Abe couldn’t find any words. Oh he knew well enough what he wanted to say: Why are you here and why are you so old looking and who is that little girl brushing her teeth in my bathroom and why did she slam the door in my face and call me Grandpa.
He knew what he wanted to say, but he simply couldn’t find the right sounds to say them.
“Nnnhh,” he began. His voice frightened him. It wasn’t his. The tongue pressing against teeth wasn’t his. The too-old Jay led Abe down the hall to the family room and started to help him settle onto the couch.
Click.
Everything slid into focus.
“Jay?”
“Dad, are you all right?”
“I’m…of course I’m all right.” And he was. Now he was, although he vaguely recalled being disoriented only moments before. Or was that part of the dreams? He wasn’t sure. But now he remembered Jay and Ellen coming yesterday, remembered sitting in the rocker and watching his sweet, lovely granddaughters and his fine, handsome young grandsons playing together, thinking how proud Mattie would be of all of them.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. He glanced around at the room, taking in the clumps of sleeping bags tossed in the corner. His eyes swept across the clock face.
“Oh no,” he said. “It can’t be that late. I was going to get up early and start cooking…”
“No you don’t,” Jay said firmly. “You sit right here.”
Abe melted back into the couch. It felt nice. A woman entered the room. He looked up at her curiously. She seemed familiar. She was… Damn, he had almost had it there for a moment. He looked more closely at her. She was…she was Linda. Of course. Linda. Jay’s wife. Abe shook his head and sighed. It was so hard to remember things anymore. Everything seemed to get all mixed up some days. Other days, he was fine. Those were the days he when he would call Jay and Ellen and the grandkids on the telephone-no use getting them all worried because he was occasionally forgetful.
“…Not another word about it.” Linda’s voice.
“Huh,” Abe said. He caught Linda’s expression as she glanced quickly over to Jay.
“Dad, you’re not cooking anything. You’re just going to relax. We’ll pull the turkey out of the oven after Linda makes reservations for us all at a restaurant this afternoon. That’ll be nice, Thanksgiving dinner without any dishes to do or mess to clear up. Right?”
Abe was going to answer, was going to insist that he felt fine, that he could cook up a dinner like Jay wouldn’t believe-but just then the front door swung open and Ellen and Mitch and the boys trooped in. Abe thought there was a long moment of cold silence when Ellen’s eyes met Jay’s. Too bad the kids never really learned to get along, he thought. Matty was always disappointed about that.
Jay crossed over and said something to Ellen, then stood in front of Thad for a long while. Abe could see Jay’s lips moving, could even hear his voice, but the sounds didn’t make any sense. The boy listened intently, his ears and cheeks suddenly flaming. He nodded once, then Jay reached out and gave the boy a hug. At first, the boy seemed horribly stiff, almost frightened, as if terrified of his own uncle. Why? After a moment, though, Thad raised his arms and hugged his uncle in return.
That’s more like it, Abe thought. A family that really loves each other.
11
Jay had hoped for a full reconciliation, but by late morning on Thanksgiving Day, he knew that Ellen wouldn’t let that happen. Mitch was able to repair the television set, so everyone crowded into the family room to watch snatches of parades and football games.
To an outsider, it might have seemed like a perfectly normal family gathering, but Jay knew better. He felt an undercurrent of hostility that bothered him. He couldn’t quite place it. Ellen talked and laughed and joked enough; she didn’t seem to be any angrier than usual. And Thad, though he studiously avoided even approaching either Elizabeth or Anna, was soon immersed in the intricacies of football, his newly discovered basso rumbling over the rest of the hubbub of noise. Neither seemed particularly upset over the morning’s debacle. Mitch ignored Jay. That was all right by Jay. Dad seemed better as well. His eyes were not as staring, not as wild. And the moments of vagueness that had worried Jay earlier that day had disappeared. Abe sounded normal, his mind clear, his words appropriate and understandable. Maybe it was just waking up that made him sound so…distant, Jay decided.
No, everyone seemed normal.
But still there was a persistent feeling, a heaviness in his mind like a headache about to descend and ravage him, that made it impossible for him to enjoy the day.
Thanksgiving dinner passed without any incidents. The combined families took up three tables in a Baker’s Square seven miles down the freeway. The food was hot and good, the service excellent, the wait for available tables marginal (thanks to Linda’s foresight in making reservations). Abe presided over one table, quietly and rather distractedly, to Jay’s way of thinking. The kids sat at the other one, and for once Jay heard no squabbling at all from them. Once or twice, in fact, Thad or Josh said something and both of his girls would hide their faces in their hands and giggle. They were having fun together. Every element of the day was as it should have been, more subdued than usual perhaps, but nothing to suggest that anything was wrong.
Still, as Jay dressed for bed that night beneath the watchful eyes of the stuffed specimens on the walls, he felt oddly tense. His head swam, his heart raced, and for a time he was so short of breath that he had to sit on the mattress and force himself to relax. Linda came in a few moments later and rubbed his shoulders. Even that helped only marginally. His sleep that night was even more ragged, more disrupted than before.
12
“Aw, do we have to?”
Thad’s voice edged into a whine. Ellen’s harsh soprano all but drowned out the boy’s complaints.
“Yes, you do. We all do. It’s the least we can do for Grandpa Abe.” She looked around the gathered family members as if daring anyone to contradict her. She’s in her element, Jay thought with a flood of realization that startled him. She’s the matriarch, now that Mom’s gone. She’s taken full charge, telling everyone what to do and when to do it and where to go. Even Dad.
He glanced over to a patio glider that squawked thinly as Abe’s weight shifted. The old man sat silently in the shadows, his eyes downcast. Jay wondered if his father saw any of them, or whether the old man was really aware of where he was. Since the episode on Thanksgiving, Jay had been watching his father closely, not at all pleased with what he was seeing. At regular intervals, Abe seemed to phase out-almost, Jay thought, as if he were drugged. Jay had toyed with the idea of checking to see if his father’s medications were interacting but decided to wait a bit before mentioning his concerns. After all, no one else seemed to have noticed anything untoward.
That morning had started well enough, with everyone sleeping in until eight or nine. Then, right after breakfast, Ellen had hustled everyone into the back yard-including Abe, bundled in three layers of sweaters and jackets in case the crisp November air should be too much for him.
“He needs the fresh air,” Ellen insisted. “And besides, you know how much he loved to garden.”
Loved. Ellen had that one right. She herded the kids like a general marshalling troops, handing out rakes and hoes and shovels, directing her boys to one part of the overgrown yard, Jay and his girls to another. Linda had opted to stay inside and clean up in the kitchen. Mitch was out front, puttering around with his engine.
Apparently, Jay thought, it’s all right for my wife to work to straighten up her father-in-law’s place, but Mitch is somehow immune to the same obligation. He was surprised at the anger that realization kindled in him.
He turned to the job at hand-hacking down brambles of dead and dying plants that clotted the foundation line of the house. He showed Elizabeth and Anna how to grab the stiff, blackened passion-plant vines and twist them into small bundles and stuff them into thick brown lawn-and-leaf bags. He actually didn’t mind them working in the yard with him; in fact, he enjoyed it more than he would have cared to admit. It reminded him of his own childhood,
