November 29, 2006
Chapter 25
(Filed under: The Novel)"I think that'll be perfect," Jack said. Anwyn was holding up a blue baby outfit with a dinosaur playing basketball on the front.
"I like it, too," Anwyn said.
"You know I don't Catalina is in dire need of baby clothes," Jack said.
"No, probably not," Anwyn said. "But that's OK."
"I think I remember getting the announcement from them," Jack said. "It showed up a week or two later. At that point we were just culling the bills out of the mail and letting the rest pile up."
"Lost in the pile," Anwyn said. "Not where I'd like to end up."
"I’m just amazed she managed to get out an announcement so soon," Jack said. "Those things are a lot of work."
"They are if you like to procrastinate," Anwyn said.
"And what do you mean by that?" Jack said, playing like he was offended.
"We should have done this a while ago and we're just making up for it," Anwyn said, "Whether or not Mateo needs more clothes."
"You know you can't make up for everything," Jack said.
"I know," his daughter replied. "And I'm not going to." They wandered out of the baby aisle and headed towards the checkout. "I just think this one is important."
"It's a dinosaur playing basketball," Jack said. "I don't know about you, but I don't think it gets any more important than that."
"Nope, it doesn't," Anwyn said. She let her dad stand in line and pay for the gift while she wandered towards the entrance. She watched a couple little kids playing on one of the coin-operated rides in the entryway.
She remembered always wanting to ride those, but her mom always said no. But one time her and Isabelle walked past the ride with their father.
"C'mon, Dad, please?" Anwyn asked, tugging on her father's sleeve.
"Yeah, Dad, let the kid have a ride," Isabelle said, too old and too cool herself to be seen riding a fiberglass fire truck in the vestibule of a grocery store.
"Oh, I don't know," Jack said, using his mock worried voice. "Do you think it's safe?"
"Oh, c'mon, Dad," Anwyn pleaded. Jack reached into his pocket for change, but he came up short.
"Sorry kid," he said, this time dropping the voice and being serious. "But I don't have any change."
Anwyn's face fell. She let out a sigh and stuck out her lip. She was prepared to continue the pouting for the entire ride home.
"You know, you can't have everything," Jack said. He was prepping another of his speech's, ready to pick up Anwyn in his arms when Isabelle spoke up.
"Hold on," she said as she started digging into her purse. She pulled out two shiny quarters and handed them to Anwyn. "Here." She held them out to Anwyn and her little face lit up. She took the quarters and plunked them into the box next to the fire truck and then climbed aboard, managing to sit down just before the machine jolted into action and the siren started howling and the lights flashing. She beamed as the firetruck rocked back and forth and rumbled. Her mom never let her do this.
But Jack wasn't watching Anwyn enjoy the fire truck. He was watching Isabelle. She had a faint smile as she watched her little sister on the fire truck, but Jack knew she was hiding a much larger smile. He put his arm around his oldest daughter and together they watched Anwyn glow and giggle.
Now Anwyn was doing the watching.
"You ready to go?" her dad asked, coming up behind her.
"Yeah," Anwyn said, and they walked out the door towards the car.
"You know," her dad said, "I think you're a little old to ride the fire truck."
"You're never too old," Anwyn said.
"OK, true," Jack said. "But you are too old to not look ridiculous."
"Would you be embarrassed if I rode the fire truck?" Anwyn asked.
"Just a little," Jack said.
They drove back to home and arrived just in time. Oliver was picking up Anwyn for the usual Saturday trip to the nursing home.
"Un minuto," Anwyn called to Oliver as she slammed the door and ran into the house with her bag from the store. Jack got out of the car and gave Oliver a smile and a shrug. Oliver waited in the pickup truck and after a few minutes Anwyn came back out with a blue gift bag.
She climbed into the truck and handed it to Oliver.
"What's this?" he asked.
"It's for Mateo," Anwyn said.
"You didn't need—"
"Why does everybody say that?" Anwyn asked. "That's not the point. I don't need to do anything. But we do it anyway."
"Gracias," Oliver said, giving up on fighting her.
"De nada," Anwyn said. Oliver fired up the pickup and they pulled out of the driveway and headed through town, past the neighbor with his collection of unworkable cars lined up in the front yard, past the neighbor with the garden gnome guarding the front door, past the post office, the gas station and the old Richmond Café and on out of town.
"I heard you talked to Dominic," Oliver said.
"News travels fast," Anwyn said.
"Nobody has anything better to talk about," Oliver said with a shrug.
"Yeah, we talked on Monday," Anwyn said.
"Learn anything," Oliver asked.
"He's got two brothers and a sister," Anwyn said.
"I meant about Isabelle," Oliver said.
"No," Anwyn said. "I didn't ask. I don't need to know anymore."
"That's good," Oliver said. "Though I'm still wondering about truth or dare." They both laughed and started trading their theories and ideas about how Isabelle had managed to get Dominic's underwear.
When they pulled into the nursing home parking lot Oliver was still arguing for a make out session. Anwyn was standing by her trade theory and refused to budge.
"It'll be an unsolved mystery," Anwyn said as they got out of the pick up.
"You could just ask Dominic," Oliver said.
"Or you could ask him," Anwyn said.
"You don't ask another man about his underwear," Oliver said, holding the front door of the nursing home open for Anwyn.
"Then I guess you'll never know," she said with a smile.
The nurse gave both of them a forced smile and they went their separate ways, Oliver to talk to Guadalupe and Anwyn to Grandpa Frank's room.
She knocked on her grandfather's door as usual and pushed it open.
"There you are," said Grandpa Frank. "I was beginning to wonder about you."
"Oh, c'mon, Grandpa," Anwyn said. "You know I'll be here." She kissed his sandpaper cheek and sat down on the bed. She curled her legs on to the bed and leaned back on her hands. Grandpa Frank sat in his usual chair, wearing the same faded bathrobe.
"So how's my girl?" Grandpa Frank said. He had a big smile, accentuating the wrinkles on his face.
"I'm good, Grandpa," Anwyn said.
"And how are you really?" he asked, his face stern but understanding.
"I'm great, Grandpa," Anwyn said.
"Good to hear," he said, his smile back.
"I went to Lily's grave on Sunday," Anwyn said.
"You found it, huh?" Grandpa Frank said. "It's been quite a while since I've been out there myself. Though there's not really much to see."
"No," Anwyn said. "Not really. But it was good to go. I never had a chance to thank you for telling me what really happened to her. Thank you."
"No problem, kid," Grandpa Frank said. "There are some things you need to know and there are other things you don't really need to know. Most people don't really need to know about that. But some of us do."
"Thank you, Grandpa," Anwyn said. She hopped off the bed and gave her grandfather a hug. It wasn't the tear-filled, dramatic hug of last week when she had just been told about Lily's suicide and it was all washing over. Instead it was a warm and happy hug, full of joy and warmth that went deep. She soaked it up, holding her grandfather tight and breathing in the faint scent of Old Spice.
She suddenly remembered sitting on her grandfather's bed many years ago, back when he still lived in his old house and Anwyn and Isabelle were visiting for a summer. She was young and had skinned her knee when Isabelle pushed her and she fell on the concrete driveway.
The tears had started flowing and dotted the concrete as Anwyn slowly tried to stand up and brush the dirt from her bare legs. Her knee was scraped and bloody and the sight of the wound made her take the crying up a notch.
Grandpa Frank came outside to investigate and Isabelle denied it and Anwyn just blubbered. He sent Isabelle up to her room—which had actually been Jill's room when she was a girl—and took Anwyn by the hand and led her inside. He took her into his bedroom, the only bedroom on the main floor, just off the kitchen and the bathroom. The room had the scent of Old Spice and the six-year-old Anwyn found herself looking around her grandfather's room. She rarely came in here and couldn't help taking things in.
Her grandfather sat her down on the bed and kissed her on the forehead. He grabbed a box of band aids from the bathroom, pulled the little red string to open the package and then peeled back the paper backing and applied the band aid to Anwyn's skinned knee.
"There," he had said. "All better." But Anwyn didn't smile or say thank you. She just sat there looking sad. Another tear trickled down her cheek.
"What's wrong?" Grandpa Frank asked.
"Why did Isabelle do that?" Anwyn asked. She ran her finger over the fresh band aid over her knee. She could still feel a slight sting from the wound below.
"Sometimes people do mean things," Grandpa Frank said.
"How come?" Anwyn asked.
"I don't know," Grandpa Frank said. "They just do. I imagine if I asked your sister she wouldn't know why she did it either. Sometimes we can just be mean."
Anwyn didn't seem particularly cheered up by her grandfather's response.
"But what's important," Grandpa Frank said. "Is how we respond to things that happen to us. You could sit in here and cry all day, you could be mad at your sister and not talk to her again. You could hold it against her and not share your Barbies and be mean right back to her. You could do that and it'd be perfectly understandable."
Her grandfather paused for a moment and Anwyn thought about what he said, imagined being mean right back to Isabelle.
"Or," Grandpa Frank said, "Or you could choose not to let your life and your choices be defined by someone else's meanness."
"What do you mean?" Anwyn asked.
"Instead of being mean right back to Isabelle," Grandpa Frank said, "You could be nice to her."
"And then she'll be nice to me?" Anwyn asked, looking up at her grandfather.
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. It doesn't really matter what she does. What matters is what you do."
The words sunk in and Anwyn remembered sliding off the bed and going upstairs to find Isabelle. They played with their dolls and not a word was said about the pushing incident until they finished and were heading downstairs for lunch.
"I’m sorry I pushed you," Isabelle said.
"It's OK," the six-year-old Anwyn said. "I'll live."
THE END
Posted by kevin at November 29, 2006 7:49 PM
Recent Entries
Trackback Pings
TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.monkeyouttanowhere.com/cgi-bin/mt-tb2.cgi/1912
