"I'm sorry we didn't talk to you first, Victor, but we had to make a quick decision. Your father didn't have his car, and there wasn't any point in taking you. You would have had to hang around the hospital, and you wouldn't have had time to change."

"Oh," I said, seeing myself sitting in a hospital hallway, dressed as Tinkerbell, complete with wings and wand.

---

 

18. Home, Sick
 

"Do you have the number?" I asked Mrs. Jameson.

"What number?" she asked in a soft voice. I could see that her energy was still very low.

"The number where my mother is."

She frowned slightly. "She's at home. You know your own number, don't you?"

"Sure," I said, but I was alarmed. What was my mother doing at home? She was supposed to be here in Boston, so she and Dad could pick me up in the morning.

"Why don't you use the phone in the living room," Mrs. Jameson suggested, "so you can have some privacy. Miranda and I can stay in here."

I walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. As I picked up the phone and began punching in the numbers for home, I was suddenly aware that I was still dressed as Tinkerbell. I hope my father doesn't answer, I told myself, as though he could somehow see me over the phone line.

It was my mother who answered. "Hello, Victor. Are you having a good time?"

"A good time? Well, yeah, but what's happening now? Are you still coming to get me in the morning?"

"No, hon. Something's happened to your grandfather, Grandpa Samson. He's in the hospital, and he's pretty sick."

I can't say I was surprised. My grandfather had always looked frail, as if he were made of sticks and rice paper. You'd expect him to fly off on the slightest breeze. He trembled when he walked, and I couldn't imagine how old he must be. "Is grandpa going to die?" I asked, surprised at how fearful my voice sounded.

My mother was silent for a few moments, weighing what to tell me. Then she said, "Yes, he might die. He had a seizure this morning—"

"What does that mean? A seizure?"

She took a long breath. "I don't know, exactly. Your grandmother said he passed out, and he didn't wake up. So they took him to the hospital."

"Why did you go back?" I asked. "Why did you leave me here?"

"We had to leave in a hurry," she said. "Your father has power of attorney for your grandfather, so he has to deal with the hospital."

"Couldn't Dad go by himself?"

Again Mom paused, then she said. "I'm sorry we didn't talk to you first, Victor, but we had to make a quick decision. Your father didn't have his car, and there wasn't any point in taking you. You would have had to hang around the hospital, and you wouldn't have had time to change."

"Oh," I said, seeing myself sitting in a hospital hallway, dressed as Tinkerbell, complete with wings and wand.

"Well, I suppose you could have," Mom said, correcting herself, "but the point is, your father and I are busy with your grandparents. You'd have to take care of yourself. Plus, you'd miss Halloween entirely. That would be a shame, after all the trouble we've gone to this year."

"Yeah," I said, a little sadly. We were both silent for a space. "Will Grandpa be okay?"

"Honey, I don't think so. I don't know. We can talk about it when you come home."

"Oh! How will I get home? Do I have to take the train by myself?"

"No, your uncle will bring you. It's a good thing that you met him Friday, isn't it? He lives on Beacon Hill, so once you're done trick-or-treating, Macy will drop you off at his house, and he'll drive you right here."

"Will Dad mind that?"

My mother drew a sharp breath. "At this point, your father's family has to pull together. And if they can't or won't, then I swear, I'll knock their heads together."

I was a little shocked, and maybe she felt my reaction, because she immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, Victor. You know that I don't mean that literally. But I am so fed up with this stupid grudge between your uncle and your father. It's time they put it behind them."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

"Victor? Are you still there?"

"Yes, Mom."

"About tomorrow: both Macy and your uncle offered to take care of you, but your uncle would have to take off work, and Macy wanted you to stay. She said it would be more complicated if you had to go and come back, and all that..."

"Okay," I said.

"Listen to me, Victor. You know she's still not feeling well, so just go along with whatever she wants to do, okay? If she wants to lie in her bed all day, then let her rest. Read a book quietly or something."

"I will."

"And if she wants to go shopping or has to run errands, go along and be a good sport. Okay? Try to help her if you can."

"I get it, Mom. I will."

"Good. Try to make it easy for her. Whatever you have to do tomorrow, just remember: you were supposed to be in school, so whatever you end up doing–"

"–it will have to be better than that," I said, finishing her sentence for her.

"Well, I wasn't going to say *that*," she countered, "but if you want to take it that way... The important thing is how you behave. That's all that counts."

"I get it, Mom, I get it!"

"Okay. Your father is having a very hard time, Victor. Think about him. Your grandfather is *his* father, and now your Dad has to make all the decisions about what the hospital can and can't do."

I made a noncommittal noise. I didn't really know what she meant, but I didn't want to talk about it any more. I sighed.

"All right, hon." Mom said. "Have fun tomorrow. Call me when you're on the way home. Use your uncle's cell phone when you get on the Pike.* I love you!"

"Love you, too," I replied, almost automatically. I did mean it, though.
 

When I returned to the kitchen, I found Miranda sitting alone, waiting for me, still wearing her pink fairy outfit.

"Hey, you know what I was thinking?" she said. "You should be reading The Green Fairy Book and I should be reading The Pink Fairy Book."

"Oh, yeah, I guess so," I replied.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, with real concern.

"No, I don't think so. My mother said my grandfather might die." I heaved a heavy sigh.

"Is he very old?"

"Yes." Unimaginably old. "He's all frail and thin and rickety." Suddenly the world seemed to have come loose from its moorings... everything was adrift. Mrs. Jameson was sick, Mr. Jameson was out somewhere, Grandpa was sick, maybe dying, and my Dad was... well, all wrapped up in that. Mom was trying to help Dad. My crazy uncle was off doing whatever he does.

Who did that leave? Just me and Miranda.

"Do you have to go home now?" she asked me.

"No, they want me to stay and do trick-or-treating. There isn't anything I can do anyway." Then something my mother said came back to me. "Miranda, do you know what power of attorney means?"

"No, but I suppose it means the things an attorney can do. You know, like lawyers?"

"Yeah, except my Dad's not a lawyer, but he has power of attorney for my grandfather. So it can't be that."

Miranda looked as if she wanted to hazard another guess, but instead she told me, "Let's look it up."

She jumped softly down from her stool and walked toward me. I lifted my head and looked into her face. Suddenly my sadness swept up from behind me and overwhelmed me in a wave. The weight of my grandfather's impending death came down from the sky and pressed its weight upon me. Miranda somehow saw all that and opened her arms. I put my head on her shoulder and cried, not knowing why I cried or who I was crying for.

My body shook, and my face seemed to pour with tears. I was cut wide open, vulnerable, and unashamed. I didn't know whether Miranda minded my crying, but the fact that she didn't let go was all the encouragement I needed to go on. She held me gently, her hands on my shoulders. And while I wept I was aware of the light pink cloth of Miranda's fairy costume, and the wings on her back that she hadn't taken off.

She moved her hands slightly, just under my wings, and I realized that I hadn't taken mine off, either. That thought was enough to break the momentum of my sobbing, and gradually I went down from sobs to cries, to weeps, to tears, and finally to sighs. As I caught my breath and began to think about tissues and cleaning my face and nose, the heavy moment passed.

"Thanks, Miranda," I said.

"It's okay," she told me as she held out a box of tissues. "So what are you going to do tomorrow?"

"I don't know," I said. "I guess I'm going to spend the day with your mother."

She gave me a doubtful frown. "Really?"

"Well, I wasn't going to school anyway," I said. "I was going to spend the day with my parents." I shrugged. "I guess I'll just wait for you to get home."

"Hmmph," Miranda said, full of envy.

"Where is your mother, anyway?"

"She went to bed. She left us some dinner, though. Are you hungry?"

---

It was a strange, subdued evening — but I don't mean that in a bad way. We were two little girls alone in a big house. We kept our costumes on until it was time for bed. We ate the quiche and salad that Mrs. Jameson had left for us, and we sat in the living room and talked in low voices. I don't think I've ever had a more quiet evening with a person my age, and I realized yet again what an amazing and wonderful person Miranda is.

We didn't talk about my grandfather or the Juliette/Victor question. At first, Miranda did all of the talking. She told me about her life, her hopes and aspirations, and I listened, absorbed. I think it helped me... it took me out of myself, away from my own life with its fears and uncertainties.

Then I talked too, maybe even more than she had, but I hardly remember anything I said.

At one point we looked at a clock and realized, to our surprise, that it was ten o'clock.

"I've got to get to bed," Miranda said. "It's late for me."

She gave me a hug, and off we went to our separate rooms.

I feel asleep right away.

---

I woke with the sun, and lay there about a half an hour, just looking at the ceiling.

Mrs. Jameson knocked lightly and came in. She looked a little better than yesterday, but still pale. "Have you picked out your clothes for today, Juliette?" she asked.

"My mother did," I told her.

"Good," she said, "Can you be washed and dressed in a half hour?"

"Yes," I said, sitting up. I remembered how my mother had asked me to cooperate, to go along, with Mrs. Jameson.

"Good," she repeated. "Breakfast will be ready in a half hour. See you downstairs." Then she left the room and I heard her descend the stairs.

My mother had given me a list of which outfit to wear when, so that Mrs. Jameson wouldn't have a chance to choose my clothes. For today, I had a denim skirt, a long-sleeved cornflower-blue top, and light-blue ribbed tights.

I washed and dressed quickly and was downstairs in 25 minutes. Miranda was already there, dressed for school in a dark skirt and white top. Her hair was pulled back in a white hairband. She smiled when she saw me. I returned her smile as I slid into the chair next to hers.

"Mom? Can I stay home with you and Juliette today?"

Mrs. Jameson had her back to us as she made herself a cup of tea. "Who said Juliette was staying home with me?"

Uh-oh. "Um, then where *will* I be today?" I asked, afraid that I might already know the answer.

"You're going to school with Miranda. Didn't I tell you last night?"

"No," I said. "I can't go to school with Miranda!"

Mrs. Jameson chuckled, not unkindly, and turned to look at us. "Yes, I guess I couldn't have told you last night. It was Lex's idea. He's on the board of Miranda's school, and he talked to the principal. We've told a little fib that you'll have to go along with, which is that your family may relocate to Boston, and while your parents look at houses, you're going to try the school."

"But... but... but...," I said.

Miranda grinned, happy that I was coming with her, and happy that she wasn't being left out of a day off from school.

"But what?" Mrs. Jameson asked, with a mischievous smile. "What would you normally do today?"

"Oh!" I let out, as I felt myself deflating.

"You would have gone to school, right?"

"Right."

"I'm sorry, Juliette. I know you were hoping to spend the day with your parents, sightseeing and having fun. But I don't have the energy... I need to rest today, and Lex is at work. Which reminds me... I was thinking of asking Courtney to take you girls trick-or-treating tonight. How do you feel about that?"

Miranda and I looked at each other, then back to Mrs. Jameson. We shrugged at the same moment. I said, "She's okay," as Miranda said, "We like her."

"Good." Mrs. Jameson replied. "All right then. We leave in fifteen minutes." She left the room and went upstairs.

As soon as her mother was out of earshot, Miranda erupted in a screech of laughter. "You have to go to school!" she sang in a sing-song voice.

"Oh, jeez," I said, blushing to my roots. "I don't think I'll ever celebrate Halloween, ever again!"

"It's not so bad!" Miranda teased. "You might even get to sit next to Robert!"

I let out a low groan as she fell off her chair, giggling and clutching her sides.

---

On the drive to school, Miranda said, "I wonder whether Courtney will wear a costume tonight?"

The two of us glanced at each other and started giggling.

"Do you mean, like, like... regular clothes?" I gasped.

"Maybe she could dress like an Amish girl," Miranda offered.

"No, no. For her, a costume would be, like, jeans and a t-shirt."

Miranda guffawed and I sniggered. Mrs. Jameson looked at us in the rear-view mirror.

"Is there something about Courtney that I should know?" she asked.

"No," we sang out together, and began giggling all over again.

---

Miranda's mother parked her car and walked into the school with us. She sent Miranda off to class, and accompanied me to the office. She wanted to introduce me to the principal, and apparently we had to check whether my mother had signed and faxed some sort of release or permission or something. She had, and so the principal took me in hand. Mrs. Jameson left for home.

Next, an eighth-grader named Jenny gave me a tour of the school, which was not all that interesting. Everything was nice, but it had nothing to do with me. Still, as I'd told my mother last night, it beat going to class, so I went along willingly and didn't try to rush her. Jenny seemed to have the same idea as me, so we took our time looking the school over, and I asked as many questions as I could manage. I even took a long visit to the girls room to try to delay the inevitable.

With all that, it was still only 10:05 when we finally arrived at Miranda's classroom. All the students had their heads down. They were busy with Math worksheets (as I soon found out). The teacher, Ms. Rosenstern, had her back to the door, as she bent down to help someone.

The room had six small, low tables, and the children sat in groups of three or four around them.

Jenny cleared her throat, and one of the boys in the class raised his head.

"Juliette!" he called.

The other students raised their heads, and smiling, waving, called, "Juliette's here! Hi, Juliette! Ms. Rosenstern, Juliette's here!"

I took a few steps into the room, and Ms. Rosenstern turned. She was a young, pretty teacher, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. She smiled and said, "Hello, Juliette. I'd introduce you to the class, but it seems that everybody knows you already."

I smiled and waved at the class. "Thank you for letting me come here today," I said.

One boy, Ike McCleary, asked in a fearful voice, "You didn't bring your dog, did you?"

The class erupted with laughter, hoots, and barking noises.

I suppressed my smile, remembering that Ike was the boy who Carl had chased around the yard.

"No, I didn't bring any dog. That wasn't my dog, anyway."

Everyone in the room began talking at once. It was a low-level hubbub that Ms. Rosenstern quickly nipped in the bud. She clapped her hands and called everyone to order.

While the room quieted down, I mouthed a thanks! to Jenny, who smiled and left.

Ms. Rosenstern pointed me to an empty chair, and asked everyone to hand in their Math worksheets.

Where I was sitting, I had my back to Miranda, but I found myself in good company: Jackie, Laura, and Matt, the three children with which I'd built a scarecrow.

"We're glad to have you as our table-neighbor," Matt said, with a slightly formal touch.

"Thank you," I said. "I'm glad, too."

Jackie touched my arm and whispered, with a conspiratorial smile, "Robert's in the bathroom. Maybe you were hoping he was home, sick?"

"That would have been nice," I replied, and she gave a cute smirk.

Ms. Rosenberg, with the sheaf of papers in her hand, stopped behind an empty chair. "Is Robert still in the bathroom?" she asked, incredulous.

No one answered, but everyone knew.

"Matt, will you go and fetch him?" the teacher requested.

"I went last time!" he replied.

"Ike?" she began, but before she said another word, Robert, the original macho man himself, came swaggering through the door.

When his eye fell on me, he shouted, "Baby!"

"Lord help us!" I muttered, and Jackie snickered.

---

* The "Pike" is the Massachusetts Turnpike.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

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