Jessie – 2010
I’m not a bit surprised when Albert suddenly appears in the doorway of the diner, his face red and tear-streaked, his messy hair standing on end and flecked with bits of hay. I knew when I saw Grandpa in the kitchen at breakfast. He was silent and distant. Not eating his eggs, not listening to us talking, just staring out the window. It was only when I asked him directly what he was up to today that he finally looked at me. His eyes were sharp through the smeared lenses of his glasses. For a second I felt that electric jolt of power he used to have. He nodded, and I knew.
I should have told Grandma. I should have made sure he stayed out of the barn. But I didn’t really think he would do it, not after all these years. I didn’t think he was able. He’d been drifting away from us for a while, getting vaguer and more forgetful, his once razor-edged mind slowly wearing down. So I just kissed his stubbly cheek, grabbed my overstuffed messenger bag, and flew out the door.
Now I’m standing in the middle of the diner holding Table Two’s lunch special in my hands and staring at Albert with my heart pounding through my chest. Waiting for him to tell me what is not going to be a surprise.
Albert is trying to say something, but he can’t get it out. Even ordinarily he is prone to problems like this. He gets upset easily and doesn’t mind everyone knowing it. He can’t always tell you what’s wrong, not without a lot of calming talk and maybe a cookie. I don’t have a cookie, and the middle of the diner during the lunch rush is not the place for calming talk.
All of the customers are staring at Albert. All of the construction guys at the counter, the tourists in the booths, everyone who works in town and has come in for lunch. We are all staring at Albert, and the usual diner clatter is dying down fast.
“Jessie, Jessie, Jessie,” he gasps, out of breath.
I want this to be something stupid, one of his imaginary problems. Union soldiers headed for the farm to do some looting. A big battle lost up north. I know it isn’t.
My boss, Nadine, strides towards us carrying a coffeepot. She looks at Albert, then sticks her head into the kitchen.
“Eddy, come out here,” she calls. She pats Albert with her free hand and says, “What’s the matter, honey?” He doesn’t look at her. He’s staring at me.
“What happened?” I ask him. I’m glued to my spot, trying to breathe. Nadine puts the coffeepot back on the warmer, takes the two plates from my hands, slaps them down in front of the couple at Table Two. She doesn’t look at them, and they don’t look at her. We all keep staring at Albert, who has tears running down his cheeks. There’s some indistinct murmuring going on now from the audience. I don’t want to hear what they’re saying about us. I don’t want to hear what Albert’s about to tell me either. I wonder briefly if I can just dash out the back door and away from all the mesmerized faces.
Eddy comes through the saloon-style half doors, drying his hands on a dishtowel. He takes one look at Albert, puts an arm around him, and guides him back through the still swinging doors into the kitchen. I follow them, leaving all the customers hanging. Eddy sits Albert down on a stool beside the grill where burgers are sizzling away. Albert is crying harder, but quietly. He isn’t wailing, which really scares me. Tears are streaming down his face and he’s rubbing them away with his sleeve.
“Tell us what’s wrong, buddy,” Eddy says to him. I feel weak, and lean against the dishwasher. We’ll have to call the twins. Joel and Ben, who escaped. They’ll need to come home. Suddenly Samuel’s pointy face floats up in my mind, his shaggy black hair, his sharp green eyes, his mischievous grin. Our lost brother we can’t call home.
“Something happened to Pa,” Albert whispers. “Something happened, Eddy.”
“Albert, what happened to Grandpa?” I ask him. The breath has gone out of me. I can barely get enough air to speak.
“We were in the barn,” he says, a little louder. “Ma told me to call 911. It bit him.”
“Come on,” Eddy says to me. “Get your things.”
He sticks his head through the swinging doors again, tells Nadine, “We’ve got to go home. Something’s happened to our grandfather.”
“Go, hurry,” she says. Before I can even get my apron untied, Nadine has yanked her 14-year-old niece out of the window booth where she’s sitting with her friends and stuck an order pad and a pen in her hands. The niece heaves a sigh, grabs my apron and ties it around her waist, marches off popping her gum. Everyone in the diner is watching us like we’re a fascinating drama.
“Hope your Granddaddy is all right,” calls Mr. Gwinn from his usual stool at the end of the counter.
There’s a general murmur of agreement from the rest of the customers as Eddy, Albert and I rush out the front door. We pile into Eddy’s little red Volkswagen and head for home fast as we can, Eddy running every stoplight.