Daily Archives: November 8, 2026

Jessie – around 2017, just before moving to England

I ease my car up the winding gravel driveway, creeping along in first gear to avoid the deep, water-filled potholes. I don’t remember the road being in such bad shape last time I was home, or it taking this long to get to the house. I feel like I’ve been crawling for half an hour with the high grass and bushes reaching towards me and scraping the sides of the car. Finally I round the last corner.

The old house stands in front of me, tall and thin, tucked into the wooded cove at the base of Snake Mountain. A wide COMMA? slate-blue porch curves around the front. Long narrow windows with black shutters stare out blankly. The bright white paint has chipped and gone dull. Raggedy brown grass sways in the yard. Scrawny weeds in the flower beds nearly hide the red and yellow and pink blooms from Grandma’s old perennials that have gone wild. Something sharp stabs at my chest, and for a moment it’s hard to get my breath.

I tell myself to stop comparing what I am looking at with the long-dead past, and pull my little green HONDA? Civic to the far end of the driveway. It used to continue around to the back of the house where we parked the vehicles, but now there are stacks of wood blocking the way. They look like old two-by-fours that were pulled off one of the outbuildings and left in piles to rot. I can see around the stacks to the back of the house, where even more lanky weeds are growing up out of what used to be gravel. And there’s the ancient gold Buick, with flat tires and rusty hubcaps, vines curling festively around the side mirrors.

“Wow,” I say to Frank. “What the hell has happened to this place?”

Frank gazes back at me, his yellow-blue eyes impassive. Frank would like to get out of the car and go romp in the weeds, but he is a patient guy and sits quietly in the passenger seat waiting for me to open the door for him. I don’t open the door. I sit beside him and stare at the house.

“Is nobody else here?” I ask Frank. Frank looks at the house too, cocks his head like he’s giving this question some thought. His tags jingle cheerfully.

“Eddy said he’d meet us. I don’t want to go in by myself,” I tell Frank. “I thought they’d be here already. They’re only coming from Asheville, it’s just half an hour.”

Frank yawns. He’s starting to look a little bored. He bumps his nose on the passenger window and looks over at me again.

“All right, all right,” I tell him. I reach across and open his door. He jumps out, and stands for a second sniffing the strange air. His dark ears are pricked up, and he’s staring at the house. I’m suddenly glad that he’s so big.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I tell him. I open my own door. I don’t jump out. I sit there watching the house too. It is still and silent, and its lightless windows look like empty eyes. Like a dead house. I shiver. Then I remind myself that I’m not a silly 12 year old and pull out my phone to see if Eddy has texted me. Of course he hasn’t, and I don’t have any other messages either. I also only have one flickering bar on my phone, so maybe nothing’s getting through. That doesn’t make me feel any better, not with the dead-eyed house staring at me.

Frank is poking around in the pile of planks, looking mildly excited about what he’s smelling beneath the debris. Since Frank is the most laid-back dog I’ve ever known, I’m pretty sure his interest means something really horrific is under there. A body or two. Maybe a great big nest of snakes.

“Frank, come back here,” I tell him, and he looks over at me for a second, then, surprisingly, trots back to the car and puts his nose on my hand.

“Good boy!” I tell him. “What’s up with this obedient behavior?”

When Tom Waits suddenly starts yowling out “Jockey Full of Bourbon” from my phone, I’m so startled that it slips out of my hand and bounces around on the remains of the gravel with Frank trying to catch it. I grab it first. My boyfriend Nick’s smiling COMMA? cheerful face is on the screen. I think about not answering. When I left early this morning to drive down here from DC I just kissed him a quick goodbye and told him one more time that I didn’t need him to come with me (I didn’t want him to come with me, but couldn’t say that). It’s just a quick visit, I said. I need to see my grandmother before I do the Big Trip. The Big Trip that he thinks will be a few months across the ocean, working on a little London paper that has close ties with my little DC paper. A visiting assignment is how I’d presented it. A Young American Woman’s Perspective. A fun side job writing articles and taking photos that will give me experience and boost my resume for when I come back home. A chance to travel overseas and then return full of knowledge and added value for my employer.

What I didn’t tell him was that it isn’t a temporary diversion. The job offer is for good. Or for as long as I don’t screw it up. Like I seem to screw up so many things. Especially every relationship I’ve ever had because I always run away as soon as it starts getting the slightest bit serious. Which is exactly what I’m doing now to Nick. Although to give myself a little credit, ordinarily I don’t run all the way across the ocean. And this job isn’t the same thing as a relationship. Surely it will be fine.

I stare at the phone, but I can’t just ignore his call on top of everything else I’m getting ready to do to him. I swipe the screen and sit down sideways in the driver’s seat.

“Hey!” Nick’s tiny disembodied voice says into my ear. “I didn’t think you were going to answer. Where are you?”

“Sitting in front of my grandma’s house,” I tell him. “Frank and I are checking out the situation. Trying to see if it’s safe to venture inside.”

“Safe? Is it in a dangerous condition? Don’t go inside if it’s not structurally sound!” He’s very literal, but to be fair, I’ve always been extremely vague about the family I left behind when I moved to DC. He’s never met any of them, despite wanting to make a visit to North Carolina with me. I’d always made excuses in the couple of years we’ve been together. I dodged last Christmas with a sudden case of “stomach flu”, but I can’t get by with that for the rest of our lives.

“No, it’s fine. I mean safe from the ghosts,” I tell him. “Falling in is the last thing I’m expecting this house to do, but the ghosts are another story.”

“Ghosts?” He’s clearly baffled. “What are you talking about?”

“Ummmm,” I say, “We’ve got a kind of bad connection. Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you fine,” he says. “You’re really clear.”

“You’re breaking all up,” I tell him. I think about making those crackly noises like I would definitely be doing if this was a sitcom, and then I have to try not to laugh.

“That’s weird,” he says. “Maybe there’s something going on with the…”

“I’ve got to go, I’ll call you later when I’m in a better place,” I say, and hang up on him mid-sentence because I’ve spotted Eddy and Quentin in the side mirror, walking down the overgrown driveway towards me.

I get out of the car and give them a little half wave, suddenly feeling bizarrely shy and completely out of place. Frank has his ears perked up at them, and he barks once, deep and curious. He’s already figured out that they aren’t a threat, just interesting.

“Hey!” I call. Eddy is smiling at me, and Quentin is doing that quirked-mouth thing he does that is his version of a smile. I’d never realize he was smiling if we hadn’t been friends for my entire life. It makes me feel lighter just seeing them. Frank leans up against my leg, gives them one more questioning woof.

“Hi, sweetie!” Eddy says, as soon as they come close enough that he doesn’t have to yell. “Look at you, all grown up!” He takes me by my shoulders, smiles into my eyes, gives me a quick hug which is touching since Eddy is a staunch non-hugger. He still smells like woodsmoke and tamari sauce even though he’s lived in a normal apartment in Asheville for years now. He keeps one hand on my arm, the height of physical demonstrativeness. Frank sniffs at him, eyes him approvingly and gives a bushy tail wag.

I try to calculate how long it’s been since I’ve seen them, and am coming up with a VERY long time. Two years? Is that possible? Long enough for Eddy to have some streaks of gray in his black hair, and Quentin to have more lines criss-crossing the light-coffee skin around his sharp eyes. They both look a little thinner, but they also both look a lot happier. Definitely long enough for the house to have turned into an empty, dark shell.

“Hey Jessie,” Quentin says, hanging back a bit and watching Frank. “Good to see you, and…your wolf?”

“This is Frank,” I say. “He’s friendly.” I scratch Frank’s ears. Eddy reaches down and lets Frank sniff his hand, then flashes a quick grin at Quentin. “You better come say hi to him if we’re going to be his new dads.” Quentin does that little snorty laugh I remember, and puts a hand out for Frank to sniff. Frank licks him.

“He’s pretty,” Quentin says, staring into Frank’s eyes. “What kind is he?”

“Some Husky,” I tell him. “Probably some German Shepherd. A whole lot of mutt. He’s a great dog.” All of a sudden my eyes are stinging. Frank IS a great dog, and he’s the only dog I’ve ever had. As a lifelong cat person I never meant to end up with a dog, but I found Frank on the side of the road when he was just a puppy and that was that. It hits me that I’m going to miss Frank infinitely more than I’m going to miss Nick.

“Thanks for keeping him for me while I’m gone,” I tell Eddy, who is scratching Frank between the ears now. Frank is sitting on Eddy’s feet and looks as ecstatic as I’ve ever seen him. “He’s a good boy. He’s never been any trouble. And he likes cats.” I don’t currently have a cat, but I know Eddy and Quentin have several. Nick has two black cats, one longhaired and one shorthaired, and Frank loves them. I love them too and again I’m feeling prickles behind my eyes that aren’t for poor Nick.

Suddenly I realize someone’s missing. “Where’s Albert? Did he not come with you?”

They both look around too. “He was right behind us,” says Quentin. “Where did he get to?”

Albert is my uncle. My mother’s younger brother. He’s considerably older than Eddy although you’d never know it. Something’s wrong with Albert, but my grandparents’ church didn’t approve of doctors so they never got him diagnosed. Grandma always said Albert’s brain just doesn’t operate the same as other people’s, which seems like quite an understatement. For one thing, Albert is convinced that he remembers his life during the Civil War. Not just stories about that era, or things he’s seen on TV. He believes he actually has memories of being alive then. Living in this very house with his original family. He’s been going on about it and upsetting Grandma and Grandpa, his actual parents, for as long as I can remember. It is a good story, though.

I felt like Albert and I were about the same age until I was maybe 10, and then I started feeling like he was my increasingly younger brother. Now he lives with Eddie and Quentin so I guess he’s turned into their kid.

“Albert!” Eddy calls. “Come see Jessie!”

“And Frank!” I shout.

We all look back down the driveway. The sun is just starting to sink over Snake Mountain and it’s blazing right into our faces. Birds are singing in the trees, and the hypnotic sound of insects buzzing all around us is making me feel like I’m drifting off as I stand there, settling over me like some strange trance. It was a long drive, and I haven’t slept well lately, but it’s more than that. It’s as if the house is pressing down on me, quietly but firmly, sinking me into the dirt under my feet.

“There he is,” says Quentin, jerking me out of my reverie. Albert has appeared right beside us, so abruptly that I flinch. It’s like he’s materialized from the barely veiled past. He looks exactly the same as he always has, slight and vague, messy sparrow-brown hair standing on end, big serious hazel eyes. He stares at me, says, “Hey, Jessie,” like it’s only been a few hours since we last crossed paths. Then he spots Frank, who is standing beside me wagging his tail, and before I can say anything back they are wrapped up together in the dusty road, Albert hugging Frank and Frank licking Albert’s face with delight.

*******

I’m not sure how I feel about going inside the house, but Eddy is just assuming that’s what we’re going to do. He tells me he comes by as often as he can to make sure everything looks okay. It’s still full of all Grandma’s stuff, he says, because he just can’t make himself get rid of anything while she’s still here, even if “here” is the nursing home in town.

“And you might want some of it at some point,” he says. “You and Joel and Ben, eventually you’ll all settle down and need some furniture.” He lopes up the stone steps to the porch, leaving me and Quentin lagging behind and glancing sideways at each other. Albert and Frank are racing around the front yard now, tall grass slapping their legs. Eddy digs a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocks the front door.

“Oh, wait,” I say. “I forgot something.” I run back to my car, reach behind the passenger seat, and get my tattered black camera bag out of the floor. I pull out the camera, a Canon Rebel, and make sure the battery is full and the lens is clean. I stick an extra battery in my pocket, just in case. Then I loop it over my neck and hurry back to the house as Quentin vanishes through the door behind Eddy.

The first thing I notice when I step inside is how silent the house is. Silent and dim. The hallway is so dark I can’t see anything at all, and I have to stand there a minute until my eyes adjust from the bright evening light outside. Then the massive, ornate old side table that once belonged to our great grandparents slowly comes into view beside me. It used to be full of keys and sunglasses and books and mail, stuff everyone dropped off as they came in and picked up as they went out. Now the dark wood surface is empty except for an old globe hurricane lamp painted with swirly pink flowers, and a layer of dust. I try the switch on the lamp, but of course nothing happens. Eddy had the electricity and the water cut off back when Grandma went into the nursing home to save some money. There’s a strange faint smell in the air. A trace of locked-up house, the tiniest bit musty. Underneath it is the smell it’s always had, as far back as I can remember. The slightly sweet scent of old wood furniture, a touch of lavender. It smells like home.

When my eyes adjust I can see further down the narrow hall towards the living room and the kitchen. Eddy and Quentin have both vanished. I hear footsteps and floorboards creaking overhead. The little front room where Grandpa used to read his paper every evening is on my right, but the door is closed. I ease it open and look inside. The pale blue damask drapes are pulled shut, but a little light is coming in at the edges from the low sun and the room has an eerie underwater feel to it. Grandpa’s old recliner is still by the far window, with his floor lamp beside it. The lamp is old too, like everything else, and has a big gold-toned glass shade and a long tasseled pull to turn it on and off. Grandpa was always telling us to stay away from it, afraid we’d knock it over and break the shade. I step into the room, look through my viewfinder, make some adjustments for the dim light, and take a few pictures of the recliner and lamp. Then I take a few more of the glass-front bookshelves on the opposite wall. It looks like most of the books are still there, along with an array of framed family pictures scattered around in front of the books. My grandfather’s parents, his siblings, strangers that were his aunts and uncles are lined up in various formations with this same house behind them. Even in old sepia photographs the house looks younger, brighter.

I lean in to get some closeups of the books and the photos. Some of the books have leather binding and gold gilt script, others are just standard hardbacks with scuffs and dents. Dickens, Melville, Shakespeare, mixed in with Faulkner, Hemingway, Harper Lee, Flannery O’Connor, a bunch of Readers Digest Condensed Books volumes. Grandma had been a librarian before she had kids and she’d always picked up old books wherever she found them, usually at flea markets and junk stores. They look lost, out of place, sad about not being handled and read like they were years and years ago.

On the far left of the middle shelf I see some trinkets behind the glass. A little plastic cow, a tiny red caboose, a couple of rusty Matchbox cars: an orange station wagon with the tiny doors standing open, a dented ambulance that’s missing a wheel. I don’t remember any of them. Then I spot the little green figure peering around from behind the last book on the shelf. Teeny spindly arms, giant black eyes that take up his entire great big head.

He used to sit on Samuel’s nightstand, his little wiry green arms wrapped around a pencil. Sometimes he’d hang one-handed off the lamp. One night at dinner he showed up in Albert’s mashed potatoes. Samuel had Albert convinced the little green man was alive and moved around when nobody was watching him. It ended with Albert having a panicky meltdown and Samuel getting grounded.

I really don’t want to think about Samuel. Not right now. I slide the glass open, grab the little green man, and shove him in my pocket. I’ll think about them both later.

I take a couple more pictures then slip out into the hall again, feeling like I am intruding on something distant and vague, barely there but at the same time filling the room. I take one look back and for a second I see Grandpa sitting in his recliner, looking at the paper, lost in thought. I close the door fast before he looks up at me.

“Eddy?” I call, once I’m back in the hallway. “Quentin? Where are you guys?”

“Up here,” Eddy’s voice floats down from the second floor. “We’re looking at the bedrooms.”

Suddenly I feel dizzy, the dark corners of the house pressing in on me again, and I’m so lightheaded I’m afraid I will actually faint. Alarmed, I turn and yank the heavy door open, calling over my shoulder, “I’m going back outside!”

I stand on the porch a minute and work on getting my breath back under control. The old chairs are looking faded and have rips in their green plastic cushions. There’s an abandoned hornet’s nest under the left-hand eave at the end of the porch. I take a few pictures of the furniture and the nest to distract myself and then take a picture of Albert and Frank, who have collapsed on the lawn. The tall weeds nearly obliterate them from view. It’s just Albert’s arms stretched out, and Frank on his back with his four white feet in the air.

“What are you two doing?” I ask, going back down the stone steps and out into the yard.

Albert sits up on his elbows. “We’re resting. Are you staying?”

“Just tonight,” I say. “I’m spending the night with you guys. Tomorrow I have to go back to Washington.”

“But Frank is staying?” Albert asks, looking a little worried. He pats one of Frank’s feet.

“Yeah, Frank gets to stay with you,” I say. I sit down beside him in the weeds, feeling strangely exhausted. “You’re going to dog sit while I’m away.”

Albert smiles. “I like Frank,” he says. Frank clearly returns the sentiment. He sits up too, licks Albert’s face.

“I know he’ll be happy with you,” I tell Albert. My eyes are stinging again. “He needs somebody to run around with and wrestle.” Albert nods seriously.

Frank scratches behind one ear, then looks up at the house. Eddy and Quentin are coming out the front door. They both sit down on the stone steps, looking off at Snake Mountain. The warm low sun feels reassuring and the buzzing and clicking of the insects has gotten even louder.

“I thought we’d have pizza for dinner,” Eddy says. “You do still like pizza, right?”

“Absolutely,” I tell him. What I really want to do is lie down in the wild grass and go to sleep, stay here in the yard all night and not move for about fifteen hours, but I think it’s best not to tell him that. Quentin is looking at me sideways again, like he wants to say something but has decided not to. Albert collapses back into the grass, one arm around Frank.

“Tomorrow we’ll let you go visit Grandma by yourself,” Eddy says. “It seems harder on her to have more than one person at a time there. She can’t always figure out who people are, and she gets a little frustrated.”

“She thinks I’m somebody different every time she sees me,” says Quentin. “Last time it was that guy who used to run the junk shop over by the river. Don something.”

Eddy laughs. “At least she liked him,” he says. “The other day she thought I was some mean boy she went to school with and she yelled at me till I had to leave. She always thinks you were someone she liked.”

“She knows me,” Albert says. “She never thinks I’m somebody she doesn’t like.”

“Of course she knows you,” Eddy says, smiling at him. “Who would forget you?”

“Nobody,” Albert says decisively. “Nobody ever would.”

We all laugh then, and Eddy gets up to lock the house. I drag myself to my feet and back to my car. Frank jumps right in, and Albert follows him. “I’m riding with Frank,” he tells me.

“Frank will like that,” I say, and call to Eddy and Quentin as they walk back down the driveway to their car to tell them Albert is coming with us and we’ll be right behind them.

**********

I go to see Grandma first thing the next morning. She does a lot better early in the day, Eddy says. He tells me sometimes she almost seems like herself if you catch her right after breakfast. I take a little pot of bright red geraniums, and a box of the Russell Stover chocolates she always loved, the ones with caramel inside. She used to share them with me when she got a box for Mother’s Day or her birthday and I’ve never been able to see Russell Stover’s without thinking of her.

The nursing home is on the edge of town, up a narrow side road that looks like it isn’t going anywhere until you find yourself in their parking lot. The building has one central area with five wings branching off and a big sign out front that says “Golden Pines Village” in a huge flowery font. I park the car a good distance from the main entrance hoping a little walk will calm my nerves. I call Grandma every week or so, but I haven’t made a visit in person since my last trip home and I’m afraid of the changes I’ll see. She went into Golden Pines after she fell trying to put washing on the line and broke her hip. It shouldn’t have been an accident she’d never get over. Her doctor expected her to be back home in a couple of months as long as she had some help around the house, but she caught pneumonia and then came down with a serious UTI, and she never got her strength or her mind completely back. In our early phone calls she was her usual brisk and no-nonsense self, telling me how she was working on getting strong enough to go back home and about what she’d mapped out for the garden that summer. With every month that passed she got vaguer and less determined. On my last visit she was shockingly tiny and frail, just sitting in a wheelchair, resigned.

I’d phoned her as I was driving down the interstate to tell her I was coming to visit. She wasn’t sure who I was. First she thought I was my cousin Mary, then she called me Sarah, which was unnerving. Sarah was my mother, who died when I was an infant. After that she seemed to think I was someone from church, and then she told me lunch was coming and hung up on me. So I’m not sure what to expect today.

I sign in at the front desk and make myself a name tag with a sticky-backed orange label and a bright purple marker. The receptionist points me towards the hall Grandma’s room is on. The hallway is a brave attempt at cheery. The light yellow walls are lined with happy bulletin boards announcing activities and upcoming holidays at frequent intervals. The overpowering smell of heavy duty cleaners and soiled linens is a sobering contrast. There are ancient people in wheelchairs all down the hallway. Some are rolling slowly, some are sitting still and staring into space. A couple are wheeling along briskly, and one old man with his white hair standing on end and a glint in his eyes nearly knocks into me as I try to flatten myself against the wall to let him by.

“Look out, girl,” he says, “I’ve got to go see Erma.”

“Sorry,” I tell him. “Excuse me!” He keeps going, doesn’t look back. A woman wearing a bright red sweatshirt watches me walking towards her, and says, “Are you here for me?”

I pause, clutching my plant and chocolates. “No,” I say, bending down a bit towards her. “No, sorry, I’m here to see my grandmother. Opal. Do you know Opal?”

She sighs, looks past me down the hallway. “There’s no Opal,” she says.

I back up a bit, not sure what to say in return, but she is watching someone else now. One of the nurses is heading towards us at a rapid clip, looking down at a notebook. As she reaches us, the red sweatshirt woman says, “Are you here for me? This one just wants Opal.”

The nurse slows down, says, “Good morning, Sally! I’m not here for you right now but I’ll be coming to see you later.” Then she peers over her bright blue glasses at me and says, “Are you looking for Mrs. Jordan, honey? Opal Jordan? She’s in her room. Two doors down on the right.”

“Thanks,” I say, but the nurse has already zipped off down the hall. I tell the red sweatshirt woman goodbye. She doesn’t give me another glance. The door to my grandmother’s room is open. I take a deep breath and look inside.

At first I don’t even see her. There are two little beds, one near the door and the other by the window, both made up. Each of them has a small bedside table with a telephone and a big insulated water pitcher. A rolling tray stand beside the bed nearest the door holds what looks like the remains of breakfast. A small dish with a few bites of grits, a plate with scattered scrambled eggs and toast edges, a little glass with a bit of orange juice in the bottom and a tiny carton of milk like we used to get for lunch in elementary school. There’s a plastic cover upside down beside the plate and some smushed up butter packets. I look around for somewhere to put the geranium and the box of chocolates, and see my grandmother sitting in a wheelchair on the other side of the bed by the window, staring at me.

“OH,” I say, startled. “Hey Grandma!”

She keeps looking at me. She is tiny, so tiny that for a second I think I must have the wrong room because this teeny little old lady can’t possibly be my tall formidable grandmother. She’s hunched over in her chair and has a wild halo of wispy white hair that’s lit up by the sun coming in the window. She’s scowling a bit, like she isn’t sure what I’m doing there and definitely doesn’t approve. She’s wearing gray sweatpants and a pink fleecy sweater with a cheerful rainbow unicorn prancing in the center. It’s pretty much the last thing on earth I’d expect my proper grandmother to be dressed in. She peers at me like she thinks I have the wrong room too, and then suddenly her eyes go wide and she’s smiling.

“Why Jessie!” SPACE she says, “How lovely to see you!”

I’m hugging her before I realize I’m across the room, feeling her frail bones under my hands, slight and insubstantial as a bird’s. We’re both laughing and relief washes over me as I hand her the chocolates and set the little red geranium on the windowsill. “Is this your bed, the window one?” I ask her. “Is it okay to put the plant here?”

She looks around, brow furrowed again, and says, “I guess it is, honey – I think it’s my bed.” My relief fades a bit at that, but at least she’s smiling at me. I hand her the box of chocolates and she laughs. “Oh, it’s my favorite!” she says, trying to get a fingernail under the plastic wrapping. I help her with it, and of course she offers me one first when we finally get the box free of the wrap.

The nurse who passed me in the hall sticks her head into the room, and says, “Good morning Opal! I see you have a visitor!”

“It’s my daughter Jessie!” Grandma says, beaming at us both. The nurse and I exchange a glance, and I decide it’s too complicated to correct her. I’m sure the nurse has heard more unlikely introductions. Besides that, she really was the only mother I ever knew.

“Would you like to go sit outside?” the nurse asks, and says to me, “You can take her out to the gazebo if you want. It’s nice this morning, not too chilly.”

“Oh, I would love to go outside!” Grandma says, so we put a little red and black plaid lap blanket over her and I roll her out to the hallway, the box of chocolates tucked safely under the blanket. The nurse points me towards the double doors that lead out to the gazebo. “You should have a nice visit,” she says, leaning close to my ear. “Opal seems quite lucid today.”

The doors open onto a small grassy area with a narrow sidewalk curving around its edge. I wheel her along past a number of residents’ windows and a little flower garden with purple butterfly bushes and deep blue hydrangeas. Grandma barely glances at them. She’s got her eye on the white gazebo in the center of the courtyard. It’s big enough for several tables and there are benches around the interior, but to my surprise we’ve got it to ourselves. I wheel her up to one of the benches and sit down beside her. I have to help her dig the chocolates back out from under her lap blanket and then open the box for her so she can remember what she wanted them for to begin with. She offers me another one before digging in herself. Her blue eyes seem faded as she gazes around us, unfocused and distant.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her. “You look great!” That’s a bit of an exaggeration but it’s not going to hurt her to hear it. She keeps chewing on her chocolate, looking off towards the hill behind the nursing home. “Your house looks good too,” I tell her. “Eddy and Quentin and I checked on it last night. Everything’s just like you left it.” Another bit of not-quite-truth, but sadly she’s not going to know the difference. I realize that even now it makes me nervous to hide things from her after all those years of being punished for the smallest of tiny white lies. I can’t imagine what she’d say if she knew what I was telling Nick.

“My house?” she says, looking sharply at me. “Why did they do that to my house?”

I’m not sure what she means. “Nobody did anything to it, Grandma” I tell her. “Everything’s just like it’s always been.”

“They took my house away, and they put another house exactly like it where mine used to be. They took every single stick of furniture and all my things out of my old house, and put it all in the new house. I don’t know why they did that, and they won’t tell me!” I can’t think of a thing to say to that, and she continues to glare at me. “You need to find out why, Jessie. You make them tell you, and then you come and tell me.”

“Ummmm,” I say, “okay, I’ll see what I can find out.” She nods briskly. “You do that. I’ve had just about enough of their shenanigans.” Then she turns back to the chocolate.

“Listen, Grandma,” I say, “I need to tell you something.” She glances over at me, then turns her gaze to the hillside. “I’m going away for awhile,” I tell her. “I’m going to England for work in a couple of weeks.”

She looks back at me, sharp eyed again. “England?” she says. “Why, isn’t that…” she pauses, thinking. “Where is that?”

“Across the ocean,” I tell her. “Across the channel from France and Germany?” She looks at me blankly. It’s surprisingly hard and completely heartbreaking to try describing England’s physical location to her. She was our living encyclopedia/dictionary combination when we were kids. There was nothing she didn’t know. My eyes sting and I bend over the chocolate box so she won’t see me getting teary. I get a heavy ache in my chest when I realize how much I want to tell her that I’m terrified about this move, and have her tell me back that I should never pass up opportunities and everything will be absolutely fine.

“Oh, remember Upstairs Downstairs? That show you loved, that we used to watch on Saturday nights when I was a kid? That was set in England. They lived in London.”

“Oh yes,” she says, smiling again. “We did love that, didn’t we!”

“We did,” I said. “That’s where I’ll be.”

“You aren’t going to be a servant, are you?” she says. “You’re a smart girl with a good education, you can do better than that.”

“What? Oh, no, I’m not going to live in the Upstairs Downstairs house – I’ll be working for my newspaper. Like I do now, just in London.” She nods, pleased. “You can find you a nice rich young man there. There was that one handsome boy that came to visit for the holidays, remember him? It was right before the first war, and all the girls at the house were chasing after him. I don’t think any of them actually caught him. I bet they’ll have some balls you can go to and he’ll be there waiting on you. What was his name, Tom or Rob….”

She’s thinking hard about it and I’m trying not to laugh, or cry.

“I wish I could make you a dress for those balls,” she says. “I just can’t see to sew anything like I used to. I always enjoyed making dresses for you, even though you didn’t like to wear them. You always preferred blue jeans like your brothers, didn’t want a thing to do with dresses. But you can’t wear blue jeans to a ball, so we’ll have to figure something out. You know Samuel will go with you if you ask him.”

For a second I think I misheard her. She’s staring into space again, getting another chocolate out of the box. I can’t think of the last time I heard her say Samuel’s name. She glances back over at me, chews the caramel slowly.

“Do you… think Samuel enjoys dances?” I ask, slowly. She raises her eyebrows. NEW PARAGRAPH? “He wouldn’t have to enjoy it, honey. That’s what brothers do. They escort their sisters to the balls. That’s part of their job.”

“Did Uncle Bud escort you to balls?” I really don’t know where I’m going with this, but I want to keep her talking.

“He did take me to the barn dances when we were young, of course. That wasn’t the same thing, though, not at all like the balls. We didn’t have balls here. They had them down south, the wealthy people did. And where you’re going, they are always having parties and balls in that big house. So you get your brother to take you.”

“I’ll ask Eddy,” I say. “I can see him trying to be gallant.”

“Eddy isn’t going with you, is he? I hope he’s not, I need him to help me out here.”

“No, it’s just me, but …”

“Well, you ask Samuel.”

I’m not sure how far I want to get into this. “Remember how Samuel…went away? All those years ago? We don’t know where he is.”

“He’s a clever boy, he’s fine. But since they switched my house he won’t know which is the right one when he comes home!” She’s distressed, her thin voice is rising and she’s looking at me again, her eyes darting over my face. “We need to let him know, Jessie. You call him and tell him you’re there, and you tell him which house is the right house so he can come home.”

Suddenly all the fire goes out of her, and she’s blank again.

“Sarah, I want to go back inside now,” she says, looking past me towards the nursing home doors. “I’m so tired. I want to go to sleep. Jacob will be needing dinner soon.” She’s grabbed the wheels on her chair, like she plans to push herself back, but of course it doesn’t budge.

“It’s Jessie, Grandma,” I say, bending down near her face. “Remember? Can you tell me where Samuel went? Can you tell me how to…let him know about the house?”

“You take me inside right now,” she snaps, “before I have to call that big man. He’ll set you straight!”

“Okay, okay,” I say, trying not to laugh again. Or cry again. I settle the blanket back over her legs, stick her box of chocolates underneath it, and give her a kiss on the cheek. She makes a “hurrmfftttt!” noise but reaches up and pats my hand as I push her back down the path to the big double doors.

Albert- 2010

The barn is dark. Scary quiet dark. I followed him to the barn. I am good at following. He doesn’t know I’m there. Something is going to happen. I don’t know what.

At breakfast his eyes went around the coffee steam. They went out the window, over the yard, towards the mountain. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at us. He just sat there a long long time. That was when my head knew something was going to happen.

Jessie was eating her Frosted Mini Wheats MAY HAVE TO CHANGE NAME too fast. Ma says she always eats everything too fast. But Ma was in the garden and Pa’s eyes had gone out the window and didn’t come back.

“Pa,” I said, “Jessie is eating too fast.” He didn’t hear me. Jessie looked over at me. She looked over at him. She put her spoon down in her bowl. A little milk splashed out onto the table. She frowned.

“What are you going to do today, Grandpa?” she asked him. He didn’t answer. We both looked at him. He didn’t look back at us. His eyes were still out the window.

“Why can’t he hear you?” I asked her. He looked at me. He looked at her. He nodded at her. I guess that meant he could hear her.

“I have some things to attend to,” he said. “Jessie, you are going to be late to work.”Then he looked back out the window.

Jessie frowned some more. She opened her mouth to say something else. Then she shut it. She got up. She took her cereal bowl to the sink. She took my cereal bowl to the sink. Neither of us was done eating our Frosted Mini Wheats. I had a lot left because I don’t eat too fast. I didn’t say anything though.

She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“Okay, she said. “Bye, Grandpa. See you tonight.”

She patted my head. She is always patting my head.

“Bye, Albert”, she said, and she was gone out the kitchen door before I had time to tell her bye back.

Now I go after him. He walks slow down the hill and into the barn. He’s way on the other side by the stack of hay when I sneak through the door behind him. I am very quiet.

I slide into the stall where Esmeralda lives. She doesn’t give me away. She moves close to me. She nuzzles my hair. We both watch him. Ezzie watches over the stall door. I leave it open a teeny bit. I watch through the gap. He is hard to see in the dark. He is like a shadow. A little piece of sun comes through a crack way up the wall. It makes his glasses bright. A buckle on his overalls looks like a tiny fire. He pulls that box out from behind the pile of Ezzie’s hay. He looks down at that box. I remember that box.

I can’t breathe. Ezzie and I watch. I hear the slithers. Ezzie’s ears go back. She circles around the stall. He doesn’t turn. He opens the lid. I hear the rattle. Dust motes dance over him in the light from the cracks. Ezzie snorts. She stomps one foot. She nickers. I pull the stall door nearly shut, but he doesn’t look at us.

His voice booms. “Hush, Ezzie.”

The rattle is louder. He bends over the box. Ezzie stomps again, nearly steps on me, turns around and around and around. I reach for her. “Be still,” I whisper, but I don’t think she hears me. I grab a piece of her silky silver mane and I hold on. She snorts in my ear and quits turning around.

His hand goes into the box. His voice booms again. It booms up to the rafters. It goes past the dust motes, past the loft. I’ve heard those words-not-words before. He said them those other times. I can’t breathe. He pulls out the snake. A big, big snake. Its face looks into his face. Its head sways. I try to yell, but nothing comes out. Ezzie jerks away from me. She stomps. She whirls again. Her tail slaps across my eyes. She snorts, snorts, neighs. He holds the snake away from him. He drapes it between his arms.

“Ah ala hafa sonaaaa” he says to the snake. “taaffapa hokla fopaa”

He stands still. The snake is still. They stare into each other’s eyes. He holds up his arms. Up, up to God. He talks again at the snake’s face. He looks up at the rafters, at the cobwebs, at the dust motes. He raises the serpent up, up, up. Up to the ceiling, up to the sky. The words-not-words go on and on. I remember what is going to happen next. I remember it from before.

“No, no,” I think. Then I say it. He looks over at me, booms, “Albert?”

The snake snaps at his face. It’s in the air. Then it’s not in the air. It’s draped across his neck. Ezzie is stomping, pawing, whirling. Her eyes are wild and white. She’s making scary screams. I am afraid she will kick me, step on me, bite me. I don’t think she knows who I am. I shrink against the door, small as I can be. I keep watching him.

The snake bites his neck. It’s so fast I barely see it. He falls on his knees. He lets the snake go. He’s kneeling in the hay that’s kicked all over the floor. The snake buries itself in the hay. Then it’s gone. CHG?: AND IS GONE He is still talking to God. His voice still booms. “Ahca loricatna prinato ahhh ahhh ahhh”

Ezzie whirls, whirls, whinnies, nicks me on the shoulder with her hoof. It should hurt but I can’t feel it. I am frozen. Then I am not. I jerk the stall door open. I almost fall through it. Ezzie flies over my head, runs for the open barn door, runs and runs and runs away.

He is lying on his side in the hay. There is blood on his neck. His glasses are in the hay. His bare eyes are black and burning and they are staring at me.

I kneel down beside him.

“Go get your mother,” he says.

His eyes shut. Then his face is old, wrinkled like used up paper. Blood drips bright red down his neck, runs into the hay.

I stand up but my legs won’t work. I think I am going to fall. I don’t fall. I stumble out the barn door into the sunlight. Bright bright sunlight. Ma is coming down the hill from the house, shading her eyes.

“Albert, did you let that horse out? She’s just run right through my tomatoes!”

Ma stops. She stares at me. I am trying to shout, trying to tell her. No words come out. She wraps her hands in her red apron.

“Albert, what’s wrong?”

I stumble towards her. I finally say, “Pa, Pa, Pa.” I say it over and over. I can’t quit. I can’t say more. She rushes to me, grabs my shoulders, stares into my eyes. Hers are as black as his.

“Where? What happened?”

“Pa Pa Pa”

She shakes me hard, looks at the barn door. Looks back at me.

“Is he in the barn?”

I nod. No more words will come out.

“Go call 911. Give them our address. Tell them he’s in the barn. Do you understand?”SPACE NEEDED HERE She shakes my shoulders again. I nod. My face is wet.

“Say it, quick, so I know you can.”

“233 Grassy Creek Road,” I say. Then I can say more. “He’s in the barn,” I say. “There was a snake.”

She nods. “Tell them that too. Go.”

She pushes me towards the house, runs for the open barn door.

I run, run to the house, run to the kitchen phone. I dial 911, like they do on It’s An Emergency. QUOTATION MARKS OR ITALICS NEEDED When the voice answers, I say he’s in the barn, it was a snake. I tell the voice our address, then I hang up the phone. The voice is saying something but that’s all I know to tell. I go to the door, look down at the still barn. Esmeralda is eating little green plants in the garden, calm again.