“He’s told me the end’s coming.”
“Angela.” Aunt Linda’s voice, so sad.
“Told me that birds carry diseases. Not to eat chicken. Fish only.”
“He’s…,” Aunt Linda’s voice was slow and tired, “… dead. You found him yourself in your bedroom, hanging in the closet.”
“I remember that,” Momma said, her voice angry, the words sharp like razors. “I pulled him down. I tried to revive him. I called for help.”
“Daddy,” Aunt Linda said, “is gone, Angela. It’s time for you to get help. Time for you to let him go.”
There was a pause then and for a moment I had thought maybe they were done. That the fight was over. That I could go to bed. Not worry about them.
Then Momma: “You are jealous, Linda. You want to see him again and you’re jealous that he visits me only.”
“Oh Angela,” Aunt Linda had said. “Oh Angela.” She started crying. From my hiding place I watched her slump to the floor. Put her face in her hands.
Now in the downstairs hallway, with my heart trying to get away from me, I realized my mother was right. Had been all along. Granddaddy was here. Warning Momma. Trying to keep us safe. Telling Momma the things to do.
It was true.
I had seen him myself.
XIII
When I could move, when I could breathe, I made my way into the living room and sat down. My head spun. I thought I might pass out. But I couldn’t let that happen.
I needed to be awake if Granddaddy came back.
The thought made me wanna puke. Talking to a dead man. It scared the crap outta me. But if anyone knew where Momma was, he did. Dead people know everything, right? And if she was … if she was dead herself, he’d know it.
Please, I thought. Please don’t let her be dead.
Tears came to my eyes again. If Momma was gone—really gone—I didn’t think I could bear it at all. I’d been so angry with her. Had wanted to get rid of her.
I sat on the sofa that Momma and I had watched the news on. I remembered her arm, soft, around me. The way she cuddled me to her as she cried because of some world injustice. Me crying with her every once in a while because her sadness was contagious, like the flu.
“Momma,” I whispered now. “Momma. Where are you?”
I rested my head in my hands. Except for the ghost, I was alone.
No Momma. No aunt. Not even Aaron.
Just my dead grandfather. The thought made my skin buzz like the lightning was too close.
I’m not sure when it came to me that I needed to go looking for him. Wrestled with the thought some. But at last, I knew it.
Momma was lost. I had to find her. Aunt Linda, it seemed, wasn’t coming.
But Granddaddy, as a ghost, must know everything. I’d seen him go up the stairs. And not come back down. Maybe he flew out the window or something. Or maybe he was still up there, waiting. Maybe he had a message. A message for me. From Momma, maybe.
“That’s it,” I said. “That’s gotta be it.”
The more I thought about it, the more I knew he was probably sitting on Momma’s bed, waiting. All I had to do was stand, walk up the stairs, open Momma’s bedroom door, and talk to him.
“But there are no lights,” I said. “I’m not so sure I can meet a ghost with no lights burning. I don’t want to do this.” My hands shook.
Of course, there was a flashlight. Momma had a store of them and batteries in the kitchen cupboard.
“A test,” I said. Even though I whispered, my voice seemed loud in the house. “If I can make it into the kitchen alone, I can make it up the stairs.”
But I wasn’t so sure. When I stood up, my legs were so wobbly they almost couldn’t hold my weight. My body was so covered in goose bumps that my damp clothes hurt. In baby steps, I started down the hall. Sounds like the ocean pounded in my ears.
“Into the kitchen. Into the kitchen. You just have to make it into the kitchen.”
There was very little light. Outside the clouds hid the slender moon. From far away came the rumble of thunder. The wind still moved the trees with a swishing noise. I could hear it in the hall. Could see the movement through the screen door that seemed to stay far away, even though I walked closer and closer.
“I’m in a dream,” I said, “a nightmare,” and remembered the mice with nails that cut.
That dream had been an omen. An omen of bad things to come.
In the kitchen I had to sit down again before I got the batteries from the cabinet and the flashlight from the drawer. My hands shook. My legs shook. Even my breathing was shaky.
“Aunt Linda,” I said, when I at last had the energy to get back to my feet, “can’t you get here?”
But though I waited for a moment, I didn’t hear her car in the drive.
Do it yourself. You gotta do it yourself.
So, at last, I did.
Got the batteries in the flashlight. Flicked it on.
A stream of light so bright it almost hurt slashed through the kitchen.
“Okay, now. Okay.”
For a moment the brightness seemed to help. Seemed to draw me along behind it as I pointed the way back down the hall. But when I got to the stairs, things appeared more eerie. More dark around the light.
“You can do it,” I said. “Follow the light. For Momma.”
Up the stairs, slow. One-at-a-time slow.
The pictures, hanging on the walls, caught the beam and shone like little mirrors. I stopped and looked at the photo of Momma and Granddaddy, standing together.
I had to keep going. “Can’t wait here all night staring at a picture,” I said. “Gotta find him. Gotta find Granddaddy.” I made my voice a little singsongy. “Go toward the light.”
Wasn’t as funny as I thought it might be. My voice came out wispy.
One step
