Sparrow Road (18 page)

A folded piece of paper fell out on my lap. Yellowed. With a single penny taped down on the front. Inside, the writing was from a kid in first or second grade. The kind of perfect printing Mrs. Swanson made us practice.

I turned the paper over. No name. Not anywhere. I thought about that penny sitting on the attic floor, the one Diego found that first day that we met. A penny didn’t seem worth much, but maybe it was then.

“What’s that?” Josie looked up from her sorting. She had old tin cups hooked from every finger.

“A note that someone left. A child. Someone who loved Lillian.”

“I have the feeling that they all did,” Josie said. “Just the same as us.”

It was the day before our party when I woke up with the sun. While Mama was asleep, I snuck out of our cottage, tiptoed through the main house, and went up the servants’ staircase. I crept down the shadowed hallway. Josie’s door was open, her bed was made, but Josie wasn’t there. I crossed the hall and knocked on Diego’s bedroom door.

“Raine?” he said, surprised. He stood there in the doorway, his wide face creased with sleep, his striped bathrobe knotted closed over his stomach. “Is something wrong?”

“Josie’s gone already,” I said. “I thought that you could help me.”

“Of course,” he yawned. “What is it you need?”

“Just someone to open up the attic.”

“The attic?” Diego looked confused.

“The key’s up on the ledge,” I said. “It’s too high for me to reach.”

“The key?” Diego yawned again. “Is it even morning yet?” Except for us, the artists’ house was silent.

“Sort of,” I said. “But Grandpa Mac will be here this afternoon. And the party is tomorrow. And I still don’t have any art to show.”

“No?” Diego rubbed his sleepy eyes. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Raine.”

“But I want something there to show.” Most of all I wanted a story to go with Lyman’s drawing, a story that would capture all the things I imagined Lyman felt. What it was like to be an orphan in the attic, a boy who had a marble left beneath his pillow. But so far nothing that I wrote seemed to get it right. I needed to go up and sit still in the silence. Wait. Hope Lyman’s words would come.

“You’ve been writing words for weeks,” Diego said. “Just pick a piece closest to your heart. That’s all art really is. Your feelings sent out to someone else.” He pulled the silver key off of the ledge and unlocked the attic door.

“The trouble is—I need this to be
good
. Good enough for other folks to see. Not just my dreams. And nothing that I wrote yet really works.”

“Ah,” Diego yawned again. “
Good
will goof you up from the beginning. Art just has to be. Dream your dreams. Trust the words that come.”

“I’ll try,” I said. And then I closed the door.

 

It was hours after I’d come down from the attic, hours after Mama had gone to town for groceries, and all of us had done a thousand things to get ready for the party, that Grandpa Mac finally pulled into our driveway, got out of his big Buick, and wrapped me in his arms.

“Raine, Raine, Raine, Raine, Raine,” he said. He hugged me so hard my feet flew off the ground; he must have kissed my head a hundred times. “I’ve never been so glad to get somewhere.” He smelled like I remembered—spearmint gum and Irish Spring and coffee. “This has to be the longest trip I’ve ever taken.” He let me down, then squished my cheeks between his hands. “Well, look at you!” He stared hard at my face. “I want to make sure you’re the same girl that left me in Milwaukee.”

“You look the same,” I said. He was still big bellied like Diego, his gray hair shaved into short bristles. I squeezed his big warm hand; I was glad to have his great strength close again.

“This must be the welcome wagon,” Grandpa Mac said. Everyone was lined up on the porch, Mama and the artists, even Eleanor. Lillian leaned on Viktor’s arm.

“Grandpa Mac!” Josie shouted. “We’re so thrilled you’re finally here!” She bounded down the stairs, her patchwork dress waving in the rush. I was glad Grandpa Mac knew about the boots, the neon braids, Josie’s wild ways. He didn’t look surprised at all.

“Josie, yes?” he said. He gave her hand a giant shake. “Mac’ll do the trick. I’m only Grandpa Mac to Raine.”

Josie and I pulled him toward the porch. I wanted Mama to rush right down the stairs with a giant hello hug, but instead she just stood quiet.

“Molly,” Grandpa Mac called. “How you doing, honey?” It used to be Mama didn’t come or go without a quick kiss on Grandpa’s cheek.

“Dad,” she finally said. She walked down the steps and gave Grandpa Mac a careful hug.

“Mama.” I raised my eyebrows at her. If Mama couldn’t be kinder, our family troubles wouldn’t be better before the Arts Extravaganza.

“Did you find the place okay?” Her stiff voice softened some.

“No problem there.” Grandpa Mac laughed. “I just followed all the flags.” Josie and Diego had hung bright flapping flags all the way from the house out to the highway.

Grandpa Mac slung his arm over Mama’s shoulder, and the three of us walked behind Josie to the house.

“Let me guess,” Grandpa Mac said. He shook everybody’s hand and knew them all by name. Lillian, Viktor, Eleanor, Diego. “Raine writes quite the letters,” Grandpa Mac said. “I’ve had the play-by-play. She’s sure loved her time at Sparrow Road.”

“It certainly would seem so.” Eleanor wrapped her arms around her stomach. “She’s been a busy child.” I wanted Eleanor to go back to her essays. I tugged on Grandpa Mac; there was too much happy to let Eleanor put a cloud over my day. Mama’s distant friendly worried me enough.

“Come on,” I begged. “I want to show you everything.”

“Raine,” Mama scolded. “Grandpa Mac is probably tired. You should let him catch his breath.”

“Don’t worry about me, Molly,” Grandpa Mac said. “I haven’t felt this good for weeks!”

I gave Grandpa Mac the tour Viktor gave us our first day. We started with the meadow, the steep path to Sorrow Lake, the rowboat, the dock where Mama and I sunned. Then I walked him past the artists’ sheds, showed him Viktor’s turtles floating in their pond. Mama’s fancy flower gardens. The infirmary. The barn. At every spot he listened to my stories, and then he added what he remembered from the letters—the Comfort Cone, Lillian’s poems, my night swims with Josie and Diego.

He looped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a big squeeze. “Your letters sure do paint a picture.”

“There’s still our cottage and the attic, the tower, the servants’ staircase, the library where I get Lillian’s books. And before you leave, I’m going to take you on a rowboat ride. Just us all by ourselves.”

“Oh my!” Grandpa Mac sighed. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Could we take a minute to just sit?” Grandpa Mac’s steps seemed too slow and hobbled. As much as I loved Lillian, I didn’t want Grandpa Mac to grow that old.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll rest.”

I led him to the bench beneath the willow where I first heard Lyman speak. I’d told Grandpa Mac about most of Sparrow Road, except for Gray and Lyman. Lyman, because imagination and
what if
and
what was or what could be
was too confusing to tell Grandpa Mac long distance. And Gray? Because first Grandpa Mac had to see that I was safe. See that I could be okay with Gray James in my life.

“This place is really something, Raine.” Grandpa Mac wiped his face off with his sleeve. “I see it’s got a few legs up on old Milwaukee.”

“I like the way the hills roll most of all. And how far you can see into the distance.”

“It’s nothing like the city, that’s for sure.”

I leaned in against Grandpa Mac’s damp shirt. It seemed so strange to have him here at Sparrow Road. “I have more freedom here.”

“I guess we kept you on a pretty short leash. I suppose you won’t be in a hurry to come home?”

I sat quiet. There wasn’t a good answer I could give. I wanted to go home to Grandpa Mac, but I didn’t want Sparrow Road to end. I wanted Diego and Lillian and Josie and Gray and Lyman and these green fields and everything I’d come to love. Maybe that’s why the orphan said he’d still miss Sparrow Road. Even with a family. I’d ask Lyman that this week.

“Grandpa Mac.” I looked up so I could see him face-to-face. “I met Gray.”

Grandpa Mac didn’t blink or smile or frown, he kept his face completely straight and steady. “I expected that you would, Raine. It’s what your mama wanted.”

“Not Mama,” I said. “It’s what I wanted. Mama left it up to me.”

“So?” He raised his bushy eyebrows. “You make it through okay?”

I nodded. “Gray’s been sober for a year now. I know about his drinking.”

Grandpa Mac clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I’m not sure you had to know about that, Raine. Those are grown-up problems.”

“I’m old enough to know it, Grandpa Mac. And kids are always part of grown-up problems. Even when the grown-ups think they aren’t.”

“Maybe so.” Grandpa Mac stared at me. “Though it’d be better if they weren’t.”

“I’m glad that I met Gray. I really am.” I grabbed Grandpa Mac’s warm hand. “I really, really am. And I look a little like him, my dark eyes. I have his teeth. And I’m small like him.” I wanted Grandpa Mac to know Gray James was part of me.

“The O’Rourkes aren’t exactly giants,” Grandpa Mac said. “And my mother had brown eyes.”

“Grandpa Mac.” I gave his hand a squeeze. “Gray James is my dad.” The second that I said it, tears came and Grandpa Mac’s eyes clouded up with mine. I knew it hurt him just to hear it. It hurt me worse to say it, because Grandpa Mac had been more dad to me than Gray. For twelve good years. But none of that would change. “And tomorrow when you meet him at the Arts Extravaganza, I don’t want you to punch him in the face.”

Grandpa Mac frowned. “Did Gray tell you that?”

“He did,” I said. “And I know about the park. The day he drank and lost me.”

“Oh no,” Grandpa Mac growled. “He told you that? That’s a horrible story, Raine.”

“It was,” I said. “But now I know the truth. And I don’t think you should have hit him, Grandpa Mac.”

“He’s lucky he got off with just one punch—,” Grandpa Mac started; then he stopped. “Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have hit him quite so hard. But your mama did her best to keep you safe. We both did. And then that yahoo comes to town and—”

“I know,” I said before Grandpa Mac got too worked up again. I could hear all of the old anger rising in his voice. “You did. And I’m safe. I am. It all worked out okay. And I just want to be a family now. Again. The way we used to be. You and me and Mama.”