What I Came to Tell You (8 page)

The parking lot of the Wolfe house was empty except for a big bus that said
First Baptist Church of Charlotte
across the side. Inside, a large group of old ladies chattered around the displays. Grover noticed their father’s office door closed. Little Bit, their father’s gray-haired secretary, was at the copy machine.

“He’s in there with a couple of commissioners.” She looked toward their father’s office and sighed.

“Is one of them Mr. Lunsford?” Grover asked.

“Afraid so,” said Little Bit under her breath. Barely five feet tall, Little Bit had been their father’s secretary for as long as he’d been director. “From the looks on their faces, I doubt they had good news for your father.”

She handed Sudie and Grover each a sheet of what she’d been copying. It said,
A Thomas Wolfe Christmas
, over a drawing of the Thomas Wolfe house with a wreath on the door.
Come
celebrate an authentic 1900s Christmas as Thomas Wolfe and his family might have celebrated. The house will be decorated in authentic early twentieth century decorations. Snacks and refreshments will be offered. School and church groups welcome
.

Little Bit kept her eye on the closed office door. “Your dad thinks it’s a pretty crazy idea. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised he’s even letting me do it.”

Two tour guides came out of the break room, brushing doughnut crumbs from their blazers. Joanna was a short-haired blonde woman just graduated from UNC Asheville who’d started leading tours last year and who, to Grover’s fascination, had a tattoo of a green vine along her collarbone. Dwight, the other guide, was a middle-aged man older than their father who had been leading tours almost as long as Little Bit had been secretary. Dwight had written a couple of short biographies of Thomas Wolfe sold in the gift shop. The expert way that Joanna and Dwight circled up the crowd of chattering old women, divided them into two groups and led them off into the house reminded Grover of a nature show he’d seen about sheepdogs working their flocks.

Grover and Sudie went to the break room, which, since it was usually empty and since Little Bit kept it stocked with Krispy Kreme doughnuts, was where they did their homework. They’d taken their books out of their backpacks when they heard their father. They peeked around the corner and saw Mr. Lunsford. He was a thin, nervous man, whose eyes never rested on any one person for long, like he was always checking to see if someone more important might’ve walked into the room. Behind Mr.
Lunsford was a short, bald, red-faced man, who Grover recognized as another commissioner.

“Oh, hey, kids,” their father said.

“Are these yours?” the bald commissioner asked.

“Grover and Sudie,” their father said. “This is Commissioner Renfro and Commissioner Lunsford.”

“Nice to meet y’all,” Mr. Renfro said.

“Absolutely,” Delbert Lunsford said, picking up a flyer off Little Bit’s desk.

“ ‘
A Thomas Wolfe Christmas
?’ ” Mr. Lunsford said, reading it and looking up at their father.

“We’re hoping it might increase our numbers,” their father said.

Mr. Lunsford rubbed his forehead.

“It was my idea,” Little Bit said, stepping up to Mr. Lunsford. “For one thing, I think teachers will welcome something to do with their classes around this time of year.”

“Interesting idea,” Mr. Lunsford said, “but who’s paying for these decorations and these refreshments?” Mr. Lunsford’s eyes paused on Little Bit but then shifted back to their father. “The taxpayer, I imagine.”

“We’re hoping they’ll pay for themselves,” their father said.

Mr. Lunsford didn’t say anything.

“Worth a try,” Mr. Renfro said. “Might be just the thing to turn this place around.”

Mr. Lunsford set the flyer back on the stack. “I hope it works, Johnston. For your sake. Come on, Renfro.”

Mr. Renfro shook their father’s hand and followed after Mr. Lunsford. Their father, looking grim-faced, walked the two commissioners through the lobby and disappeared through the foyer with them.

“That man’s always had it in for this place,” Little Bit said, going back to copying. Little Bit looked to make sure the men were gone. “They say Wolfe modeled a character after Lunsford’s great-grandfather in one of his books and apparently the Lunsfords never forgave him. Your father is all that stands between Delbert Lunsford and the wrecking ball.”

Grover and Sudie went back into the break room and sat down to do their homework. In a minute their father walked by the door and stopped at Little Bit’s desk. Grover got up to try to overhear what they were saying.

“I’m sorry, Walt,” Little Bit said. “Seems my idea has gotten you into hot water.”

“If it wasn’t the Wolfe Christmas, he’d find something else,” their father said. “Are the kids here?”

“They started on their homework,” Little Bit said overly loud as if to say if they weren’t working on it, they better start.

Grover grabbed his social studies book and opened it, but as he did, his report card fell right by the door. Panicked, he couldn’t move. Sudie jumped up, grabbed his report card, sat back down and slid it under her math book as their father walked in.

“Hey, Daddy,” Sudie said sweetly.

“I’ve got to go over to city hall for another meeting,” their
father said. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.” He started to leave but came back, pointing his finger at Grover. “Double-check your homework. I’ll go over it with you tonight.”

Grover nodded, his heart pounding from the close call.

They watched him walk back across to his office, grab his coat, say something to Little Bit and then trudge out the front door, his head bowed like he was walking into a stiff wind.

Sudie waited till he’d gone out the front door, then pulled Grover’s report card from under her math book, handing it back to him.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Daddy doesn’t look very good,” Sudie said.

Grover and Sudie started studying. Grover was going over his spelling words when Sudie handed him her report card. “Sign it.”

“Really?” Grover said.

“I don’t think Daddy seeing your report card would be such a good thing right now. For you or him.”

He took out a pen and carefully signed their father’s name, then handed it back to her.

She looked at the signature, raising an eyebrow. “That’s pretty good.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Grover said.

Sudie put her report card back in her pack, then looked at him. “You better get your grades up.”

As Grover had guessed, their father had been too preoccupied with work to remember their report cards, which they’d returned to their teachers Wednesday morning. Grover’d held his breath, afraid that somehow Mrs. Caswell might discover his forgery and contact his father. But nothing happened. Every afternoon for the rest of the week when Grover and Sudie came to the Wolfe house, things went as they had been going for a while—their father would be on the phone with some official, sounding angry or desperate or both.
Now, Christopher, I promise we’ll get those numbers up. We just need a little more time
. Either that or he’d come storming back from some meeting, slamming his satchel on his desk.
They don’t get it. All these guys think about is the bottom line
.

Their father was irritable and liable to snap at Grover and Sudie. In the evenings they’d buy take-out and sit in front of the TV, watching the
PBS NewsHour
. Grover couldn’t help thinking how calmly the newscasters told them about wars, earthquakes, famines, the worst things in the world. Yet they never seemed upset.

After the
NewsHour
Grover and Sudie would clean up, while their father sat in the den making calls. These conversations didn’t always go so well, and their father would hang up grumbling. Sudie and Grover cleaned up the kitchen as fast as possible to get out of there. Sudie, with Biscuit following her, would go to her room to study and Grover would head to the Bamboo Forest.

It was Friday night, three days since Grover and Sudie had returned their report cards to their teachers. They’d eaten supper and Sudie and Grover were cleaning up. Their father had been
in a foul mood during dinner. He’d heard a rumor that the board of commissioners was considering moving the Wolfe house and selling the land to a hotel developer.

“Maybe
A Thomas Wolfe Christmas
will get attendance up,” Sudie said.

“Lunsford’s right! It’s a waste of the taxpayers’ money!” Their father laughed a desperate laugh. “
A Thomas Wolfe Christmas
! It’s an oxymoron.”

“What’s an oxymoron?” Sudie asked.

“Then why are you letting Little Bit go through with it?” Grover asked their father.

His father sighed and his face softened. “Honestly, I don’t know.” Little Bit had a special place in his father’s heart. She’d stood by him when the house had burned, working long hours for no extra pay, helping him raise money.

After dinner, their father got on the phone. As soon as Sudie and Grover had cleaned up, Sudie hurried off to her room and Grover left for the Bamboo Forest, carrying his toolbox and a couple of flashlights. It had been getting dark earlier. He’d figured out how to set up the flashlights so he could spotlight his weavings and work at night. He was nearly finished with a new weaving, or
tapestry
, as Emma called it. He’d made a big grid out of bamboo, his biggest yet, then started weaving in evergreen limbs he’d cut from hemlocks, pines, fir and a Norway spruce in the neighborhood. It made a kind of furry, prickly, green tapestry. Because it was a Friday night and not a school night, his father would probably let him stay out later.

It was an unusually warm night, like it sometimes got before a storm. Grover had discovered he enjoyed working in the dark. He was aware of the night air on his skin, the bright Christmasy smells of the evergreens, and all around him the bamboo creaked and rustled in the wind. With the tapestry spotlighted, it was like that was all there was, the work in front of him. Nothing else mattered. As he wove the limbs within the circle of light, he’d feel part of himself step back from the work, like he’d become two people—the doer and the watcher.

Grover had been working for about half an hour and was weaving in one of the limbs Jessie had said he could cut from his hemlock bushes. Thunder echoed in the distance and lightning flickered faintly but Grover was too caught up in his work to worry about it. He heard someone coming through the bamboo. Biscuit appeared at his feet. He grabbed one of the flashlights and pointed it toward the noise. Sudie appeared in the light, shading her eyes with her hands.

“He found out!” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Caswell just called,” she said. “I heard Daddy say, ‘What low grades?’ ”

“Oh Lord,” Grover said.

“He’s coming,” she said. “You better get out of here.”

“Where would I go?” He began picking up his tools and putting them in his toolbox with Sudie helping him.

“Go over to Jessie’s …”

“Grover!” It was their father’s voice. They heard a loud crashing through the bamboo.

“Run to Jessie’s,” Sudie said, pushing him. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”

“Grover!”
their father shouted again.

“Too late,” Grover said as he shined the flashlight in the direction the crashing was coming from. Their father appeared in the light, scowling. He walked up to Grover and slapped the flashlight out of his hand. The flashlight clattered to the ground and went dead. The only light now was from the one flashlight spotlighting the tapestry.

“How dare you!” their father growled.

“I can explain …,” Grover said.

“How dare you forge my signature!”

“Daddy, he was afraid you’d get mad,” Sudie said.

“He was right about that,” their father said.

“You shouldn’t get mad at him.…”

“Get out of here, Sudie,” their father said, staring at Grover. “I know you were in on this too!”

“Daddy …” Sudie took hold of their father’s arm, but he shook her off and she fell. Biscuit gave a low growl.

“Go on, Sudie,” Grover said, his voice trembling. He could only half see his father in the light. He couldn’t see his expression. It was like the shape of his father had been taken over by this angry creature. “Go on back, Sudie,” Grover said. “It’ll be okay.”

His father laughed an angry laugh, not taking his eyes off Grover.

Sudie looked at them a minute, then, grabbing up Biscuit, tore through the bamboo.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it?” his father said.

“I thought I could pull my grades up,” Grover said, quietly.

“Never did I think a son of mine would stoop to such a thing,” his father said.

“All I did was put your signature on a few things.”

“I’m glad your mother’s not alive to see this!”

Grover felt the breath go out of him.

“She would be devastated,” his father said. “Just devastated!”

“She’d be devastated, all right,” Grover said, unable to control himself. “She’d be devastated to see what kind of father you’ve turned into! She’d be devastated that she couldn’t count on you, even when she’s dead!”