"I've been such an ass!" Mickey exclaimed.

After a moment, Mom told him, "If it's any consolation, you come from a family of asses."

"Uncle Mickey, do you want me to come with you?" I repeated.

He glanced at me and nodded. I gave his hand another squeeze.

My mother drew in her breath. She frowned. "Vict—" she began.

At the same moment Mrs. Mossert clicked her tongue and said, "That's not a good idea, hon."

Mom shot Mrs. Mossert a sideways look. A don't interfere look. Then she said to me, in a warning tone, "Everyone is upstairs, Victor. Everyone. All your aunts and uncles from your father's side, and some of your cousins."

"I know," I said. "But it's okay. It's Halloween."

My uncle didn't speak. He simply held onto me; his dry, strong hand on mine.

I cleared my throat and repeated, "It's Halloween, Mom. Everybody will know that it's just a costume."

Mom looked doubtful. "Auralee is up there," she cautioned. I could tell from her tone that she still didn't believe that Auralee was a bully, but she knew that *I* did. Maybe reminding me of Auralee's presence would be enough to keep from going up there?

I nodded. "I'm sorry you came all the way out here, Mrs. Mossert," I said. "All this way for nothing."

"It's okay, hon," she said. "It wasn't for nothing. At least I got to see the ghost of Christmas past." She gave a wry smile at my Uncle Mickey, who returned it with some uncertainty. "You're sure now? You're sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure," I said.

In the elevator up, I didn't feel so sure. I knew Auralee would give me grief; there was no way around that fact. I had to rely on Halloween to protect me.

"Mick, I have to warn you," my mother said. "Your father is very disoriented. He might not know who you are."

"Perfect," Mickey replied in a desolate tone. "Why the hell did I wait so long?"

Mom didn't answer.

"I've been such an ass!" Mickey exclaimed.

After a moment, Mom told him, "If it's any consolation, you come from a family of asses."

Then she looked down at me and smiled. It was a tender smile, and she ran her hand over my head. "You look so nice," she told me. "Don't worry. Everyone knows you've been trick-or-treating. They'll assume this is your costume."

"I guess it is," I stammered, surprised by how hard it was to speak. Suddenly I seemed to be losing my nerve. "And Dad..."

"Your father's not there. He's downstairs, talking to the hospital administration. He'll be spared the heart attack this time." She chuckled lightly.

At least Dad wouldn't see me like this. At least there was that! Still, I was nervous. I'd never been so nervous in all of my life. My legs turned into rubber bands. They shook and wobbled like two thin blocks of jello. My palms were sweating. Even the soles of my feet were sweating! I tried to pull my left hand out of Uncle Mickey's grip, but he wouldn't let go. After I wiped my right hand on my skirt Mom reached down and took that hand.

So I couldn't get away. Not that there was anywhere that I could go. Unless I hit some random elevator button and ran off.

My misgivings nearly overwhelmed me. It almost made me dizzy, as if the elevator floor was cut away from under me, and the only thing keeping me from falling were my uncle and my mother, who each held my hand.

I could have thrown up, I was so nervous.

Then at last, after what seemed like a half an hour, the elevator stopped. I braced myself as the doors opened, but they opened to an empty hallway.

We walked the bare corridor, our footsteps echoing, and turned down a second hallway. This one was carpeted, and there was nothing in it but a wheelchair and an empty gurney. We entered a door at the end, and after two more turns we came upon a big waiting room. There were people everywhere, standing, leaning, draped over chairs, lying sideways. Some were sound asleep. I knew them, all of them, of course. They were my relatives, my father's side. They occupied every available space in the room. They all looked exhausted, as if they'd been there for days.

Thankfully, (as Mom had said) my father wasn't there, and neither was my cousin Auralee. What a relief!

My uncle Glen was the first to look up. As his glance passed over me he looked momentarily confused, but when his eyes moved to Mick, his tired face lit up in astonishment.

"Mick!" he cried, and jumped to his feet.

At Glen's cry, my other aunts and uncles got to their feet and shuffled forward for a hug and a greeting.

Mom cut them short. "Mick, you've got to get in there and see your Dad. You need to go now."

Mick looked around the room, taking in his siblings in a slow sweep. His facial expression was heartbreaking.

"Go, Mick," Uncle Glen told him. "There'll be plenty of time for us after. He's been waiting for you. He's been holding on for you."

Glen glanced down at me, a question dying on his lips.

Mom pulled on my hand, and I tugged Uncle Mick behind me. As we left the waiting area and passed into a darkened hall, I heard voices behind me asking, "Who was the girl? She can't be his? Can she?"

My grandfather looked small in the bed. He was a little bird-like bundle, a shriveled little thing in the midst of wrinkled white sheets and crumpled wheat-colored blankets. He had a tube in his nose and an IV in his arm. There were a short green machines on each side of the bed, but neither one was plugged in or turned on. A heart monitor above his bed showed an even, regular series of peaks. A soft beep sounded at irregular intervals, and the air smelled of antiseptic. That strange smell of clean sickness.

I felt very small and out of place. Grandpa was the only patient in the room, and his eyes were closed.

I knew he was alive because I could see him taking breaths — a shallow, jerky breath, a long pause, then a shallow, jerky breath.

Mick cleared his throat. When he got no response, he called, "Dad?" in a soft voice.

Grandpa's eyes didn't open, so Mick called more loudly, "DAD?"

Grandpa's eyes snapped up. He blinked twice. He looked at Mick, then Mom, then me. He blinked twice more.

His eyes returned to Mick, but his expression didn't change. It was a neutral face.

Oh, no, I thought. He doesn't know who any of us are! Poor Uncle Mick!

But I was wrong.

An instant later, Grandpa's wrinkled face burst into even more wrinkles than ever before. He smiled with everything that was left in him. "Mick!" he called, in a soft chirping voice. "Mickey boy, thank God you've come! It's good to see you, son!"

Uncle Mick sniffed loudly, but he didn't cry. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said, "I'm sorry I've been away so long."

"Nonsense," his father told him. "You're here now; that's all that matters."

Mick let go of my hand and took his father's hand instead. Grandpa set his hand over Mick's and Mick put his hand on top, so their four hands clasped each other. And they talked.

They talked and talked. It was wonderful. The pain and uncertainty left Mick's face and the tension rolled off of his shoulders. Grandpa focused all his attention on Mick, asked him questions, nodded approval at the answers. I could see the life flowing back into my uncle. He stood up straighter, he relaxed.

I was so glad that I'd come to see it. It was like a Hallmark movie, you know? The moment when everybody cries, when it was all so bad, so hard before, but now you know that everything's going to be all right.

And then, something happened to ruin it all.

At least for me.

Someone else slipped into the room: it was my cousin Auralee. As it turned out, she had been in the bathroom when Uncle Mick and I arrived. She'd never laid eyes on our uncle, and she was curious to see the girl who no one knew.

My mother, Mick, and I were standing on the right side of the bed. Auralee came around to the left side so she could take a good look at us.

I think that if I could have controlled my expression, if I hadn't reacted on seeing her, she wouldn't have recognized me. But I couldn't stop my face from showing my alarm. It was a look that Auralee knew well. A look that bullies love to see.

Her jaw opened slowly in surprise and glee. Her eyebrows raised. Silently she mouthed my name: Victor?

It wasn't a question. She knew it was me.

I hated myself for it, but I almost nodded yes. I didn't, but I came awful close.

Then came the moment I'd imagined, the moment I dreaded: Auralee reached in her pocket. She pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. She held it toward me and was about to snap a picture, when...

I felt my mother's hand tighten around mine. I looked up at her and saw her glaring at Auralee.

Auralee followed my gaze. My mother's angry look struck her like an electric shock.

Mom held her with a fierce glare. Her eyes bored into Auralee, and the girl swallowed hard.

"Do you know where you are, Auralee?" Mom asked, in a low tone so Grandpa couldn't hear. "Is there something wrong with you? Do you understand that your Grandfather is dying?"

Auralee took a step backward. With both hands, she quietly closed her phone and slipped it back into her jeans.

Then she looked down. She was uncomfortable, but only for a moment. Auralee was never at a loss for long. She moved up, along the side of the bed, toward grandpa's head. She was always grandpa's favorite grandchild. She was his first grandchild, the oldest child of his oldest child. I never understood how a man as nice as Uncle Glen could have such a mean daughter.

She reached for grandpa's hand, but she couldn't have it. Grandpa was still holding Uncle Mick's hands.

She tried to catch grandpa's eye, but she couldn't do that, either. Grandpa was focused on his son, his oldest son.

"Leave it," Mom told her, but Auralee didn't. She tugged at Grandpa's hospital gown. She tugged hard, until she got his attention.

Grandpa and Uncle Glen turned as one to look at Auralee. It was an empty look, a look from another world. They looked at her as if they didn't have the slightest idea who she was.

Auralee was confused. "Grandpa, why are you looking at me like that? Don't you know me?"

"Know you?" he repeated. "Know you?"

"Yes," she replied, impatiently. "Don't you know me?"

"No," he said, and turned back to Uncle Mick. I was bewildered. He always treated Auralee like a princess. He'd always given her more attention that the rest of us put together. How could he not know her?

Then I remembered what Mom had said to Uncle Mick in the elevator: Mick, I have to warn you: he's very disoriented. He might not know who you are.

He's disoriented. He doesn't know who Auralee is.

If I was bewildered, Auralee was angry. She was beyond angry. She was furious. Her face twisted up and she bared her teeth. She grabbed the bedrail and shook it, hard. She shook it again. Then she barked, "Grandpa! Look at ME!"

"Auralee!" my mother shouted, shocked.

Grandpa's head snapped left, then right, following the two outbursts. He looked at Mom, his mouth hanging open, as if he'd never seen her before. Then his eyes moved laterally, to Mick, then back to Mom, then down to me. A broad smile filled his face and he reached a hand toward me. I thought he wanted to shake my hand, but instead he took my hand in his and held it. His skin felt like dry old paper, very dry and very rough, but there was something magical in his touch. I smiled back at him.

"Oh, my lovely girl!" he crooned. "Look at what a beauty you grew up to me! I always knew! I always knew you'd be a little heartbreaker, and look at you! Look at you!"

He looked up at Mick, his face full of pride and happiness. "Oh, Mick, my boy, I remember the day she was born. My first granddaughter, my best. I know I shouldn't say, but no one's hear to listen, so I'll tell you: she's always been my favorite grandchild. Is that awful of me? But Mick and Carly, you did well with this one."

Mom chuckled. Mick cleared his throat and started to say, "Well, Dad, to tell the truth..." but Mom cut him off.

"Thanks, Dad," she told him. "She's our pride and joy."

Auralee had been speechless up to that point, but when Mom said that and ran her fingers through my hair, my awful cousin shot me look. I knew that look, and what it meant. You'll pay for this, is what she silently said. I took a deep breath and found myself smiling at my grandfather, who smiled and cooed at me.

Auralee fled from the room.

© 2009 by Kaleigh Way

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