Sea Glass Summer (7 page)

The furniture in Oliver's bedroom was old, but his bed was painted red and the side tables, dresser and chest a dark blue. It had been that way since he was six. Grandpa had let him pick the colors and the curtains and comforter with cowboys on them. They had done the painting together. And Grandpa had let him use the big brush half the time. On top of the chest were several photos of Oliver's Mom and Dad, one with them holding him as a baby and another when he was two and holding his teddy bear. Oliver still took it under the covers at night. He never fell asleep without saying goodnight to Mom and Dad's smiling faces. But, Grandpa explained, they would be right there anyway while he slept. Those photos and Teddy were now in one of the cases he would take with him that morning.

Oliver dangled a leg before climbing disconsolately out of bed. How could you be expected to like people who'd never bothered about you ever before, apart from very occasionally sending a letter? Hah! He'd overheard Twyla saying to Grandpa when one came last year that it sounded so much like those mass mailings she was surprised it didn't start out: ‘Dear Distant Friends.' Twyla had lived with them for nearly two years now. She was Grandpa's nurse. Why couldn't he stay with her? He loved Twyla. Not as much as Grandpa, of course, but a lot. Those other two were only taking him to their place because Grandpa had to go into a nursing home. It was called Pleasant Meadows, which sounded to Oliver a silly name, because how could there be anything pleasant about it? People went to nursing homes to wait to die. He was glad he'd given God a piece of his mind last night.

There was only one small, good thing about the future. Those two strangers wouldn't be taking him miles and miles away to New York immediately; that wouldn't happen until the fall. For now he would only be dragged as far as Sea Glass, which as Twyla kept saying was only down the road. He would be able to go and see Grandpa often before the big move. That's if Gerard and Elizabeth would drive him to Pleasant Meadows, Oliver thought darkly. He would never even think of them as Aunt and Uncle, unless they asked him not to call them that and he could have his secret revenge. After Grandpa wrote to them last week to explain the situation, Gerard had telephoned to say that he and Elizabeth had decided to spend the summer in Sea Glass at an old house that had been in the Cully family for a long time. Something about a break-in and feeling they should be there to prevent others from getting the same idea.

Stupid, when they'd be leaving again at the end of summer; that's what Oliver's best friend Brian Armitage had said. And stupid for Gerard and Elizabeth to come for him before summer vacation started, which wouldn't be for almost four more weeks. Even though Grandpa needed to go into the nursing home before then, Oliver could have stayed on at home with Twyla until school was out. Why were they so keen to take him right now? Brian said he had overheard his parents, Mandy and Reggie Armitage, talking and they thought the only reason could be that Gerard and Elizabeth wanted to immediately get their hands on the social security benefit checks Oliver received once a month because he was an orphan. That would make them very greedy because they were already very rich. Oliver thought Mr and Mrs Armitage were pretty darn smart.

He wasn't sure how he knew Gerard and Elizabeth had lots of money; it was just one of those things he'd grown up knowing. His parents had only had the money Dad earned working at the Ferry Landing Bank. Brian said rich people always wanted to grab at every last penny even if they risked breaking their necks to get at it. That piece of wisdom hadn't come from his parents but from his Aunt Nellie. She was actually his great-great-aunt and ninety years old. Brian was sure she would one day get into the Guinness Book of World Records for living longer than anyone had ever done. He was very proud of her because she still had her whole mind, even if none of her teeth. He also liked her because she said a lot of interesting things. ‘Actually' was currently Oliver's most frequently tossed-in word; the previous one had been ‘positively.'

Grandpa said words were something to hold in your hands like rainbow-colored drops of rain. One he and Oliver used to like to say together was ‘ventriloquism.' Just on its own, because it tried so hard to catch on your tongue. Twyla liked words too. That was one of the things that made it seem like she'd always been meant to be with them. ‘They're like people,' was her take on words. ‘Choose carefully what ones you want to make your friends.'

Oliver trudged to the bathroom in the manner of a French aristocrat approaching the guillotine. He and Grandpa had watched a black and white film called
A Tale of Two Cities
. It had been very sad, but in a good sort of way because the hero had been very brave while waiting for his head to be sliced off, saying it was the best thing he'd ever done; only he said it in a poem sort of way that Grandpa already knew by heart. Oliver, brushing his teeth with his head bowed over the basin, was far from nobly resigned to believing that going to live with Gerard and Elizabeth was the best thing. But the thought flickered pathetically that there was still a reason to be a hero, because to act miserable would worry Grandpa.

‘OK,' he told his round-cheeked, sandy-haired reflection in the mirror haughtily, ‘I already know that, but if they decide they don't like me and say I'll have to live with Twyla, or even Brian's parents, I don't think Grandpa would mind a bit. He's only sending me to them because Gerard was Dad's brother and he thinks it's the right thing to do. How can I get out of living with them without behaving in a way that would upset Grandpa?' That would take consultation with Brian, who had already expressed a wish to blast Gerard and Elizabeth to Mars or Venus, whichever was the farthest away. What Brian wasn't as keen on was visiting the Cully Mansion because it looked real creepy from the outside. His Aunt Nellie, who lived quite close to it, had made him take a look and he was sure he'd seen a ghost glide past one of the top windows.

Returning to his bedroom, Oliver slowly got himself dressed in his almost new jeans and the green cotton sweater Twyla had given him for Christmas. On any other morning he would have dragged on his clothes so he could race down to breakfast.

Grandpa believed that getting ready for the day included sitting down to a proper breakfast at the kitchen table. He said breakfast was the most important meal of the day. Bacon or sausage and eggs, juice and toast or English muffins with strawberry or raspberry jam. Never grape jelly. Oliver thought grape jelly was yuck. Grandpa said Oliver's mother hadn't liked it either, so Granny Olive had stopped making it. She had died a couple of years after his parents were killed in that plane crash. He only remembered that he'd loved her and felt safe when she held him. The narrow two-story house in Ferry Landing could have been a sad, empty place. But Grandpa hadn't let that happen when Granny Olive died. He hadn't let it happen even after getting the diagnosis from his doctor that explained what Grandpa called the ‘trembles.'

He had continued to manage fairly well for a while, and Oliver had done his best to help out. Grandpa had told him he was the best potato peeler ever, and that was saying something because Granny Olive had been something to see with a paring knife. Twyla believed boys should know how to cook and not go thinking it was a girl's job. It had been a great day when Twyla arrived. She'd said straight off that she didn't mind a bit doing the cleaning and cooking the meals as well as being Grandpa's nurse. Twyla was black. Oliver had never met a black person before. She said if people wanted to call her African American that was OK too; it made not a speck of difference to her. It was what was in people's hearts that counted. ‘Don't you go letting anyone decide who you are,' she'd told Oliver when he'd let on about being bullied by two boys at school. ‘Seems to me, lamb baby, those children don't know the Golden Rule.'

Oliver went to church with Twyla now that Grandpa couldn't take him. It wasn't the same sort of church she'd gone to in Virginia, she told Oliver, but going to St Michael's was just dandy with her. If God made the rounds every Sunday, she could go somewhere else for a change and be secure in His being there in one of the pews, not minding the slightest who had on their Sunday best and who didn't. Oliver thought now, God sure hasn't been sitting next to me. Then he felt disloyal to Twyla, like he didn't believe her. And he did; at least he thought he did.

His spirits sank even lower as he stripped the sheets and pillow cases from his bed so Twyla wouldn't have to do it. He wondered if she would make blueberry pancakes or waffles for breakfast because they were among his very best favorites. He was sure he wouldn't feel like eating anything, but he would have to try, to please her and Grandpa. Sometimes Grandpa wasn't able to get out of bed and onto the StairMaster to join them at the kitchen table for breakfast, even with Twyla's help. But as often as he could he managed to be there in his wheelchair. Grandpa had claimed to be very excited when the StairMaster was installed, saying it was going to be so much fun whizzing up and down on it and that he was going to charge Oliver a quarter a ride. Actually it went very slowly, but Twyla made a joke about wishing there was room for one on the other side so they could have races.

Oliver knew Grandpa would get down for breakfast that morning if he possibly could. It hurt to hear him trying to say the blessing clearly and to see how badly his hands shook as he tried to get the food into his mouth and sip a drink through a straw without Twyla helping him. Grandpa's
trembles
were really called Parkinson's. Twyla said Parkinson's wasn't something children got and one day there would be a cure, but Oliver didn't care about what might happen
one day
.

All those prayers every night before falling asleep that Grandpa would get well; instead he'd only got worse. Hah! Twyla said the pastor at the church she'd gone to in Virginia had talked very loud to God. Not in an impolite way, but because praising the Lord made him jump up and down and shout out for joy fit to take off the roof. Or did he do it, Oliver wondered as he tied his sneakers, to make sure God would hear him over all the thousands, millions of people around the world trying to get his attention all at the same time? And then there were those bands of angels up in heaven adding to the noise. Oliver always pictured rock bands, with guitars and drums in addition to the harps and big, big singing voices. But maybe not rappers. Somehow Oliver just couldn't imagine God sitting on clouds listening to rap. It had to be OK for Twyla's pastor to get excited when praying, but Oliver knew the rules for children were often different from the ones for adults. He prayed quietly so there was no chance of his sounding rude. But maybe he had still gone wrong somehow and that was why God hadn't answered. Surely getting rid of Grandpa's Parkinson's should be a snap compared to making the entire world in less than a week.

Grandpa must have known for a long time now that he would have to go into a nursing home. It was obvious he needed more than Twyla could single-handedly provide. There had been that frightening time when he had gotten out of bed while she was on the phone and his legs had locked in the hallway as he tried to get to the bathroom. He'd fallen before she could get to him. ‘Impatient old fool!' Grandpa had said quite clearly from the floor. Twyla had phoned for assistance, and two nice medics had arrived to get Grandpa back to bed. One of them gave Oliver a sucker. Grandpa had said with a wink: ‘I'm the sucker.' Oliver had tried to smile back to show he thought it a good joke, but it had hit him like a punch in the face that one day in the future – perhaps very soon – the vehicle that pulled into the driveway would be an ambulance and Grandpa would be taken out to it on a stretcher never to return.

‘It's a cruel thing being forced to depend for your every, most personal need, on others,' Twyla had said to Oliver with her arm around him after the medics left. ‘But your grandpa, he's a man of faith. He knows the good Lord will watch over you both like he's always done. I sure understand you not putting much store by that right this minute,' Twyla always seemed to know what he was thinking, ‘but you will some day. For now just take a hold of every living moment that you and that good man are together in this house.'

From that day onward the words ‘nursing home' had hovered, mostly silently, even over the happiest times. At the end of school yesterday Oliver's teacher had asked if he would be in class on Monday, and he'd told her that someone, he couldn't bring himself to say his aunt or uncle, would drive him in.

He wondered as he looked toward the full-length mirror if they would take one look at him and decide he was fat. The bullies he told Twyla about had called him ‘Fatty,' among other names. Afterwards he'd tried to be honest, but had never been sure of the answer. The blue-green eyes looking back at him would display optimism one moment and pessimism the next. His cheeks were definitely round. Pudgy. There was no escaping that truth. Twyla said his face was fine, better than fine, and that there was nothing wrong with the rest of him either. He was big boned – that's all there was to it. What was so great about being a stick anyhow? ‘You go right on doing like your grandpa tells you. Eating three good meals a day and when it comes to snacks make them healthy. I've yet to see you filling up on junk or not getting enough exercise. So you come right here, Mr Handsome, and give me a hug.' Oliver had never known Twyla to tell a lie, but then she loved him, and people who love you always see the best. Gerard and Elizabeth didn't love him.

The mirror had belonged to his mother, Clare. And after today she was going to seem very far away, not close by the way Grandpa always talked. Gerard and Elizabeth couldn't have loved Mom if they'd never bothered about him until now, when they'd got stuck and couldn't wiggle out. Gerard had phoned last night to say they were at the Cully Mansion. Brian was right; the name did sound spooky. They would come to collect Oliver at nine in the morning. Grandpa said it didn't have to be that early, but the time wasn't changed. Probably, thought Oliver nastily, picking him up for Those Two would be like going to the dentist: best to get it over quickly so they didn't have to keep thinking about it.