Wherever You Go (22 page)

Yes! Your spirit heart had cartwheeled. Finally, she paid attention to you, even if she couldn't see you. Aldo, well, he was obviously still pissed off at you about the other day, but you figured he would come around.

Not wanting to rile the old guy up again, you stayed out of the way at the doctor's office. Just out of eyesight beyond the door, but close enough that you could hear what was going on. You'd heard Aldo's silence, his lack of response when they talked to him. From knowing him the way you do, it'd seemed so strange, so sad. That guy could go on and on with his stories, his advice. He's gregarious and warm, the Aldo you know. But not here, not with them. Alzheimer's had control of him. vg. La"5%

If only you could have held Holly's hand while the doctor told her how much Aldo's disease had progressed, how much worse he was going to get. It was like you could see right into her breaking heart. You'd never seen her that full of despair before. She'd always been such a trooper. Helping her mother raise her sister, never complaining about their lack of money, their crappy apartment. You'd admired her ability to let things roll off her back, but you'd never asked her how she felt about everything. Maybe you'd been so wrapped up in your own problems, in the swirl of senior year coming at you in a rush, that you hadn't really been there with Holly.

You'd been there, but not
there for her
—not like you could have been, anyway. Not like you kind of are now.

You follow Jason, Aldo, and Holly through the maze of the medical center's parking garage and into the back of Jason's Audi, next to Holly. By the look on her face, you can tell her mind is still whirling with worry. Moments later, at the front door of the apartment building, she kisses Jason lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you. Again," she says.

"You need help getting him up to your place?" he asks.

"Nah." Holly's smile is a mix of half-gratitude, half-affection. She really is starting to fall for him. And the way she looks at him is so familiar, it makes your heart hurt. Back then, she loved you. Maybe more than you ever knew or appreciated.

"All right," Jason says. "I'll see you later. Good night, guys." He pats Aldo on the back and holds the door for the old man and Holly to shuffle through. The glass door closes and he's left on the outside.

"I know how that feels," you mutter.

He turns, and for half a second you fantasize it's because he heard you speak. But of course he's just heading back to the car. His steps are heavier, slower. He's feeling bad for Holly, obviously. For a while you hang out with him, but there's nothing happening. He drives home, slows a little around the dangerous curve, then zooms up the hill. Just another day in the life of a guy who's into your girlfriend. It's time to take care of business, so you think of Aldo and you're in the kitchen. Aldo sees you and, from his seat at the table, waves you off with a disgusted grunt. Holly's busy laying out his medication for the night, rummaging through the drawers for more notepaper.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start trouble on the bus," you say in a gentle tone.

Aldo looks up from his cup of coffee. "Sure, kid."

"Like I said, I'm sorry."

"I told you, I don't think we need to visit anymore," Aldo says. "Scram."

Holly walks over and puts her hand on his back. "Grandpa, you okay?"

Aldo nods.

"Sorry," you say again. "Every time she sees us talk—"

"She thinks I'm crazy!" finishes Aldo.

"Well, can we go somewhere in private? Can you tell her you need to lie down? Please, Aldo, at least let me explain. I really am sorry."

"This is the last time," he says in quick Italian.

Holly's still standing there over him, a concerned expression in her eyes. "Grandpa?"

"I ... will rest," Aldo says.

Holly reaches out and helps him to his feet. Then Aldo works his way down the hall to his room. Once the door closes, he sits on the bed and fixes you with a hard stare. "Speak, ghost. Tell me what you want from me."

"It's Rob.
Roberto.
I thought we were friends. I'm not just some ghost."

"Sure, sure," Aldo says, gesturing with his hands. "It's whatever
you
say we are, right? You are the one haunting me, not the other way around."

You perch on the foot of his bed. "I'm sorry about the other day and what I said. Being a ghost has to be easier than what you're going through, okay? I admit it—I was an asshole. I get it now. I promise you, I get it."

"Not much to get," Aldo says, his mouth twisting a little.

You try to keep your cool. There are things you want to say. Things that you want him to hear. "I was there at the doctor's appointment today. Did you understand what he was telling you?"

Aldo shrugs. "I know he was trying to be helpful, I felt the warmth of what he said, the care."

"But you didn't understand what he was telling you and Holly."

He gives you a frustrated look. You both know he couldn't have comprehended everything going on around him in that state. "Help me understand, then, if you think it's best, ghost," he says in a weary voice.

"I'm not just some ghost, dammit. It's Rob," you say, firmly. "It's just plain old Rob, and you know that. Why do you have to be like this? I said I'm sorry."

"Fine," Aldo says, letting out a little puff of breath. "Explain what the doctor said."

You steady yourself. "He said you're not getting any better. It's going to get harder and harder for you to communicate with your loved ones. It's going to get harder for you to do normal, everyday things."

"That's nothing new," Aldo says with a small laugh. "It's a shame we had to pay for that appointment." He settles deeper into the bed, leans his back against the pillows and wall.

You get up {> Ygs. "Iand start to pace the room. "No. It's bad. I want to—I want to find a way to help you."

"Wait, wait. I thought you wanted
me
to help
you,
kid." Aldo's eyes are narrowed, skeptical.

"Yeah, I thought that was what this was all about, but maybe I'm supposed to help you. Maybe there's something I can do about your Alzheimer's. Help you tell someone something."

"You're confusing the situation. This isn't about me," he says in an exasperated tone. "I'm not sure why you're so thick-headed. You have something to tell Holly," Aldo says. "Otherwise we never would have met. You wouldn't be here in my life being a pain in the butt."

"Hey, now. A pain in the butt? Aldo, that hurts," you say, a hand on your chest like he's shot you through with arrows.

Aldo doesn't smile. "Kid, let's cut to the chase. I want to talk about the crash."

You can't feel it, but you hear the air suck out of the room like a
whoosh
of a vacuum. "That night was a blur. I don't have anything to tell you about that."

"You almost killed my Holly," Aldo says, his eyes fierce. "I think there's something for you to say to her. An apology—something. We've gone round and round about this, and I want to know the truth."

Your throat tightens. "I can't talk about all that stuff."

"If you want to keep coming here, to keep seeing me, then I need you to tell me everything," Aldo says. "Just think of me as your priest hearing your confession."

"If I tell you..."

Aldo's face is hard. "Then maybe you'll go into the light and quit haunting this old man."

"You want me to go?"

"Of course I do. The last thing they need to see me doing is arguing with the air. I'm one step from some kind of state rest home." You wish he were making a joke, but he looks you in the eye, squarely. "That's where they send you to die."

"Hey, death is ... It's lonely. Then again, life on Earth can be lonely, too."

"Don't I know it," says Aldo.

"Yeah."

"Spill it, Roberto. I'm tired of all this stalling." Aldo waves a hand at you. "Give me the awful truth. Tell me about how you got my Holly drunk and then the two of you went swerving down the road and off a cliff."

"That's not what happened! It wasn't like that at all."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Why you want to cover up this whole thing is beyond me."

"Okay, okay. It was a simple crash, a wet night on dark roads. You already know that. Rehashing it isn't going to change anything."

"Son"—Aldo pauses and scooches up on the pillows—"you are in pain. That's the quintessential part of being a ghost. You're a tortured soul. That means nothing is simple about this. And with you, I don't see how it could be, anyway."

"Thanks."

"Don't take offense, kid. I'm just speaking the truth."

"Yeah. I guess."

"You keep saying that you don't remember what happened that night, but I can't believe it. I want to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the truth. Do you think that you caused the crash?" Aldo asks. "Was it your fault?" "I'm not really sure," you say in a mumble.

"Tell me."

"If I say yes, you're going to hate me, and if I say no, you won't believe me."

"Why am I going to hate you? I'm not going to hate you, kid."

He's finally worn you down, so you make the words in your mind. "Yes ... I'm pretty sure it was my fault."

Aldo lets out a sigh. A sigh of disappointment, maybe. Or a sigh of weariness because he knew this truth all along. But then, when you look up to judge his reaction, you see his eyes watering.

"You poor kid," he says in a soft voice. "
Poverino...
"

"Don't cry. Do anything but that. I'm not here for you to pity me. I'm here to, oh, God knows why..."

Fat tears roll down his wrinkled cheeks. "I'm sorry, Roberto. I'm sorry for your pain, your guilt." The compassion welling in his soul is almost radiating—he's almost like a ghost.

You're so ashamed, you can't look him in the eye anymore.

***

With the apartment so empty and quiet, I could hear my grandpa talking to himself, or to his ghost, again. I stood outside his room, listening to the stream of Italian and feeling a growing hopelessness down in the pit of my stomach. What could I do, burst into the room, calm him—yell again at the empty space he was talking to?

Instead, I went back to the kitchen and worked on organizing the meds and all the notes I'd taken at the doctor's office. I wanted to make sure it all made sense. I laid all the little sheets of paper out on the counter and fished the pill bottles out of the big drawer. In the pile of medical stuff, I saw a business card that I hadn't realized I'd kept.
MS. SHIRLEY GRANGER, SENIOR SERVICES COUNSELOR.
She'd said to call her anytime. The more Grandpa freaked out, the more I thought about calling her for advice. The doctor had had some good suggestions, { su. T but maybe someone who spent all her time with older people who had Alzheimer's and dementia would know what to do. And she did see him at the senior center, so she knew him.

"Dinner," I muttered, realizing that it was nearly six o'clock and I hadn't started anything. Mom would be home soon to grab a bite and change into her work clothes for the grocery store. I walked down the hall to my grandpa's room and knocked on the door.

"Grandpa?" I turned the handle and let myself in. "What do you want to eat? Hamburgers sound good?"

Grandpa Aldo was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.

"Hey, what's going on?" I said, going over and touching his back.

He looked up at me, his cheeks wet with tears, his eyes red.

"Oh, no. Grandpa, whatever it is, I'm here." I sat next to him and put my arm around his hunched shoulders. "I'm here with you."

He didn't say anything, but his face was pained.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

A rush of soft Italian spilled from his lips. I heard the name Roberto somewhere in the jumble.

"Again, Roberto?" I said, letting out a frustrated sigh. "This is no good, Grandpa. I don't know who this guy is—and I doubt now that he's my Rob, because I don't think he'd keep messing with you if it was—but I'm about ready to kick his ghostly ass."

Grandpa Aldo gazed at me, understanding in his eyes, and something else—anger, maybe—simmering beneath. "He should be free from this," he said in a soft, grumbly voice.

"Who wants to be free? Roberto? Well, I wish he would be, 'cause he's a real jerk."

His cheeks reddened. "No, no. We must help."

"Don't you see?" I said, rubbing a hand on his back. "It's too late to help Roberto or whatever it is. We need to help you. We just need to take care of you."

He looked at me again. We sat there for a moment in silence, and then I heard the front door close and the jingle of keys thrown into the bowl near the door.

"Hello?" my mom called out.

Aldo seemed calmer now—at least, his breathing was more regular.

"We're in here," I said. "Be out in a minute."

Aldo reached for my hand. "He needs to tell you," he said in a soft whisper.

I was pretty sure he was talking about Rob, Roberto, whomever, so I shook it off. "Come on, let's go say hi to mom and start dinner."