I flipped to the back of the journal, skipping to an entry titled “October 2002.”
I looked over to Clay, but he didn’t look too excited about this one.
“Are you sure?” he asked, a look of hesitation on his face. What could be so bad about this one? I wondered. If it was anything like the first couple, I could probably use some popcorn and chocolate along the way.
“Yes, I’m sure. Lets do it!” I was excited.
“All right.” Clay shrugged. He extended an open palm in my direction. We touched and everything faded away. The darkness transformed into my grandparents’ kitchen. By the time the darkness faded I felt a little dizzy, but it wasn’t the dark place that made me feel nauseous; it was the shift in surroundings.
I could see Grampy cooking pancakes while Nan watched television in the living room. She kept tapping the armrest next to the phone, as if she was waiting for a call.
Grampy put the pancakes on a plate and brought them out to her. Nan looked pretty stressed out. I rarely ever saw her like that.
“Did Jayla call this morning?” Grampy asked.
“No. She didn’t.”
“I can’t believe she left like that.” He shook his head and placed the pancakes on the coffee table. “It’s been three days and not even a phone call. It has to be that damn boy.”
“I don’t know. It’s not like her to pull off a disappearing act,” Nan replied. She sighed. “Thank you for breakfast, hon. But I don’t think I can stomach any food right now. The stress is eating me.”
Grampy kissed Nan on the forehead; it made my heart smile.
“You don’t worry about a thing,” he said.
Grampy took the plate back to the kitchen. I could see the stress on Nan’s face. She stood up and I followed her outside to the deck. She shook her head and slammed her first on the deck railing, over and over again.
“Where is that stupid! stubborn! girl!” she yelled.
Grampy came outside two seconds later with a worried face.
“Hey, hey. Tanya.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Shh. She’s going to come back soon.”
“What if she doesn’t come back?” I could see tears coming from Nan’s eyes. “What if something happened? I don’t know. She hasn’t been herself lately. I shouldn’t have got into it with her that night. I shouldn’t have….” She was weeping now and Grampy just held on tight. I could see his eyes were filled with fear too.
“God,” I said aloud. “What happened?”
Clay looked at me, but he didn’t reply. He wanted things to play out for me to see.
“I’m going to take a ride downtown,” Grampy was saying. “Maybe she’s around there. I think you should stay here in case she comes back.” He pulled back and looked her in the eyes for a moment. “Let’s go inside, okay?”
Grampy led Nan inside, then grabbed his keys—the same keys that were now mine—and made his way to the truck. I followed. Once we were in the garage, I hesitated. Now what?
“This is where you should get in,” Clay explained. I opened the passenger door and slid in. It was like I wasn’t even there, because I guess, in a way, I wasn’t.
Clay knew what I was thinking. “You can’t change anything,” he assured me. “He can’t see or hear you. You’re only observing what he wrote.” Clay’s voice resonated in my ears, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“So…how could I talk in the other memory?”
“Because that’s the one you wrote. It was your memory. Again, you could say whatever you want. But nothing would really shift how things played out.”
Grampy put the truck in reverse and made his way towards the main road. It led him out of the south end. He turned on the radio. He drove down Main Street keeping his eyes to the sidewalk, hoping he would find Mom. He turned and drove towards the water. Then he parked in the same parking lot Clay and I were in now, behind the bar. He got out of the truck and walked to the door.
“This is…weird,” I said to Clay, watching Grampy disappear inside.
“Go in,” I heard Clay’s voice respond.
I got inside just in time to see Grampy go right up to the bartender, who was cleaning glasses.
“Hey, hey, Rudy,” the man said. “It’s been too long. Can I get you anything?”
“Not today. But have you seen that Morrison boy around?”
“Blake?” the bartender asked, pointing to a booth over to his right. There was a young man with white skin and blond hair, face first into the bar counter with half a glass of beer sitting beside him. “I think I found the treasure you’re looking for.”
“Yeah. And I’m going to bury it.” Grampy moved forward and grabbed the young man by the collar of his jacket, lifting him up.
“Woah, woah, woah!” The young man mumbled, waking up. “Last call isn’t until—”
Grampy pulled him off of the chair and let go, dropping him backwards onto the floor. He hit it. Hard.
“Listen, you little shit.” Grampy leaned down. “Where. Is. My. Daughter?”
My jaw dropped. It was a mixture of amazement, shock, and disbelief. I never took Grampy as the type of person to get into bar fights. It felt like a movie.
“Oh, shit,” the young man said once he realized who Grampy was. He tried to get up but Grampy sent him back to the floor, harder than before.
“Ow! Stop doing that.”
Grampy grabbed him by the face and said, “I’m not playing, boy. I will send you down again. The only reason I passed you was because I was sick of looking at you in my class. And why,” he squeezed to emphasize his point, “is a twenty-one-year-old dating my seventeen-year-old daughter?”
Ew. Okay, that was weird. I always thought that guys who went after younger girls like that were never mature enough to date people their own age. It was a gross power dynamic issue.
“Okay,
