First thing the next morning I was on the phone with Sam...
...who listened in polite, attentive silence while I spent twenty minutes explaining what had transpired the previous evening...
...and then, wanting to get her objective opinion I asked, "So, what do you think?"
Without hesitation she replied, "I think that picturing him with either of those crazy old bats makes me wanna barf!"
"Sam! I'm being serious!"
"So am I," she assured me.
"No...other thoughts on the subject?" I asked hopefully.
She was silent for a moment, then mused, "Let me know if whatever happened...or happens...causes his mood to improve."
I promised her that I would.
During last night's extended fun-fest, I'd pretty much exhausted my detective abilities; and so I decided that the next step was to watch and wait...
...and, of course, continue to investigate.
The watching part was easy. It consisted mostly of tracking how often Grandad went next door to Mrs. Payne's...
...and how long he stayed there.
There didn't seem to be much of a change in this department...and if anything, his visits to her house during that week seemed to be somewhat shorter...
...in fact, shorter to the point of probably not being long enough him to 'get any' (although at his age, you never can tell...maybe fifteen minutes islong enough)! While we're on the subject, I also have to confess that I looked through the bathroom medicine cabinet...for Viagro and Seealiss...but (for the record) I found nothing.
In addition, it must be duly noted that he had two dates that week with Mrs. Lippincott...
...returning from both in a sullen, defensive mood...
...which he promptly proceeded to unleash on me.
Despite this, and the apparent futility of even trying to get back on his elusive (and possibly non-existent) 'Good Side' anymore, I still went way out of my way, all week long, trying to 'make amends'...
...spending countless hours slaving away in the kitchen for him; cooking elaborate, complicated dishes such as souffles...
...and, of course, keeping the house spotless...
...but still, even though I made numerous additional attempts at friendly conversation...
...all I got in return, more than 90% of the time, was a slew of hostile, rude, and undeserved replies.
On a happier note: Saturday came and went without me having to go to the club again! Rick's family was still in mourning; and so Grandad, once again, skipped his golf game...
...but, eager to avoid yet another confrontation, I did my best to conceal my delirious joy.
All too soon, Sunday morning arrived, overcast, so instead of walking we drove to church (just in case). After the service ended, we spent the following hour-and-a-half at his favorite cafe...
...enjoying(?) a nearly-silent brunch...
...and then, Grandad announced that we weren't going to head straight home...
...but over to Chesterton Park instead...
...and then, without further explanation, he drove us there.
After getting out of the car he grabbed a pen, clipboard, and camera from the trunk...
...and then he led me over in the direction of Sam's tree...
...which I found myself staring behind...both nervously and longingly...
...but instead of stopping beside it, he turned to his left and approached the park's fountain...
...which, for the record, is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen.
The central geyser is a larger-than-life weathered copper statue of Proserpina, who stands holding a large, double-ended cornucopia above her head...
...from which twin jets of water shoot up into the air at least thirty feet. She's surrounded by twelve elaborately-sculpted sea nymphs, all of whom are holding shells and various marine animals...with water spraying upwards and outwards from each...
...all of which cascades downward, spectacularly, into a huge circular, bronze pedestaled basin.
Grandad spent the next ten minutes or so walking around it, busily taking notes and pictures...
...while I stood, looking up, mirroring the sad expression on Proserpina's beautiful yet mournful face...
...understanding exactly how she must feel every winter when she's abducted by Hades...
...and then forced to live with him, for months on end, in the Underworld.
Grandad, oblivious to my thoughts, continued writing and snapping pics...
...until, curiosity finally getting the better of me, I asked, "What exactly are you doing?"
He stopped for a moment, and then looked back at me, stating, "Lately, I've noticed some hairline stress fractures at the base of several of the figures, which indicates the beginnings of structural damage; so, before it gets any worse, I'm preparing a presentation for the next City Council meeting, asking them to allocate funds for repairs."
"Oh."
About ten minutes later, he'd finally finished, and led me over to the far side of the path...
...where he seated himself on the nearest bench...
...pulling me down beside him...
...and we both spent the next hour or so sitting in silence...
...me looking, from time to time, at Grandad...
...who was looking, from time to time, at his watch. However, I also noticed that he wasn't looking up or down the path...
...which meant that he probably wasn't waiting for anyone to show up...
...but, still, I asked anyway, "Is someone meeting us here?"
"No," he replied curtly...
...in tone that suggested he was not in the mood for conversation...
...and so, I didn't bother to try.
Around four-fifteen, he wordlessly got up from the bench...
...and I, just as silently, did the same; and then followed him over to the car...
...and (finally) we headed home...
...where I found, to my utter amazement...
...that, for the second week in a row...
...the front lawn was mown immaculately...
...and the hedges were trimmed flawlessly...
...and both, once again, had been completed a day early.
Grandad appeared only mildly surprised at this...
...but, since it had been done again on a Sunday instead of on Monday, I concluded that he had been right...
...and that Jason's dad must have been the one who did the work, since he was off on weekends.
Now that his lawn and hedges were (once again) looking so incredible, you'd think that Grandad would be happy.
No such luck, which I found out the hard way...
...less than twenty minutes later...
...when, looking across from my seat on the couch, over to where he sat in his armchair...
...and after struggling for nearly twenty minutes for something pleasant to say (no mean feat), I finally remarked, "You know, your hair looks really nice today."
Grandad whipped his head around to face me.
"What! Are you telling me that it usually doesn't?" he snapped...
...rising from his seat, then walking straight to his room...
...and slamming the door behind him.
Despite the depressingly-obvious futility of even bothering to try at reconciliation anymore, I nonetheless redoubled my efforts...
...for the rest of the week...
...helping him in the back yard's garden nearly every day...
...and shining his shoes until they shone like glass...
...and vacuuming out his car...
...but, as the week progressed, his mood worsened...
...and so did his verbal attacks...
...until late Thursday evening, incredibly close to losing my mind, I made a frantic phone call to Sam.
"Hey, Cupcake, whatcha doing tonight?" she asked amiably, then added, "Your voice sounds all weird and hollow...where are you?"
"I'm in the garage...and I can't take this anymore!"
"Come on, Car-"
"No!" I wailed, "I can't! I'm spending every waking moment acting downright saintly, but he's still treating me like-"
"The garage?" she interrupted suddenly, "What are you doing out there?"
"I'm organizing all of his paint cans...by color...in alphabetical order!" I answered...
...entirely too loudly. "Don't you see?" I added, "That's how crazy this whole thing has made me! I'm telling you, Sam, I'm cracking up! I can't take this anymore! And I can't take him anym-"
"Carly? What are you doing in there?" Grandad suddenly called, through the garage's side door...
...and, panicking, I shoved the phone inside the back of my shirt collar, under my hair. Less than ten seconds later, he appeared, repeating his question.
"I uh, was just looking for another bottle of Windecks...to...to clean the bathroom mirror!" I replied...
...blurting out the first thing that came to mind.
Grandad nodded.
"All right, but hurry it up," he advised. "The Historian Channel is showing 'The Soviet Union's Aggressions Against The World'...and it starts in less than ten minutes."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out...
...and as he did, I heard Sam, who had wisely remained silent the whole time, suddenly say, from under my shirt collar, "Hang in there, Kid."
What other choice did I have?
July 29th
A pervasive, early-morning chill surrounded me, shroud-like...
...one which had nothing to do with the air conditioner...
...and before I even opened my eyes, I felt it...
...as it penetrated every corner of the room...and hovered in an invisible - yet very tangible - blanket directly over my bed...
...and, somehow, I knew why.
Opening one eye a crack, I looked across the room and out my window...
...at the high wall of ominous, angry, iron-gray clouds that hung outside it...
...foreshadowing what was almost certainly to come...
...and at that moment, more than anything, I just wanted to stay in bed for the entire day...
...but I was well aware that it was not an option...
...because if I attempted to, Grandad would think that I was sick, and would drag me straight to a doctor...
...and so, with a dejected sigh, I looked over at my alarm clock.
7:34 a.m.
Two minutes later I got up, since I had to...
...telling myself as I did, that maybe I was over-reacting...
...and that maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. I kept repeating this mantra while I took a long, hot shower...
...reminding myself, repeatedly, to stop being so pessimistic...
...and that 'today is actually going to be a good one'.
By the time I'd finished toweling off, I had almost convinced myself...
...and, after getting dressed, I walked (almost) optimistically to the kitchen...
...where I found Grandad, already seated at the table, about halfway through a toasted sesame bagel...
...with his face buried in the morning paper.
After saying 'Good Morning' to him (and receiving a distracted, muttered reply), I sat down and poured myself huge bowl of Special J cereal. Just as I reached for the milk carton, Grandad set his paper aside and looked across the table at me...
...wearing a very serious expression...
...as he asked, "Do you know what today's date is?"
I didn't have to pause to consider.
"The twenty-ninth," I replied at once...
...trying hard to keep the excitement out of my voice...
...and I watched him nod.
"That's right, today is the twenty-ninth," he confirmed...
...while I sat, holding my breath...
...waiting in joyful, eager anticipation...
...while he added, "which means that it's been more than three weeks since I last fertilized the garden."
Puzzled at this revelation, I nodded anyway...
...and then almost passed out when he stated, "Which means that I'd like you to take care of it...today."
I sat staring at him, in stunned silence...
...absolutely unable to believe what I'd just heard.
Fertilizing the garden is the the Worst Project in the Entire World...
...and one that he's well aware I positively hate...
...but still, he sat there, looking at me...
...expectantly...
...while I, well aware of the consequences of arguing with him...
...ever again...
...bit back the urge to scream my refusal, and instead replied, "Okay...as soon as I finish breakfast."
Grandad shook his head.
"No, Carly," he replied. "...right now."
"B-but-" I began, astonished that he was going to make me do something so horrible...on an empty stomach...
...and again, Grandad shook his head.
"No," he cut me off abruptly. "Not right after breakfast...Right Now. It looks like it's going to rain any minute, so you need to start immediately."
Stunned, I sat staring at him...
...waiting for the punchline.
Waiting for him to say that he was only kidding...
...and that he'd never make me do such a horrible project...
...especially not today...
...since today was my birthday!
But, as it turns out, I waited in vain...
...while he sat, still staring at me, as if daring me to argue with him...
...and I, in a daze, got up from my chair and headed out the back door.
Less than a minute later, I was walking into the garage...
...and then, already feeling queasy, I slowly approached the large metal trash can, sitting on its wheeled cart, which stood in the far corner. After a long stretch of apprehensive hesitation, I lifted its lid...
...choking immediately, as the overwhelming stench of rotting fish entrails reached my nose...
...heartbroken that the thing wasn't empty...
...an act of mercy which would have spared me from this hell...
...but nonetheless, I grabbed the cart's handle and wheeled it out into the warm, damp, foggy back yard; and over to the garden hose which hung, neatly coiled, on the back wall of the house.
Bending down, I scooped a generous amount of the foul crap into a large bucket...
...then added water and stirred...
...holding my breath the entire time...
...but gagging anyway, as the aforementioned, atrocious smell of entrails...
...now joined (thanks to the addition of water) by the putrid fumes of raw sewage, and badly-decomposed roadkill forced their way up my nostrils anyway...
...all the way up...
...and, eyes streaming, I picked the bucket up from the ground...
...and staggered over to the first row of radishes...
...where, with the old, long-handled restaurant ladle I'd used to stir this nasty, toxic stew...
...I began to pour it around each of the plants...
...rapidly becoming more and more nauseous...
...until, less than three minutes later, just as I'd reached the middle row of basil...
...I dropped the ladle and the nearly empty bucket onto the ground, and stumbled over to the edge of the garden plot...
...and, clutching my badly-convulsing stomach, I bent forward and began retching violently...
...with the world's worst case of dry heaves...
...but, since I hadn't eaten anything for at least twelve hours, nothing came out of my empty, aching insides but a few long trailing strands of sour, bile-tainted saliva...
...even though my stomach continued to clench, violently, over and over.
Wiping my streaming eyes on my forearm (my hands were way too nasty), I looked up and stared across the garden...
...in the direction of the kitchen window...
...desperately hoping that Grandad was standing there...
...witnessing what was happening...
...and that he would have mercy on me...
...but there was no sign of him.
Somehow, I managed to force myself to resume this revolting, sickening project...
...and about fifteen minutes later, after two more rounds of involuntarily trying (and failing) to vomit, I'd finally finished the last row of tomatoes. After hastily putting everything back in the garage, I dragged my weak, dizzy, offensive-smelling self in the back door..
...and straight over to the kitchen sink. Grandad, having finished breakfast, had already left the room, and thankful for it, I hunched over the sink...
...washing my hands no less than four times; but then realizing, to my horror, that I still positively reeked …
...from head to toe...
...which meant that I was going to have to take another shower, even though my last one had been less than two hours ago.
Still incredibly queasy, I stared down at my untouched breakfast, still sitting where I'd left it...
...and, realizing that I now had no appetite whatsoever, I poured my bowl of dry cereal back into the box...
...and then headed straight to the bathroom...
...where I spent nearly an hour, scrubbing hard, with the blue (abrasive) side of my Buff Puff; and washing my hair another three times...
...in a valiant, desperate attempt to get the stench off me. Finally (and after much effort), it seemed to be gone, so I dried off and put my bathrobe on...
...and then, I picked up my disgusting clothes from the tile floor, using just my fingertips...
...but instead of putting them into the hamper, I made a beeline for the laundry room and threw them into the washer...
...all of them...
...including my sneakers. Fortunately, I had brought three pairs with me to Yakima, so I didn't end up having to wear my old, scruffy ones for the rest of the day...which are the ones I should have put on in the first place before tackling this project …
...and which I would have, if he'd only given me the chance!
After adding a double dose of detergent to the machine, I headed back up the hall and toward my bedroom; and as I did, Grandad stuck his head out the door of his office, asking, "So, what are you doing today?"
I'd already decided that, after what he'd just put me through, I didn't want to be anywhere near him.
"I'm going to the library...and reading up on colleges," I announced...
...while secretly hoping with all my heart that he'd stop me anyway...
...saying that he forbid me to do that; because it was my birthday...
...and, therefore, he was taking me out for lunch (or something) to celebrate...
...but instead, he merely nodded his silent approval...
...and, with a heavy heart, I entered my bedroom and began to get dressed.
Fifteen minutes later I shouldered my backpack and, after one final glance in my mirror, I crossed my room to leave it...
...but, just as I was reaching for the doorknob, I heard Grandad talking on the phone (his office is right next to my bedroom). Anyway, I know that it's wrong to eavesdrop on other people's conversations...
...but today I made an exception...
...and listened intently...
...because I was desperately hoping to hear that he was on the phone with a bakery...
...making arrangements to pick up my birthday cake...
...or calling a florist shop, ordering me some flowers...
...but instead, I froze, shocked, as I heard him say, "All right, Violet, I'll pick you up. No, it's not a problem; I don't have any plans for today anyway."
And a minute later, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand, I opened my bedroom silently and crept down the hall, and then out the front door...
...out into the cruel, mocking, dreary morning.
After a less than ten minute walk, I had reached Yakima's main shopping district...
...and then, even though I absolutely did not want to, my first stop was Skybucks...
...because, although my badly-knotted insides were killing me, I'd had too much first-hand experience with the hazardous consequences of skipping meals...
...ans so, I coaxed my still-stormy stomach into finishing some hot tea and a croissant; and then, just to be on the safe side, I went back up to the counter and ordered a chocolate chip muffin.
After I'd eaten most of that, my stomach and I reached a sort of uneasy truce, and the rest of my body began to feel slightly better as well...
...except for the left side of my chest.
No amount of food could fill the gaping, aching hole there...
...and now, feeling utterly abandoned and alone, I walked slowly to the library...
...dropping all further expectations of well-wishes...
...from anyone...
...figuring that, since Grandad had forgotten today is my birthday, that Sam probably had too...
...and that, since Spencer had been so busy lately, there was no reason to expect him to remember either.
Once inside the library, I stopped at the magazine rack and grabbed a huge, random handful...
...not even bothering to look at the titles...
...and then, finding an empty table, I sank down into a chair; where I slouched, chin on chest, staring at the unread stack sitting in front of me...
...for nearly half an hour...
...until finally, my brooding was interrupted by two young cocky guys, who sat down at the table behind me...
...and, apparently thinking that they were in a locker room instead of a library, immediately launched into one of the filthiest conversations I'd ever heard.
"So, Phil, did you end up getting any pussy last night?"
"Not at first," was the reply. "I said that we were going back to my place, but she started nagging me to take her home instead. I told her that I had something a lot more fun planned, but she kept insisting; and it really pissed me off; so finally I reminded her that I was the one who paid for dinner, which meant that she was going to be 'dessert'.
Phil's friend laughed rudely.
"And what did she say to that news?"
"The bitch said 'no', so I started driving west, in the direction she lives, but then, instead of turning down her street, I kept going...and drove all the way over to the far side of Leech Lake.
"Leech Lake?" his friend exclaimed. "That's out in the middle of nowhere!"
"I know!" Phil confirmed. "As soon as I stopped, she tried to get out of the car, but I told her that I just wanted to talk to her about something; and that I had a bottle of 18% Madd Dogg under the seat. She loves to drink, but her parents forbid her to; so she decided to stick around for a little while. Anyway, after we'd finished maybe half the bottle, we started arguing, about how she never puts out, and I informed her that she's a fucking tease, which she needed to change, right then and there; and if she didn't like it, then she could walk all the way home in the dark. Then, I turned the car lights off, so even if she got out, she wouldn't be able to see anything. She started screaming at me to take her home, but I whipped my dick out and said 'Not so fast...first things first'. She refused again, so I slapped her and said 'Suck it bitch, I'm doing you a favor by even letting you touch it, you ugly fucking cunt!'"
My jaw dropped.
Phil's friend laughed again.
"Did she?" he asked.
"It took more persuading, but you bet she did...but before she even got it in her mouth I grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, and said, 'You'd better make this good, but don't worry, I'm going to reward your efforts...right afterward, I'm going to shove it all the way up that tight little ass of yours."
Equally disgusted and horrified, I whipped my head around to the Circulation Desk, looking over at the librarian, who was sitting well within earshot...
...only to see her texting busily...
...so engrossed in it that she wasn't even aware of the conversation.
Or maybe she just didn't care.
I was dragged involuntarily back to the discussion as Phil's friend asked, "Aren't you worried she'll go to the cops?"
"Nah. The bitch was so fucking drunk that this morning I'm sure she won't even remember where she was...or that it was me who plowed her... in fact she won't remember anything...except for her aching, bleeding asshole...I guarantee she won't forget that in a hurry! Which reminds me-"
I didn't wait around to hear the rest.
Getting to my feet, I abandoned my pile of unread magazines, and stumbled to the far end of the room...
...toward it's left-hand back corner...
...and solitude.
Sitting down on the carpeted floor, I grabbed a random book from one of the shelves in front of me, and then, not even bothering to check the title, I leaned back wearily against the cool plaster wall behind me. Opening the book somewhere in the middle, I stared down at it, numbly, not comprehending what I was looking at...
...until, less than three minutes later, I heard a stern voice demanding, "What are you doing back here?"
"Uh...reading," I replied, looking up abruptly, to see a rather large library security guard standing, hands on hips, directly in front of me...
...and scowling down at me.
"We have tables up front for reading," he announced, "so you can't be back here."
"But it...it's quieter back here," I pointed out.
"Well, well, who's not being a good listener?" he replied, now speaking to me as if I were five years old. "Didn't I just say you can't be back here?"
Not wanting to start an argument with him...
...one which, with my luck, would find it's way straight back to Grandad...
...I merely nodded.
"Well then," he continued, just as condescendingly, "I suggest that you move...immediately."
Shoving the book I was still holding back into a random gap on one of the shelves, I got to my feet and headed, obediently, back to the front of the room; but instead of stopping at the table I'd sat at earlier, I continued on...
...all the way out the front door. Stopping at the bottom of the library steps, I took a deep breath...
...while trying, and failing, to steady myself...
...and then, I began walking...
...with no idea where...
...or why.
So far the rain had held off, but, within minutes, it finally began, in the form of a bare drizzle...
...and I smiled wryly, surprised that, after the way my day had been going so far, it wasn't pouring on me.
I spent the next hour or two wandering aimlessly, not taking in my surroundings; but eventually my awareness returned, as I noticed that I'd reached one of Yakima's residential areas...in fact, the one nearest my own neighborhood...
...and ten minutes later, I ended up at the front gate of the East Wilson Street Playground; which, due to the impending rain, was currently deserted. I remembered having played here as a kid...and, entering, I crossed over to its far side, where I found myself staring at its most appealing attraction...
...the long, tall, wavy sliding board.
I'd always loved this slide, not just for its shape, height, and length; but also because of the little enclosed fort that stood at the top...
...which was just big enough for two rowdy children...
...or one lonely eighteen-year old...
...and, immediately climbing to the top of the ladder, I crawled inside...
...wanting to get away from the rain...
...and the world.
Sitting down, I leaned back against the enclosure's formerly red, but now sun-bleached-pink fiberglass wall...
...savoring the semi darkness and the solitude...
...but less than a minute later, I was looking down at my watch.
CRAP!
Two hours ago, I'd been so focused on getting out of the house (and away from Grandad), that I'd completely forgotten to take tonight's dinner out of the freezer. Unfortunately, our microwave's defrost feature doesn't work correctly (it actually incinerates the food), and I didn't want him pissed off at me.
While eavesdropping earlier, I hadn't heard what he was planning with Mrs. L...or if he'd even be home in time for dinner (which I always start cooking around 5:30), but still, I was taking no chances; and so, even though I had no desire whatsoever to talk to him...
...I called his cellphone anyway. He didn't answer, so I just left a message, asking him to take the boneless chicken breasts out of the freezer to defrost...
...and then I hung up...
...abruptly...
...because my other line was ringing...
...and, looking at my phone's display, I was overjoyed to see that the call was from Sam! Since the day I arrived in Yakima, she's only ever called me in the evenings; and, since it was now barely one p.m., it could only mean one thing...
...that she's remembered it's my birthday!
Heart pounding, I clapped the phone to my ear.
"SAM?"
"Hi, Carls!"
"Hi! This is a nice surprise...and you're calling early," I said pointedly.
"Well yeah...but there's never a wrong time to call you."
"Aw, Sweetheart! You always say the sweetest things! So, what's the occasion?" I prompted her.
"I just wanted to say 'hello'," she answered.
"R-really?" I asked, suddenly and desperately hoping that I'd heard her wrong. " That's it?"
"Yeah, there's nothing interesting going on here right now," she informed me.
"W-well, then, let's just talk for a while anyway...about anything," I urged...
...thinking that maybe, if I spent enough time dropping enough subtle hints, she'd remember it was my birthday."
"Sorry...can't," she replied dismissively. "I'm going to be busy for the rest of the day, but I decided to give you a fast call right now, because you know I never let a day pass without saying 'hi.'"
"No, you don't...uh, you're busy...busy doing what?" I asked.
"Don't ask...it's too horrible to describe!" she groaned, then added, "So, anyway, I've gotta run, but give me a call tomorrow, okay?"
"Uh, okay," I murmured...
...with an obvious catch in my voice...
...which she obviously missed, because she sounded quite cheerful as she ended, "Okay then...bye!"
She hung up.
I spent the next minute or so staring down at the darkened phone in my hand...
...and then, falling back against the damp, cold fiberglass wall behind me, I pulled my knees up under my chin, lowered my forehead onto them, and began to cry.
Sam had forgotten after all...
...and the only reason she's ever remembered in the past is because Spencer always asks for her help when he's planning my parties.
After only a few minutes, I stopped crying...
...because there really didn't seem to be any point in it...
...but still, I spent the rest of the early afternoon sitting there, utterly alone...in every sense of the word...
...wallowing deeply in much-justified self-pity...
...until finally, realizing that I needed to pee and to start dinner, I emerged from my temporary sanctuary, into the misty afternoon...
...and headed home.
Halfway there, the sun (finally and mockingly) came out.
Seeing Grandad's car parked in the driveway did nothing to diminish my melancholy...
...but I did my best to hide this as I entered the living room, to find him sitting on the couch, reading.
"Hi," I offered.
"Hello."
I stood there, waiting, for nearly a minute, for him to say something else...
...anything else...
...but he turned his eyes back downward, and the silence stretched on painfully...
...and, just wanting to be alone again, I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
Oh no!
Why me, Lord? I asked silently...
...but no answer came...
...and, expecting the worst, I stuck my head out kitchen archway.
"Grandad?"
He looked back over the top of his evening paper.
"Yes?"
"Uh, didn't you get my message? I called earlier, asking you to pull chicken breasts out of the freezer for dinner, because I forgot to this morning."
Grandad frowned.
"Can't you just defrost them in the microwave?" he asked.
"No. The defrost feature is screwed up," I reminded him.
A long stretch of awkward silence ensued...
...until, finally, he said ,"Well, I guess we could order a pizza."
Relieved, I nodded.
"All right, then. I'll call Marioni's," he said...
...and my heart plummeted.
I'd only eaten at Marioni's once...
...but once was enough!
I have vivid memories of that place, because they'd put anchovies on by mistake...
…and those anchovies were chopped...which meant that they were virtually impossible to remove...
...and, even though I like most types of food, that's one I absolutely hate! Grandad, annoyed at my reluctance, had told me to 'grow up'...
...and to 'stop over-reacting'...
...and that 'they're only anchovies'...
...and that, unless I wanted 'to go hungry that evening, I'd eat them anyway'...
...and so I did...
...only to have them come right back up an hour later.
My unpleasant reminiscing was cut short when Grandad repeated, "Okay, I'll call and ask them to deliver."
And then...inspiration struck.
"Why ask them to deliver? Marioni's is only three blocks away, and it's a nice evening...so why don't we just walk over and have dinner there?" I suggested...
...not bothering to tell him that my real objective for going was to stand as close to the work station as I possibly could, watching the cook like a hawk, making sure he got the order right before he put the damn thing in the oven!
Grandad shook his head.
"No, we're staying here...and I'll tell you why...because its almost six P.M...which means that you and I are going to watch the news...together. You don't spend nearly enough time studying world events," he announced...
...and my heart plummeted again.
Before I could come up with any kind of argument or alternative to suggest, Grandad stood up and felt in his pockets for his phone. Realizing that he must have left it on his desk, he turned and headed down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, "Pepperoni and extra cheese...is that okay?"
"Yes, please," I answered...
...then adding (under my breath), "And hold the fucking anchovies!"
Less than five minutes later, I heard him step back into the hallway, but instead of returning to the living room, he walked into the bathroom instead...
...and suddenly, I realized that my phone was vibrating...
...and, yanking it from my pocket, I saw that the caller was Sam!
"Hi, Cupcake!" she exclaimed.
"Hi! what are you doing?" I asked.
"Wondering what you're doing."
"Don't ask," I groaned.
"That bad, huh?" she replied sympathetically.
"Worse!" I replied. "The News!"
"Oh, crap! So what are you making him for dinner to retaliate...something with arsenic?" she suggested eagerly.
"I'm not making anything; Granddad's having something delivered," I informed her.
"Well that's good...because at least you'll have a break from cooking," she pointed out; then added, "Anyway, I'm glad I caught you. I had to call again, because I just realized that I forgot to tell you something this morning...something extremely important!"
"That's okay!" I replied eagerly...
...forgiving her instantly...
...and then, as I sat holding my breath...
...reminding myself not to squeal until after she'd wished me a Happy Birthday...
...she stated, in an incredibly excited voice, "Carlotta Taylor Shay...I'm calling to tell you...
...that Nevel was arrested!"
Stunned...
...by the realization that she'd forgotten after all...
...I found it impossible to respond.
I'd have burst into tears if I'd even tried.
Nearly a minute of silence passed, and then she asked, "Carls are you still there?"
"Y-yes," I replied, somehow managing to regain partial contol over my emotions; and, struggling to keep my voice even, I asked, "S-so...what happened?"
Completely oblivious to what she'd just done...
...of how badly she'd just crushed me...
...she went on eagerly, "Well, two days ago, around 6 P.M., my cousin Garth was at that grocery store over on East Madison, you know...The Food Circus. Anyway, a few months ago, he saw that web cast we did about Nevel, the one where he yelled at that little girl, so he recognized him standing in the checkout line next to his. Well, as it turns out, Nevel's line wasn't moving, because the lady who was four people ahead of him wanted to pay with a check and couldn't find her I.D.; and he was getting really antsy about it, shifting from one foot to other, complaining that she needed to hurry up, because he had a hundred things to do that evening. Anyway, Nevel's lane was the Express Check-Out, which has a limit of ten items or less...and he was furious that it still wasn't moving; and then, he noticed that the man standing ahead of him had two six-packs of soda, so he started giving the guy a hard time, saying that two six packs is twelve cans, which is really twelve items instead of two, which meant that he was over the limit, which meant that he needed to get into another lane...immediately. They got into a huge argument about it; and then, the man standing ahead of the 'Soda Guy', who was only buying a dozen eggs, turned around and joined in...and he was taking 'Soda Guy's' side! This pissed Nevel off, so he yelled, "Hey, you with the eggs! That's twelve too...so get out of line!"
"That...does sound like Nevel," I admitted.
"Wait!" Sam exclaimed excitedly. "There's more! So, the guy with the eggs left his place in line and walked back to where Nevel was standing, to continue their argument; and after another couple of minutes of yelling at each other, Nevel, who was holding an entire side of smoked salmon, smacked the 'Eggs' guy in the face with it...hard...and, seconds later, the two of them were thrashing around on the floor! It took four security guards to separate them! Ten minutes later, the cops were dragging Nevel out of the store...in handcuffs!"
"Well, that's certainly an entertaining story. So, is that the only reason why you called me...I mean, is there...is...there...anything else?" I asked hopefully
"Nah," she replied dismissively, "I just thought you'd want to know. Anyway, gotta run again, so call me tomorrow okay?"
Numb, I told her that I would...
...and then, I turned my phone off.
She had forgotten after all...
...but at that moment there was no time to feel sorry for myself...
...because Grandad was now sitting in the armchair next to the couch...
...remote in hand...
...and, less than a minute later, I found myself staring at The Six O'Clock News...
...cringing inwardly (and probably outwardly, too)...
...and not even the slightest bit interested in dinner anymore...
...because nothing kills an appetite faster than watching endless footage of smudgy-faced, crying orphans, set against a back drop of desolate war-torn Third-World countries!
After nearly half an hour of this torment, the doorbell (finally) rang.
Grandad, after glancing at his watch, pulled out his sterling silver money clip and handed me twenty-five dollars.
"That must be the driver. Here, tell him to keep the change," he directed, rising from his chair.
I watched as he disappeared into the kitchen; and then, getting up from the couch, I headed across the living room...
...dragging my feet the entire way...
...wondering if they'd actually gotten the order right this time, or if my already-abysmal evening was about to suck even worse, as I tried to choke down revolting anchovies...
...the smell of which would only remind me of this morning's hell, when I fertilized the garden...
...and, with my stomach beginning to churn again, I opened the front door.
Moments later, I was holding a huge Marioni's Pizza box in my hands...
...but only for a split second...
...before throwing it onto the table by the door...
...and then flinging my arms around the 'delivery guy', and bursting into tears...
...with my face pressed against the left shoulder of her teal-and-white-striped rugby shirt.
I felt her pushing my hair away from my ear, and saying in a low voice, "Cupcake, it's a known fact that Yakima pizza sucks, but there's no need to get this upse-"
"I've m-missed you!" I sobbed, tightening my arms...
...and pulling her as close to me as I possibly could. "Oh G-god, I've m-missed you s-so m-much!"
"Shh. It's okay. I'm here now. Go thank your grandad," she whispered...
...but I couldn't let go of her.
I have no idea how much time passed, but it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, when finally Grandad called across the room to Sam, "The bathroom's at the far end of the hall. Why don't you go wash up?"
I felt her nodding, and seconds later, she pulled free of my reluctant, imprisoning arms...
...and then I watched as she headed down the hall...
...but I didn't follow...
...because, somehow, I knew that he wanted to speak to me...
...alone.
And so, I turned to him...
...standing over on the other side of living room, at the entrance to the kitchen...
...where, as I glanced past his left shoulder, I noticed that he had already set the table...
...for three.
Trembling with uncertainty, I approached him...
...slowly and tentatively...
...more than a little confused at the stern, 'This is far from over' expression I saw on his face...
...and wondering if I should hug him anyway. My question was soon answered, when he blocked me from doing so, by extending his right hand in front of him, at chest level...
...and, as he did, I saw the piece of paper he was holding in it.
It was lavender...
...and covered in green ink...
...and immediately, I recognized it as the one he'd brought home from Mrs. Payne's nearly two weeks ago...
...but now, less than two steps from where he stood...
...I froze in my tracks...
...because from here, I clearly saw that the penmanship on it wasn't Mrs. Payne's at all...
...but had been written in an entirely different hand...
...and a very familiar one at that.
Suddenly realizing that Grandad was waiting...
...I took another two steps forward, closing the gap between us; and, with trembling hands, I took the paper from his, and then...
...without a word, I began to read:
{Dear Mr. Shay,
Your neighbor, Mrs. Payne, let me come into her house to write this note, and promised to deliver it to you.
Anyway, I'm not confiding in Carly about any of this, so please don't say anything to her.
From what she's told me, I know that the two of you have had a falling-out, and that it was a bad one; but I'm writing to tell you that it's not her fault.
It's mine.
And the reason that it's mine is because Carly had promised me that trip to Atlantic City...for well over a month. She knows that I come from a, well, a very disadvantaged background, and, since I've grown up missing out on so many things that other kids take for granted, she really wanted me, for the first time in my life, to be able to go on vacation. And when you said she couldn't go, it wasn't her own disappointment that caused her to yell at you, it was knowing how disappointed I was going to be. That's the only reason she acted the way she did; and so, if you're going to be upset with anyone, please be upset with me.
I know that you aren't the least bit interested in anything I have to say; still, I feel I owe you both an explanation and an apology; and I know that it may be impossible for me to ever make amends for everything that's happened, but I still want to try.
Anyway, Carly had mentioned once or twice that you were 'somewhat less than satisfied' with your current landscaper's results, so I came down this morning and took care of your lawn and hedges myself; and I give you my solemn word that I'll be back, every single Sunday, to do this...completely free of charge.
I realize that I am no longer welcome in your home, for more than one reason, and so I want to assure you that while I'm working on your yard, I won't cause any trouble at all, and that I won't try to see Carly at all either. All I'm asking in return is that you please not be angry at her anymore; she's a genuinely good person, and she doesn't deserve it.
Once again, I'm really, really sorry...for everything that's happened...
...and I'm going to do anything and everything I can, for as long as you want, to try to make things right.
Sincerely,
Samantha Puckett
P.S. I hope you don't mind, but I also took the liberty of washing and waxing your car.}
Shaking, and completely numb, I lifted my astonished eyes to his still-glaring ones, then handed the paper back to him and watched as he refolded it; and it disappeared, once again, into his pocket.
I couldn't believe it.
Sam...
...my Sam...
...doing hard, physical labor...
...VOLUNTARILY?
And where was she getting the money for bus fare?
As it turned out, I didn't have time to ponder either of these questions because, suddenly, I noticed that she had rejoined us.
Seconds later, she was shrugging her backpack off. Grandad took it from her and, after setting it on one end of the couch, he led us out to the kitchen. Without a word, he pointed at the chair directly across from his own, and with a nod she sat in it, while I sat at my usual spot, down at the far end of the rectangular table...
...waiting silently...
...while he sat, staring across the table at her...
...scrutinizing her intently...
...and I'm sure that she was well aware of it, but either she wasn't phased by this, or else she was hiding her nervousness very, very well. Finally, Grandad opened the lid of the pizza box...
...but I barely noticed what was inside it...
...because I was so thrilled to be in the same room with Sam that, if there had been anchovies on the pizza tonight...
...even ten pounds of them...
...I wouldn't have cared.
Less than a minute later, wordlessly, the three of us began eating...
...but I wasn't looking at my pizza...
...I was looking at her...
...but she wasn't looking at me...
...she was looking at her pizza...
...and, occasionally, up at him...
...as if asking his permission to speak...
...but, by his glare...and his silence...he made it very clear to her that he wasn't granting it...
...and so, she didn't say a word, but continued eating her dinner. As for me, I didn't speak either...
...and didn't even bother to ask for permission.
I knew better.
Anyway, Sam, judging by how thin she still was, must have been absolutely ravenous, but still she ate with amazing restraint. Since the pizza was an extra-large, it had been cut into twelve pieces...
...and we all stopped after three pieces each...
...but, after noticing how longingly Sam was eying what was left, Grandad invited her to finish the remaining three...
...and she did...
..while he sat, still staring...
...like he was eagerly looking for any reason to criticize her...
...but her table manners were, possibly (and probably) for the first time in her life, absolutely impeccable.
Once the box was empty, Grandad set it over on the kitchen counter and then, after sitting back down, he looked back across the table at her. Leaning forward and glaring once again, he began, "I guess you know why I invited you here?"
And I sat there, watching her...
...intently and breathlessly...
...waiting for her to acknowledge that of course she was aware why he had...
...because today's Carly's birthday...
...but she just sat there, looking back at him...
...clearly confused...
...but, since I love her so much, I forgave her...
...because I knew for a fact that, the instant he'd told her what today is, that she was going to apologize to me, immediately and profusely, for having forgotten.
But Grandad did nothing of the sort.
He didn't tell her what today is.
Instead, he asked, "Did you see the catalog I left in the garage, on the far end of the workbench?"
"The one from The World of Roses?" she replied...
...and he nodded, then said, "Yes, I'm planning to plant six or so bushes on one side of the house...but I haven't decided which variety yet, or exactly where."
Sam looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Well, Mr. Shay, I think that over on the left-hand side of the house would be your best bet, since it has such an advantageous Southern exposure...and they're going to need at least four or five hours of sun per day" she suggested...
...and he nodded...
...and my jaw dropped in disbelief.
How could Sam, who had no prior knowledge whatsoever on the subject of flowers, suddenly have become an expert on roses? And how could she, having never picked up a rake before, let alone a lawn mower handle, be doing such a consistently-fantastic job landscaping the front yard? I wondered.
Within seconds, the answer came to me...
...as I recalled the time that Ms. Briggs had, purely out of spite, given me a D+ instead of an A on an English report...
...and Sam, livid at how upset I was, had declared...
...while holding me in her arms as I cried...
...that she was going to blow Briggs's car to smithereens.
I'd immediately (and tearfully) pointed out that she didn't even know how to make a bomb (thank God), but she'd immediately assured me that anyone could quickly become an expert, in any subject, by spending only thirty minutes online, watching videos on ZooTube...
...and now I knew why she had been so busy earlier in the day...
...and probably every other day for the past two weeks as well...
...and why she'd told me that her morning's plans were too horrible to describe.
She had been on the Seattle Public Library's computers...
...educating herself!
My thoughts soon returned to the present, where the two of them were still discussing landscaping issues...
...and I realized, to my disappointment, that she hadn't looked at me or spoken to me once since we'd started dinner...
...but still, I did my best to ignore that fact and sat in silence, listening as she offered Grandad insight after expert insight on the installation, care, and feeding of rose bushes...
...a subject in which she has had, up 'til now, zero experience...
...and less than zero interest...
...while he sat, nodding occasionally, still shrewdly sizing her up...
...and I sat, continuing to be ignored by both of them...
...waiting for them to turn in my direction, and to let me in on the joke...
...waiting for them both to laugh, and to say that they were only kidding, and had been planning this whole thing for week at least...
...but they didn't. They just continued their discussion, like I wasn't even there...
...without even so much as a glance in my direction...
...and with no birthday wishes...
...from either of them.
About twenty minutes later, I vaguely remember Grandad saying something like, 'I'll order six of the Killarney bushes.'"
Sam nodded approvingly, adding, "As far as Hybrid Tea roses go, I think those are your best bet."
What was happening?
Why hadn't she looked in my direction...even once...
...even though she's been here for almost two hours?
And then, suddenly, it hit me.
Sam had told Grandad that she wasn't going to try to see me; and now I understood the expression on his face as he'd shown me the letter. He was saying, 'This is her sacrifice; what's yours going to be?'
And now I was seeing for myself, first-hand, exactly what her sacrifice was...
...and that it didn't just involve just weekly, back-breaking landscaping work...
...but that (even though we'd been kept apart for months) she was also willingly depriving herself of the (desperately-longed-for) pleasure of my company...
...to show him how incredibly sorry she was for what had happened...
...and, even though this hurt me badly...
...I realized that she was doing it for me...because she loves me...
...and so, I blinked back the tears that were starting to form in my eyes...
...and bit back the urge to scream at both of them to at least look at me...
...even once.
And then I noticed that they seemed to have exhausted the subject of rosebushes, because they both fell silent. Grandad sat, leaning forward, still staring at Sam...
...while she sat, looking back at him pleasantly...
...and suddenly, Grandad cocked his head to one side.
"You're looking kind of thin these days," he observed...
...but before she could respond, he added, "So, can I interest you in dessert...maybe some cake?"
At once, she nodded...
...and my heart jumped. He had been to the bakery after all!
"Yes, please," Sam replied...
...trying (and failing) to not sound too eager and hungry...
...and, with a curt nod, he got up from the table and walked over to the left-hand kitchen cabinet...
...while I sat holding my breath...
...only to release it, crushed, as he pulled out a plain marble loaf cake...
...one that he'd bought at the grocery store.
No icing...
...no writing...
...no candles...
...and still no still acknowledgment, from either of them, that I was even in the same room.
Sam, who (out of necessity) has never been a picky eater, didn't seem to mind that it was only a pound cake Grandad was serving; and within ten minutes, she'd finished three pieces...
...while I'd barely eaten three bites...
...when, seeming to realize that dinner was over, she got up from her chair and started to clear the table.
"That's not necessary," he informed her, "Carly will clean up later."
As she set the stack of plates in the sink and turned to look at him, he got up himself, and then led us both into the living room...
...and over to the TV.
With a silent sigh, I sank down onto the couch, while Sam turned to Grandad.
"What's on?" she asked.
"Twentieth Century French Philosophers," he answered, "a subject that I'm sure won't interest you in the least."
At this, I smiled...
...quietly yet smugly...
...because I knew that truer words had never been uttered...
...but my sarcastic smirk quickly morphed into slack-jawed disbelief as I glanced back over at Sam...
...who looked like Christmas had just come early.
"Are you kidding? I love French philosophy!" she exclaimed, throwing herself down into the armchair. "Although I must take issue with Sartre's views on Existentialism...since they conflict so profoundly with my own personal religious beliefs," she added...
...while Granddad's jaw dropped...
...and I almost fell off the couch!
W...? T...? F...?
If there's one thing I know for a fact, it's that Sam positively hates anything to do with history...
...not to mention the social sciences...
...and she wouldn't know an Existentialist from an Extra Terrestrial...
...so now, how can she suddenly be such an expert on...
...oh, yeah...
...Zoo Tube.
I remember zero about the show...
...because I spent the entire sixty minutes looking over at her...
...as she sat, only five feet away, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees...
...staring rapturously at the TV screen...
...while I sat, wishing that she was on the couch with me, instead of over in the armchair...
...and fighting as hard as I could against the burning, compelling urge to run over and plant myself on her lap...
...and about two hundred kisses on her face...
...forcing her to look at me.
As I mentioned, I remember zero about the show.
An hour later it ended, and Grandad picked the remote up, and switched to the news channel; and then, after glancing at his watch, he looked over at Sam.
"I think the last bus to Seattle is leaving in about twenty minutes."
Wordlessly, she nodded.
"And it's an almost fifteen minute walk to the bus station from here, so you'd better head out now," he added...
...while I sat, speechless...
...not believing what I'd just heard. The bus station he was referring to is located near Murphy's Pool Hall...
...in one of Yakima's worst neighborhoods...
...and he wasn't even offering to drive her!
So as Sam stood up, I did too...
...but before I could utter a word, Grandad turned to me.
"No."
And then, before I could even begin to protest...
...he stated, "I don't want you walking back home alone...in the dark."
"Thank you for dinner, Mr. Shay, and I promise I'll be back next Sunday to take care of the front yard," Sam announced...
...and I looked over, to see her shouldering her backpack...
...and then, for the first time since I'd hugged her at the front door, she turned in my direction...
...and spoke to me.
"It was nice to see you again, Carls," she said...
...politely, yet with an unmistakeable undercurrent of longing in her voice...
...and, turning away, she walked through the open front door, and out into the misty Yakima night...
...and then, she was gone.
And I, in a daze, stumbled out to the kitchen and cleaned up...
...not comprehending any of what had just happened...
...only knowing that Grandad MUST have known it was my birthday...
...even though Sam hadn't...
...and that he obviously had deliberately planned this whole evening for one reason only: To Torture Me!
Once the last dish had been washed, and the counters wiped down, I re-entered the living room...
...but Grandad wasn't there.
He'd already gone to bed...
...without extending birthday wishes...
...and without even a 'Good Night'...
...and, heartbroken, I went to take a long shower.
Forty minutes later, I'd put my pajamas on and climbed into bed...
...numb and despairing...
...and, despite having promised myself that I wasn't going to cry, I felt hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes anyway...
...as I fell back onto my pillow...
...and sat up again, just as quickly...
...rubbing the back of my neck, which had just collided with something pointy.
Turning toward the headboard, I reached down and tossed my pillow aside...
...and then I froze, speechless, at what was under it...
...because I found myself staring down at large, rectangular box., covered in red-and-white striped gift wrap.
I couldn't believe it.
I'm so upset I must be hallucinating, I told myself...
...but, nonetheless, I reached forward and, slowly and tentatively, touched one trembling finger to the box's front edge.
It was real.
But still, I sat staring at it...
...with my heart pounding...
...for what must have been at least five minutes...
...until finally, hands shaking, I removed the envelope that was taped to its top, and opened it.
She had designed and drawn the card herself...
...which made it that much more meaningful to me...
...and looking down at it, I smiled broadly...
...for the first time that day.
Its front flap featured an accurately...and elaborately...drawn picture of Freddie, behind his tech cart, holding onto some piece of electronic equipment...
...while being electrocuted...
...violently...
...with his feet completely off the floor...
...and with abundant, black smoke pouring out of both his ears...
...and with his hair sticking out jaggedly in all directions...
...and with bright orange/red flames shooting out from the butt area of his jeans...
...and underneath, in huge capitol letters was written:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
(Eagerly, I opened the card and looked inside.)
And I'll Bet You Thought I Forgot!
That was all she had written...
...but it was enough.
More than enough.
And then, I realized how she had managed to do it. She still had her backpack with her when she went into the bathroom to wash up, and on her way back, she'd sneaked into my room.
Setting the card aside, I sat, looking down at my still-wrapped gift...
...breathless...
...eager to see what she'd bought me...
...but also wanting to savor the anticipation for as long as possible.
Finally, I couldn't wait another second...
...and so I nervously, clumsily, ripped the wrapping paper from the box...then opened the lid...
...and gasped, as I saw what she'd given me.
It was a a gorgeous cream colored, V-neck lambswool sweater...almost identical to the one I'd told her about, two months ago...
...the one that I'd loved so much...
...the one that had been destroyed by Tiffy Myers and her thugs...
...and it must have cost Sam a fortune...
...but where did she get the money for...oh, no!
Oh, God...no!
She's been skipping meals!
Again!
That's why she still looks so thin!
Immediately making a mental note to start sending her more money every week, so she'll be able to cover bus fare and other necessities, as well as groceries, I lifted the sweater from the box and unfolded it.
She'd gotten the size right; and even though it was now the end of July and too warm to wear it just yet, I promised myself that I would, the instant fall arrived.
With a smile, I set the sweater aside...
...and then I froze again...
...completely stunned...
...because now I saw, for the first time, that there was something else in the box.
Sam had given me a second gift.
One that meant more to me than one thousand sweaters...
...and reaching down with a trembling right hand, I lifted it from the box.
It was a huge braid of long, blonde hair...
...tied neatly at both ends with royal blue ribbon...
...Sam's hair...
...but where had it come from? When I'd seen her tonight, her hair looked as voluminous as ever.
And then, I noticed a small folded note card, dangling from one end.
Breathless, I removed it and then opened it...
...to see the words:
Until you can play with the rest of it.
P.S. You are so loved.
And, almost immediately, her words became a blue blur...
...because of the tears that were flooding my eyes.
She remembered.
Sam had remembered my birthday...
...and she's been starving herself, day after day, just so she could give me a memorable gift...
...and she wrote that long, eloquently-articulate (especially for her) letter to Grandad...
...and she's doing hard physical labor on my behalf...
...every week...
...because that's how much she loves me...
...and, suddenly, I realized that life didn't seem quite so unbearable anymore...
...and, even though I didn't understand any of what had transpired during the past four hours...
...and even though my head was spinning with the hundred+ questions I wanted to ask her in the morning...
...I gratefully slid the braid up under my pajama jacket...
...and then rolled over onto my stomach; and, within minutes I was sound asleep...
...with Sam's hair between my breasts.