last visit...so the one I have has definitely expired."
"Planning to do some reading while you're here?" he asked.
"Yes, you know, college catalogs and all that," I answered casually...
...not revealing that I really planned to use the place as a refuge, to escape from monotony of the house...
...and from him.
Apparently satisfied with my answer, Grandad glanced at his watch.
"Well then, come along and I'll drop you off on my way. Just make sure you're home by five, in time for dinner."
Less than ten minutes later, I was standing on the library's front steps...
...waving while he drove out of sight...
...then immediately hurried back down them, and walked three blocks away; over to The Paper Tiger, Yakima's sole stationery store; where I bought gift wrap, a gift box, and a shipping box for Sam's rugby shirt...
...oh yes, and a mushy card.
I timed my return home (on foot) carefully; and, seeing his car parked in the driveway; I sneaked up the steps, silently unlocked the front door, and tentatively stuck my head through it, while straining my ears...
...relieved to discover that the house was completely silent, which confirmed that he still over at Mrs. Payne's...
...so I took my time with Sam's present, wrapping it lovingly, and then packing it for shipping. Fortunately, I finished before he returned. Heading back into town, my first stop was the post office, where I sent her gift to Seattle by Second Day Express...
...and then, after a fast lunch at a nearby, 'greasy spoon'-type burger joint...
...where I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich (the least lethal-looking thing on the menu)...
...I walked back to the library; where, after renewing my card, I spent most of the afternoon...not looking at college catalogs...but instead reading magazines and sending long, plaintive emails to Sam.
As promised, she called me later that evening.
"How's my Cupcake holding up?"
"Bored out of my mind! I hate it here!" I answered...
...entirely too loudly...
...immediately (and fearfully) holding my breath, as I heard Grandad's footsteps suddenly come rushing up the hall...
..but releasing it again as I heard them passing my room, and then echoing on the bathroom's tiled floor, before he closed its door behind him.
"Carls? Are you still there?"
"Uh, oh yeah...sorry about that," I answered, in a much lower tone of voice, realizing that I'd been ignoring her.
"Not a problem," she replied. "Yesterday, you mentioned that your grandad obsessively plans everything...all the time...so, what exactly is he making you do?"
"Not too much, yet," I answered. "Aside from grocery shopping this morning, I've managed to avoid him and his 'agenda' so far."
"That's my girl!" she exclaimed.
"Well, yeah...but it's only a matter of time before he feels the need to 'entertain me'; and then I'll be forced to join him on nature walks, and visiting war memorials, and, worst of all, I'll have to sit and watch him play chess in the park...for hours on end! Did I ever tell you about the time he made me-"
At that moment, I held my breath again, as the bathroom door opened...
...and seconds later, I heard Grandad's voice, on the other side of my closed one.
"Carly, it's nine pm. Time for bed."
April 15th:
Over the next couple of days, I settled into Yakima as well as I could...
...which wasn't well at all...
...and the next morning, while Grandad was out playing golf...
...by himself (because, I'm proud to say, he'd failed to talk me into going with him(!)...
...I found myself sitting in my room, alone, wishing that I had something more exciting to do...
...like watch paint dry...
...when the phone rang.
Snatching it up off my desk, I held to my ear; but even though I had been expecting this call...
...I still felt a thrill shoot through me as I heard Sam's voice...
...especially how excited she was.
"I! LOVE! YOU!" she yelled.
"Happy Birthday, Darling," I replied with a smile...
...one which only grew wider, when I heard her exclaim, "Oh, Carls...it's exactly what I wanted! But, I didn't know they had a Bandana Republic store in Yakima."
"They don't. I bought it for you before I left Seattle, and brought it here with me."
"Well, I love it...but not nearly as much as I love you!" she gushed.
"Aw, Sam! You know I...I..."
Unable to continue...
...I covered my mouth with my hand...
...tightly...
...while trying my hardest to repress the sobs that I'd been fighting against, ever since I'd arrived in Yakima...
...which were becoming more and more insistent that I give in to them, with each lonely, passing hour.
Understanding what was happening on my end of the line, she said, "Shh. It's going to be okay. It's only for another week."
Resting my left elbow on the desk and my forehead on my palm I admitted, "I know...but here, a week is like a decade!"
"I know that...and I'm sorry that you're suffering...so let's try to focus on something else, okay?"
"Y-yes," I agreed, realizing that arguing about it would be pointless.
"Okay then, any word from Spencer yet?" she asked.
Forcing myself to ignore my nearly-overwhelming emotions, I took a deep breath and replied, "No, but I'm sure he'll call me, as soon as he has a free minute."
"Yeah, he will," she agreed. "So, what's the Old Grouch got planned for you today?"
"Well, right now he's out playing golf...by himself...so I'm free of him for the moment; but unfortunately I'll be spending the evening with him and his girlfriend."
Sam gasped.
"You're kidding me...that old fossil actually managed to bag a girl?" she asked, sounding (unsurprisingly) stunned. "What's her name?"
"Violet Lee Lippincott."
What! She sounds like a real winner! Does she have three heads?"
"I don't know," I admitted, "I haven't met her yet. They've only been going out for a couple of months."
"Don't worry," Sam replied, "you can always hide in the attic until she leaves."
"No, I can't," I informed her. "It's such an overcrowded mess up there that I'd probably be buried under an avalanche of boxes!"
There was no mistaking the confusion in her voice as she answered, "But...you're always telling me how spotlessly clean and organized your Grandad's house is, because he was in the military and likes to have everything ship-shape."
"It is...and he does...but the attic is an exception. When Grandmom...uh, left so suddenly...and in a rage...he packed up all her stuff and shoved it up there," I explained, "...along with a bunch of things that she'd given him, and some that they'd picked out together. "I guess he didn't want any visible reminders of her lying around the house. For some reason, she never came back for her any of her belongings, so everything's still up there...and the whole room is packed to the rafters."
"Well then, if it's too crowded there, you can just hide under your bed," Sam suggested.
"I can't do that, either. Grandad's taking us both out to dinner."
"Oh, no," she groaned. "You're going to be their captive audience? For the whole evening?"
"Afraid so."
"Kid, you have my sympathy."
Promptly at 6:30pm, Grandad and I arrived at his favorite Yakima restaurant...
...an Olde English Inn, called The Spotted Dick...
...which I believe is some kind of traditional British dessert, but which still never fails to make me laugh.
"What's so funny?" Grandad asked as we were led from the entrance into the waiting area.
"Uh, nothing," I assured him...repressing a snort.
About five minutes later, Mrs. Lippincott joined us.
Immediately, Grandad stood up and helped her with her coat; and then he gestured toward me, saying, "Violet, this is my granddaughter, Carly. Carly, this is Violet Lee Lippincott, my uh, special friend."
Making some polite comment about how nice it was to meet her, I shook her hand.
Less than a minute later, the three of us were shown to our table. With surprising agility, Grandad jumped directly in front of the waiter; and, while ignoring the man's highly-annoyed glare, he pulled Mrs. L's chair out for her.
"Why, thank you, Everett," she said, sliding into her seat...
...as I seized the opportunity to size her up.
Aside from having a bad, helmet-type hairstyle that looked like a 1970's throwback; and looking like she knew more secrets than Mata Hari (but had no intention of sharing any of them with the rest of the world...which may have been a good thing), Mrs. Lippincott appeared to be somewhat normal; and so I thought that maybe I had a sporting chance of avoiding an evening spent in hell.
I was wrong.
"Join me in a glass of wine?" she asked Grandad, once we had placed our orders and a bottle had been brought to the table.
"No, thanks, Violet," he replied. " I generally don't drink."
"Oh, Everett, you just want to set a good example in front of your granddaughter, don't you? That's so admirable," she replied; staring across the table at him in a nauseatingly wishy-washy way.
As I watched Grandad smiling back at her...
...in an equally appalling manner...
...I crossed my fingers under the table, hoping that they'd continue talking to each other, forgetting that I was even sitting there.
No such luck.
Turning to face me a moment later, Mrs. L. said, "So, Carly, tell me a little about yourself."
Repressing the strong urge to roll my eyes in exasperation, I began, "Well, I live in Seattle, where I attend Ridgeway High School. My best friend and I do a weekly-"
"Do you have a boyfriend?" she interrupted suddenly...
...and my heart sank...
...as I realized, with rapidly-dawning dread, that it was going to be one of 'those' conversations.
I didn't want to lie, and tell her about 'my guy Sam', especially since Grandad knows Sam and can spot dishonesty a mile away, so I just answered, "No, I don't at the momen-"
"What a shame, dear," she interrupted. "I would think a pretty girl like you would have several young men clamoring for your attention."
How to answer that one? I couldn't think of a satisfactory response; and so, hoping to divert her attention far, far away from the subject, I asked instead, "So, how did you and Grandad meet?"
Big mistake.
Immediately, her simpering smile contorted into one of thinly-veiled contempt...
...and then, after draining half of her (second) glass of Cabernet in one shot...she turned back to face me.
"Well," she answered...
...quite stiffly...
..."once I divorced that...that gigolo, who I will euphemistically refer to as a 'husband', after dedicating almost thirty years of my life to that no-good, self serving, sorry excuse for a-
Our salads arrived.
Thrilled at the interruption, I tore into mine...
...but, less than five minutes later, Mrs. L. had abandoned hers and resumed our conversation.
Now well into her third glass of wine, she planted her right elbow firmly on the table, and then swiveled in her seat, in my direction, leaning forward...
...until her face was less than a foot from mine...
...and continued, "Listen, Dear...aside from Everett here, all the men in this world are selfish, lying philanderers, and they all should be strung up by their-"
"Violet," Grandad spoke up, "...don't you think you're being a little-"
"No, I'm not!" she snapped.
At this surprisingly rude response, my jaw dropped; and, expecting the worst, I looked quickly over at Grandad, but as I did, I was astonished to see...
...him sitting there, in spineless, closed-mouthed, accepting silence.
I couldn't believe it.
I Absolutely Could Not Believe It.
In my seventeen years, I had never seen my gruff, no-nonsense Grandad accept that kind of rudeness from anyone...
...and now, within only two months' time, this woman had him completely whipped!
Suddenly, the sound of Mrs. Lippincott's continued rant snapped me back to the present, and I reluctantly found myself tuning back in, mid sentence, to hear, "...trusted him completely, and the bastard was cheating the entire time...on a wholesale basis! All those 'out of town business trips of his! The nerve! It makes me long for Old Testament times, when, according to biblical laws, he would be forcibly castr-
At that moment, I wanted to throw my arms, in profound gratitude, around our waiter, who had just arrived at the table carrying our entrees.
Thankfully, all her complaining seemed to have given Mrs. L. an appetite; and, ramming her fork viciously into the lamb loin in front of her, she turned her attention to her dinner; letting the conversation drop for the moment...
...until the instant the table had been cleared and dessert had been ordered...
...when she turned back to me...
...and picked right up where she'd left off...
...while I sat with my eyes glazed over...
...and while Grandad, clearly her bitch, cowered on the other side of the table, in embarrassing silence...
...as she continued, "...and that's when I decided that all men are cheating, good for nothing bastards who are going to rot in the deepest pit of hell...every single one of them...for their- "
Suddenly, miraculously, she caught herself; and, turning to my grandad, she mumbled, "Present company excluded; my apologies, Everett."
"None needed," he answered...
...with unnerving submissiveness...
...before continuing, "Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I'm going to the restroom."
As Grandad stood up from the table...
...and turned in the direction of the bathrooms...
...it took everything I had not to grab onto the bottom edge of his suit jacket, and beg him not to leave me alone with her...
...but, as he made his way across the dining room, the tapping on my right shoulder diverted my attention from that desperate urge...
...and, cringing, I turned to face V.L.L. again.
"Look, now that he's gone we can discuss this openly, just us girls," she announced eagerly...
...unable to hide the noticeable slur in her voice.
Since all my energies were focused, laser-like, on keeping a forced smile plastered on my face; I couldn't spare any to answer her.
She didn't notice.
"Anyway," she stated, "as I was saying, men are only out for themselves!"
"Well, actually, my brother Spencer is a really nice gu-" I began...
...as she bulldozed her way right over me, continuing, "So make sure that you never give anything up...for any man...under any circumstances!"
"Uh, okay," I agreed...
...hoping that my giving in would shut her up.
Not a chance.
"I mean it, Carly...nothing! Especially not your virginity! You ARE still a virgin...aren't you?" she demanded...
...suspiciously and far too loudly...
...as my jaw dropped in disbelief...
...and, absolutely shocked and stunned by her rudeness...
...I immediately felt my cheeks burst into flames..
...as I slid down into my seat, until my chin was mere inches above the tabletop...
...and, thoroughly mortified, began to slowly and uneasily scan the entire dining room, from right to left...
...to see how many other customers were listening in, and witnessing her public humiliation of m-
Fortunately, at that moment, both Grandad and dessert arrived at the table...
...and I positively tore through my crème brulee in my desperation to get the hell out of there.
"Carly...you shouldn't eat that quickly, it's bad for your digestion" Grandad pointed out.
"Sorry, it's just that it's...so delicious!" I answered lamely...
...while avoiding making any eye contact whatsoever with Mrs. Lippincott...
...who had just grabbed the arm of a passing waiter, and was ordering a large snifter of brandy.
About twenty minutes later, even though she obviously was quite inebriated, Mrs. L. insisted on driving herself home.
To my surprise, Grandad let her...
...and, as soon as we'd reached the parking lot, I slumped in utter relief (and exhaustion) against his car while he walked her to her own.
Our ride home was oddly and awkwardly silent...
...but that was just fine with me...
...and, as soon as we returned to Grandad's house, and he'd settled onto the couch to watch the news, I locked myself in my room and called Sam.
Instead of 'hello', the first word out of her mouth was, "Well?"
"Well...what?" I asked.
"You know what I mean," she replied, "how was your hot date...with Violently Lickin'-Cock?"
"Sam! That's crude! Even for you!"
"Sorry...but how did it go?"
"Well, it was slightly less enjoyable than root canal work...or cleaning the litter box while your rabid cat Frothy is using it...or being trapped in a sewer, barefoot...or-"
"All right, all right, I get the picture...that bad, huh?"
"You have no idea."
"Okay, then, enlighten me. What happened?"
Still fully dressed, I sprawled on my bed; and, relieved that I'd finally found a sympathetic listener, I told her.
She didn't sound the least bit surprised.
"Well, of course he's landed a loser like that...who else would have him?" she replied.
"Good point," I conceded.
"And," she added, "it's no wonder he let her drive herself home. He's probably hoping that she'll ram her car into a deer...or a moose...or whatever the hell they have lurking in those woods down ther-"
"Sam?" I interrupted. "Wait a sec, there's another call on my...it's Spencer, so can I call you right back?"
"Sure," she replied, hanging up without another word.
I switched over to the other line.
"Hello, Spencer?"
"Greetings From Atlantic City!" he boomed.
"Hi! How's everything on the-oh, God, are you calling because...is anything wrong?" I concluded, now totally irrational and paranoid, thanks to my recent ordeal with Mrs. Lippincott.
"No, of course not," he assured me, "...but pretending to be a mature, responsible adult all day long is killing me! I haven't been able to wear my Boogie Bear T-shirt or all week, and it's driving me crazy! I swear, I don't know how much longer I can keep this charade going!"
I laughed.
"Young lady," he interrupted suddenly; in his best, fake stern voice, "you haven't called me!"
"That's true," I admitted, "and I'm sorry about that, but I knew you'd be busy at the gallery. So, how is the exhibit going?"
There was a long pause on his end of the line, but then I heard him sigh and say, "Actually, that's why I'm calling you right now. I, uh, have some news."
"Good news or bad news?" I answered quickly...
...alarmed to hear the unmistakeable, anxious edge that had suddenly crept into his voice.
"Well, that...um, depends on your attitude," he answered slowly...
...and my heart sank...
...because the last time he'd made that statement, I'd ended up helping him scavenge 'art supplies', for nine consecutive hours, at Seattle's filthy, smelly garbage dump.
Not wanting to prolong the agony of not knowing, I urged, "Come on, Spencer, just give it to me straight," while reaching over and grabbing onto the edge of my nightstand for support.
"Kiddo, that's not the right attitude!" he protested. "Your defenses are already up, and you haven't even listened to what I was about to tel-"
"Well then, hurry up and tell me!" I replied...
...immediately, loudly, and rudely.
"Okay, okay!" he replied. "Well, the day after I set up my work here at the Windsor Gallery, Mercedes introduced me to her uncle Chris, who's one of three partners in a company called Paragon."
"Paragon?" I repeated. "I've never heard of it. What do they do?"
"They operate out of Philadelphia, and they specialize in, uh, let's see...how did he word it...in designing unique and dynamic interiors for commercial buildings."
"Okay...and?" I prompted, still having no idea where this conversation was headed.
"Well," he continued, "as I said, Mercedes invited him to the gallery to have a look at my work, which he liked; so he asked me what else I've done; and...remember last year, when Freddie helped me set up that online photo gallery, showcasing all of my pieces?"
"Yes."
"Well, I showed the collection of pictures to Chris, all of them, and he liked those too...so much that he showed them to his two partners, and now they want to purchase-
"They saw your work?" I broke in. "And now they're going to buy some of your sculptures...that's fantastic! How many? Which ones?"
"None, actually."
"But...didn't you just say-"
"No," he interrupted, "what I meant is that they want me to build eighteen new pieces for them."
"Wow...eighteen pieces!" I exclaimed, sitting upright. "Spencer, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!"
"Wait, it gets better!" he added. "Have you heard of the Diamond Casino...the newest one that they're building, here in A.C.?"
"No. You know that I'm really not a fan of watching the news."
"Oh, yeah," he replied. "Well, anyway, in addition to being the largest casino on the island, The Diamond is supposed to have the biggest nightclub on the entire East Coast. It's going to be called TECHATRON; and my work is going to be featured in it. The series of pieces I'm sculpting for them is going to be called, Merging Man, Mind, Metal and Music, and each one is going to be of a stylized human body...and over eight feet tall."
"That sounds so exciting!" I broke in. "And you are so deserving of this! But," I paused, "they are going to take care of you, uh, financially...I mean, eighteen pieces...they are going to pay you well for this, aren't they?"
When he told me how much, I dropped my phone.
Retrieving it quickly, I said, "Hey, wait a minute...you're not joking about all of this, are you?"
"Of course not!" he answered defensively. "Why would I be?"
"Well," I continued, tentatively, "I don't know a lot about construction, but it's kind of hard for me to believe that you could land such a big job...for a casino...in less than a week's time. With projects like that, you usually have to submit all kinds of proposals...and then there's a lot of back and forth negotiating, and then it takes forever to get them approved by-"
"Carly, I'm not making this up!" he insisted, sounding more than a little hurt.
"So...you're telling me that this Paragon company, right off the bat, offered you a huge job like that...and that you came up with all those designs...and that the casino approved them...all in just a few days?" I scoffed.
"They did...and I didn't...and here's how it happened," he explained. "I didn't actually come up with any of this. What happened is that Walter Bradley, the artist who's been working with Paragon on this project for the last year and a half, was just arrested last month, and charged with murdering his wife; and now he's sitting in prison awaiting trial. Since he's uh, unavailable to continue with it now, and there's a definite, looming deadline, the partners were desperate to replace him as soon as possible. Anyway, to make a long story short, after reviewing my work, they showed me his pre-existing conceptual art and specs, which had already been green-lighted by the casino two months ago, and asked me if I could build them. I told them that it wouldn't be difficult; and so, after a couple of additional meetings, they offered me a contract for the project."
Finally, it made sense.
"Oh, my God, Spencer, I'm sorry that I didn't believe you, and-" I paused for a moment. "But, wait a minute...what about the cost of shipping eighteen larger-than-life sculptures, from Seattle all the way to Atlantic City? Is the company picking up the cost of that, or are you going to have to cover it out of what they're paying you?"
"Neither," he answered.
"Oh, I see..." I replied, "so, they're sending a truck all the way from New Jersey to Washington State, to pick them up?"
"Uh, no...not exactly," he replied. "I'm going to be constructing the pieces on site, because they're built-ins."
"Built-ins?"
"Yes," he confirmed, "each figure is going to be positioned so it's 'emerging' from the walls of the nightclub, so they have to be constructed on site. I'll be working with the casino's main architect on the project...as well as with Paragon."
"Huh? Wait a minute," I interrupted...
...and, as the harsh reality of the situation suddenly became clear...
...I continued, much more slowly, "Spencer, there's no way you can build eighteen pieces of custom, larger-than-life sized sculptures in the...next four...days..."
My voice trailed off.
"Carly, are you sitting down?" he asked tentatively.
"Yes," I answered dejectedly, sinking back onto my mattress...
...as my heart sank into my shoes...
...because I knew exactly what was coming next.
"Good," he answered. "Anyway, as I said, these pieces are going to be built into the walls, so they have to be constructed on site.
When I didn't respond, he added, "And, if all goes well, this project could lead to other things."
"Yes, I guess so," I admitted, grabbing a fistful of covers in dreaded anticipation.
"Good, I'm glad you're taking this so well," he answered...
...obviously totally oblivious to how I actually felt.
"Now, Carly, I want you to listen to me very carefully...and to not jump to any conclusions whatsoever...not until you've heard everything I have to say...because it's not nearly as bad as it's going to sound at first," he stated...
...as my ears and mind latched onto only one word: Bad.
When I didn't respond, he continued, "Okay, Kiddo, let's get the hard part out of the way first, okay?"
"G-go ahead," I answered...
...letting go of the covers and grabbing onto my nightstand again...
...much tighter this time...
...as I braced myself for the worst.
"Well," he began, "the bad news is that, since I can't get home in four days, like I had originally planned, you'll need to finish out your school year in Yakima."
"No!" I exclaimed, jumping immediately from a prone position, directly to my feet.
"Yes, you will have to," he continued, gently but firmly, "and I'm really sorry about that, but that's only going to be for a month-and-a-hal-"
"No, Spencer!" I protested, now beginning to pace my room rapidly and erratically, as I felt every muscle in my neck and back tighten. "There's no way! I'm NOT staying here for that long, and I'm NOT going to school here! I'll go crazy if I have to spend that much time with Grandad, just because you can't come home for another six weeks!"
"Uh, actually, Kiddo," he began...
...which was followed by a long stretch of silence...
...before he added, "I'm...not coming home until the first or second week in September."
"What!" I practically yelled, skidding to a halt on the room's hardwood floor. "You're spending the next five months there? Look, I don't care what anybody says, there's no way I'm going to stay here for the entire summer, too...away from you and Sam! And nobody can make me!"
"Carly, calm down!" he replied, "I asked you to let me finish."
Over the sound of my own shallow, ragged breaths, I heard him take a deep one before he continued, "Now, listen to me...please."
When I didn't reply, he added, "I promise that you won't have to stay there for the entire summer; because, the minute school lets out...you're coming to Atlantic City and staying here with me."
"What? All summer? I am?" I demanded...unsure if, in my frenzied mental state, I'd actually heard him right.
"Yes, you are!" he exclaimed, "...and you're bringing Sam with you!"
"Really?" I gasped, starting to pace again as I continued excitedly, "I am...and you don't mind if Sam comes, too? Oh, wow, I can't wait to tell her!"
"She, uh, already knows," he replied slowly...
...and my jaw dropped.
"You told her before you told me? Spencer!"
"Sorry about that," he replied, "but I wanted to make sure she could come first; because well, after everything that's already happened, because of this trip, I didn't want you to be disappointed again."
"I forgive you!" I replied quickly, still pacing.
"Anyway," he continued, her mom says it's okay."
"Well...what did Sam say when you told her about it? Tell me!" I urged.
"Uh, the first thing she did was to ask me I could help her find a job here."
"WHAT?"
"I kid you not," he replied earnestly. "I told her that the company is putting me up in a two bedroom apartment, free of charge; and that, in addition to my salary, they're giving me a Per Diem, for expenses like food and dry cleaning, so she won't have to work at all; but she's insisting on getting one anyway."
"A job? You're joking! Are you sure you spoke to the right Sam?"
"I did," he assured me. "And she said that she's still going to kick in money toward our expenses."
Slowing to a halt, I sat back down on the edge of my bed...trying to process it all.
"A whole summer in Atlantic City...with you and Sam...it all sounds great...but Spencer, that's still six weeks from now! And I don't want to go to school here!"
"Come on," he cajoled, "it won't be so bad. Just think of it as a restful and much-needed vacation away from Miss Briggs."
As true as that statement was, I still wavered...
...because now I wasn't going to see Sam for another six weeks! That would be unbearable...
...but then again, what choice did I have?
And we were going to spend the summer together...
...the entire summer...
...at an island resort...
...and, since Spencer would be so busy every day, I'd have her all to myself...
...it would be just the two of us, on our own...
...together...
...so maybe waiting wouldn't be so intolerable after all.
But still...six weeks away from my Sam?
Suddenly realizing that Spencer was still on the line, waiting for some sort of reassurance from me, I took a deep breath, manned-up, and replied, "Look, I'm not going to lie to you...I really don't want to be here for another six weeks, but-"
"I know you don't," he agreed. "And I'm really, really sorry...about all of that...but you've always wanted to come to Atlantic City, so just keep your eyes on the prize, okay?"
"Oka-oh, Spencer, I can't believe the way I'm acting right now!" I exclaimed suddenly. "I'm so sorry! I-I should be celebrating your new job opportunity with you! I mean, if things go well, it could lead to a permanent position with their compa-oh, wow, Dad's gonna be so proud of you!"
"Actually, he uh, already is," he answered.
"What?" I replied, more than a little surprised. "You've already spoken to Dad? How did you manage that?"
"He called me yesterday; telling me his sub got into port a week early. There was some kind of electrical problem, and they-"
"How is he?" I broke in. "And when is he gonna call me?"
"Um, unfortunately, he's not...but he asked me to send you his love."
"He's not?" I asked...
...unable to believe what I'd just heard. "B-but, Dad's never skipped calling me when he's in port! What's going on?"
"Kiddo, he didn't have time to call you because they were only in for a few hours, and then they had to ship right back out...but he told me he promises to call you around the first week in October."
"October?" I asked, now incredulous. "I have to wait 'til October to hear from him? Spencer, what's going on? They were supposed to be docked for several days...and what about the submarine? I mean, an electrical problem on a sub sounds like it would be time-consuming to repair."
"No," he answered. "Apparently, the unit they had to replace was modular...you know, pull the old one out and then snap the new one in. They just didn't happen to have that part aboard."
"But...I thought he'd be in port for at least three days...like he usually is. Why did they leave so quickly?"
"I did ask him that, but he wasn't able to tell me, because I'm not privy to that type of info; but he did say to tell you that he's really sorry, and that he promises to make it up to you."
Struggling to hide my extreme disappointment (I'd been looking forward to talking to Dad for more than four months), I continued slowly, "Well, was he excited when you told him about Atlantic City...and your casino project?"
"Yes, very...and he immediately gave permission for you to spend the summer here."
"Which one of you told Grandad that...and what did he say when you did?" I asked.
"Uh, we haven't told Grandad."
"You haven't?" I gasped. "Then he's never gonna let me go! You know what a low opinion Grandad has of Atlantic City!"
"Carly, calm down. We're going to tell him; and he's definitely going to let you go. You know that Grandad has never challenged Dad's opinion on how we're raised. If Dad says you can go, then you definitely can."
"Well, yeah," I admitted, "but...you said that I'm going to A.C. At the end of June, but Dad won't be back in port until the end of the summer, so how's he gonna tell-"
"He wrote Grandad a letter, granting you permission," Spencer answered calmly, "and he's sending it to me, so don't worry. It's already in the mail, and I'm going to fax it to Grandad, about a week before you come here."
"But...why didn't Dad just fax it to Grandad now...or call him and say that I can go?"
"Because he wanted to spare you from listening to six weeks of Grandad griping that you're going to be coming here, to this...what does he call it...this 'den of iniquity'...for the entire summer."
"Oh, yeah...good call on Dad's part," I admitted.
"Yes, it was; and, as I said," Spencer continued, "Dad didn't want you to have to spend the next six weeks listening to Grandad complaining about this trip; so, don't say anything to him in the meantime, okay?"
"Duh."
"That's my girl!" he answered warmly.
"So," I spoke up as I stretched out on my back, now feeling considerably relieved, "you said that the company is setting you up with an apartment for the summer?"
"Yes. Charles and Mercedes didn't have a spare room at their home, so I'm staying at a hotel right now, but I'm moving into the new place the day after tomorrow. I just came back from checking it out; and it's a really nice, 2-bedroom condo, overlooking the ocean; right on the Boardwalk. Actually, it's located in Ventnor, the next city over, but it's only two blocks from Atlantic City border, so we're still right there. Oh, and it's a high-security building and...oh, wait, that's my other line."
I heard him disconnect, and after a moment, he came back on and continued, "Sorry, Kiddo, but I'm going to have to wrap this up."
"Promise you'll call me the second you receive that letter from Dad!" I urged. "Because without it, Grandad's never gonna let me go to-"
"Okay, okay, relax...I promise you I will. Maybe not the second I receive it, but within a few hours of-"
"Promise me?" I demanded.
"Yes-I-promise-gotta-go-be-a-good-girl-love-you-bye."
He hung up.
Immediately, I called Sam.
From the excitement in my voice, she obviously knew that Spencer had just told me about the trip; because, without bothering to respond to my 'hello', she blurted out, "I promise you that I'm going to work so hard!"
"Spencer says that's not necessary," I reminded her.
"Yes, it is," she argued, "I have a family to support now!"
"A f-family...oh, honey...you're going to get a job b-because of m-me?" I asked, beginning to blink rapidly.
"Of course I will," she answered, sounding hurt that I'd even asked. "You know I have to take care of my Cupcake."
Well, then I'm also getting one," I replied, "...because I want to take care of you, too!"
"I'll let you."
Grabbing the other pillow that was on the bed, I hugged it tightly to my chest with my left arm, as I said, "Oh, Sam, I can't wait to-but still, this is horrible! Now, I'm not going to see you...not at all...for the next six and a half weeks!"
"Hey, come on, we'll figure something out," she answered. "After all, I could just sneak up there and-"
"Oh, no you can't!" I broke in. "Grandad knows everyone in Yakima. We both know that he's uh...not exactly fond of you, so he may have put everyone here on 'high alert'; and, if you show up, then one of them is sure to rat you out."
After a moment of thoughtful silence, she stated, "Well, I'll just call you first, to make sure he's not at home; and then, as soon as I get off the bus, I'll have a taxi bring me straight to his house...in the trunk!"
"Bad idea," I countered. "If you do, we'll still get busted, because...remember when I told you about Mrs. Payne? She spends most of her day spying over our fence...and I'm sure she'll tell Grandad if I have anyone over to visit while he's out."
"Well then," she replied casually, "we're just going to have to bite the bullet for the next six weeks."
"What do you mean?" I asked, slightly alarmed at her non-nonchalant attitude. "D-don't you w-want to see m-me, Sam?"
"How can you even ask me that?" she replied. "You know I do! But, since you've just told me that I'm not going to be able to, let's talk about something positive instead."
"Okay," I agreed, "I'm positive that I'm going to HATE spending the next six weeks here, in this-"
"Not what I meant, Carls. I mean, let's talk about how great it is that we're going to spend our whole summer together...at the shore!"
"Okay."
"Good girl," she replied. "Now, I was thinking that, if we get evening shift jobs, we'll be free to bum around on the beach all day long."
"That sounds good," I admitted.
A moment later, I heard the sound of papers rustling, and then she continued, "Spencer sent me a link for Atlantic City job listings. I printed it out on the library's computer. Can you look it up online, or do you want to write the info down?"
Since I didn't want to send up a red flag by searching for jobs in A.C. on Grandad's computer, I got up off the bed and walked over to my desk; and then spent the next ten minutes copying down a long list of Atlantic City businesses that were hiring for the summer season, along with their phone numbers; including, Shallingers Salt Water Taffy; Randall's Bakery; The Dock Town Tavern; The Back Bay Cafe; Al Fresco's: Captain Young's Oyster House; The Rockin' Roll Patisserie, etc.
I hadn't realized how many openings there were; and finally, as my hand was beginning to cramp up, I asked her to just email me the rest.
"Okay," she agreed, "I'll send you the link, and then you can apply right online, through their website. Yakima does have a library with a computer, doesn't it?"
"Very funny."
"One thing that sucks, though," she added, "is you're going to have to fill out a separate application for each position."
"That's fine with me," I replied, "because what else am I gonna do while I'm here? And besides, didn't you tell me to stay busy?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Well then, this definitely will help me pass the time while I'm not in...oh, Sam, not school in Yakima! For six whole weeks!"
"It'll be okay," she said gently.
"No it won't," I wailed, "I'm not going to know anyone!"
"That doesn't matter," she replied, "because they're all gonna know you. Didn't you say that the Yakima library has a computer?"
"Well, yeah, but what does that have to do with-"
"Well, since there's a computer there, I'm sure that every now and then Yakima's entire population crowds around it...all thirty of them."
"Sam!"
"And so, they have to have seen iCarly, which means that, to them you'll be a world-famous celebrity, and they'll be climbing all over each other to make friends with you! So, what possibly could go wrong?"
"I...I guess you're right," I replied. "Still, I'm going to m-miss you...even more than I do right n-"
"Carly. It's way past time for you to go to bed!" Grandad's voice boomed, right outside my bedroom door...
...and, reluctantly, I said a tearful goodnight to Sam.
"It's been s-so hard for me being here," I told her, "not being able to see you...or to h-hold you! You don't know how badly I wish I could kiss you goodnight...just this once!"
"Shh...don't cry, Cupcake," she replied, "everything's gonna be okay."
"I kn-now; but it's just that I m-miss you so m-m-"
"Carly, it's after eleven...didn't I just tell you that it's bedtime?" Grandad's unwelcome voice interrupted...
...again.
"Yes," I replied.
"Then why do I still hear talking?" he demanded. "If it doesn't cease immediately, I'm coming in there and confiscating your phone."
Sam overheard.
"That control freak!" she shouted. "That Hitleresque bastard! I'm this close to calling my Uncle Carmine...and asking him to break-"
I didn't hear the rest...
...because I had no choice but to hang up on her.