Chapter Five
I didn’t want to return to school, but even Anna said I’d feel worse and my mother would be upset if I didn’t.
Jamie sensed all that. When Arthur, one of Grandfather’s drivers, brought me home every day, Jamie would come by to greet me.
He often held my hand when no one was looking, his touch a silent promise that I wasn’t alone.
He even kissed me on the cheek now whenever he said so long, something he had previously been hesitant to do, especially in public.
He was so shy. Daddy saw that as a weakness and never hesitated to tell me so.
My reaction had evolved from accepting it to telling him he could use some shyness himself.
I didn’t stay after school to work on my art yet.
I couldn’t help feeling guilty doing enjoyable things after Mommy’s passing.
Mr. Angelo, with his kind eyes and patient smile, said everything would be ready when I felt inclined and strong enough to continue.
What made it even more difficult was that I had always looked forward to Mommy’s comments about my artwork.
I had looked to her more than I did to my art teacher.
She was always very honest and serious about it.
I sensed that maybe it was because she saw so much of me in my work.
Watching the strokes of my brush, she could tell instantly when I was happy or when I was sad.
Now I was like an actor who had lost his audience and was alone on the stage. How could he utter another line?
Meanwhile, Jamie continued to suggest things for us to do after I got out of school that would keep me from thinking about Mommy’s tragedy, especially walks on the beach, during which we discovered things like stones so polished they could easily pass for expensive jewels.
Sometimes I thought he was going to wear out his vocal cords describing sea life and making sure I didn’t have a silent moment with my sad thoughts.
The moment my eyes watered, he would do something silly like somersaults or racing toward waves as they approached the shore and retreating just in time.
Of course, I remembered my sea walks with Mommy.
What I didn’t remember, however, because Mommy was the one who kept track of my important medical exams, was that I had an upcoming appointment with the specialist in Bar Harbor. Grandfather was the one who received the reminder call because Daddy was on another job mission.
“But I don’t feel sick, Grandfather,” I said. “If I wasn’t sicker after Mommy’s funeral, I must be all right.”
“I’m sure you are, but we owe it to your mother to do what she planned,” he said. “I can’t lose you, too,” he added, but with a new intensity that took me by surprise.
“You won’t, Grandfather,” I said.
His smile was softer and more loving than any I could remember.
This week, he was looking at me differently as well.
I rarely caught him staring at me or watching the simple things I did, but he was doing that now.
When I looked back at him, he turned away.
He really appeared to be worrying about me.
I mentioned it to Anna.
“Oh, dearie,” she said. “When terrible things happen, it takes time for them to settle in fully. Your grandfather knows how sad you are, and that makes him sadder still. He puts on a big show, bigger than your father does sometimes, but he’s a softy.”
She hugged me, and then she told me that people often shed their mourning like birds shed feathers, just a little at a time. She also said that whether mourners liked it or not, they learned to live in a world without their loved ones.
“Do mourners change?” I asked her. “Change who we were, who we are?” I wondered how I would.
“Oh, yes. We all change in subtle, little ways sometimes, and sometimes people who have a more difficult time change a lot. It’s natural to grow a little bitter.”
“Am I?”
“You’ve grown older,” she said. “Quickly. And maybe a little wiser.”
The day of my appointment, Daddy told me Grandfather would take me.
“If I miss this day at work, I’ll have to put in five additional days,” he said. “Besides, it’s only a checkup. Your grandfather can handle it, and all the information will be sent to me as well.”
Jamie wanted to come, too, but it was a school day, and I was beginning to feel guilty about how much of his time I was taking, especially time he should have been spending at work.
Grandfather and I set out for Bar Harbor.
We were lucky. It was a clear, calm autumn day.
When I turned to my right in the boat, I could imagine my mother with her eyes closed, smiling, with the breeze making her hair dance.
Memories like that froze in your mind, I thought.
Life was filled with beautiful paintings, but the ones that featured people you loved were very special.
It was as if the whole world faded away around them.
As if he could see what I saw, Grandfather took my hand and sat with a gentle smile.
“One day I’m going to paint your portrait, Grandfather.”
He laughed. “Do it from memory,” he said. “I can’t sit still long enough even for a photograph.”
He was up helping dock the boat when we reached Bar Harbor. Daddy always made the driver do everything. He and Grandfather were so unalike that I didn’t need any proof they weren’t blood-related.
I thought my exam went well, but when I looked at Grandfather after the doctor had spoken to him, I wasn’t so sure. I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“You’re doing okay,” the doctor said, “but we’re going to keep a close eye on you, and if you have any more dizzy spells, I want to know it as soon as possible. Now, here’s something I want you to use occasionally, and especially if you feel unsteady.”
He handed me something to put on my finger and showed me how to use it and read it. It showed the level of oxygen in my blood.
“It’s called an oximeter,” he said, looking more at Grandfather than at me. “It was created for patients about four years ago or so.”
Right now it showed my blood oxygen as being at 98 percent.
I took it off my finger. It was one thing to think about my symptoms, even feel them, but I was afraid I would be using this so much, and more people would wonder about me, especially classmates.
Jamie would probably think it was wonderful.
The doctor could read my thoughts. “It’s not necessary for you to use it constantly,” he said. “You’ll make yourself worry too much, okay?”
I nodded.
“Maybe I’ll use it, too, once in a while,” Grandfather said.
The doctor agreed, a little more sincerely than I had anticipated.
“Is there something about your health I should know?” I asked Grandfather.
“No, I’m as fit as a fiddle.”
He smiled, and we left to return home.
The biggest surprise of all after my hospital visit was how much time Grandfather would spend with me, rushing home from work at the company and never missing a dinner, whereas Daddy missed at least two a week.
I had yet to see Daddy show his grief over the loss of my mother, his wife.
If anything, Mommy’s death seemed to make him an angrier man, which was what Anna had said was true for many people.
Daddy could start an argument with Grandfather on almost anything at the company, even something as small as the size of a secretary’s desk or the style of chairs in the lobby.
If they argued in front of me and Daddy walked out, Grandfather would explain everything in detail to me if it had to do with a customer or shipping.
One time in the late fall, they argued before dinner in the hallway, and Daddy just went off in a huff and left the house, slamming the front door so hard that I thought the walls shook. I came running to see what had happened now.
“Nothing special,” Grandfather said. “His problem is he has to win every argument and negotiation, no matter what. In the end, he’ll probably drive away more customers than he gets.
He just misunderstood my work ethic. Negotiation means compromise.
Remember that, Lisa.” He turned to walk away and then paused.
“There’s something else to remember,” he said, “something my father taught me.”
He hesitated as if he was still deciding whether or not to tell me.
“Grandfather?”
“Sometimes you have to compromise with yourself for peace of mind. Don’t be ashamed of doing it.”
He walked on.
I saw Anna standing in the doorway to the dining room.
She smiled. “When men reach your grandfather’s age,” she said, “they want to get out as much of what they have learned in their lives as soon as they can.”
She started to walk away, then stopped, turning back just like Grandfather had done.
“Look at me doing the same thing. If there ever was a pot calling a kettle black…”
Her laughter trailed after her. How lucky I was to have them both in my life, I thought, especially with Mommy gone.
When you’re younger, you’re not as conscious of time.
You dream of being older so you can do more things, have more control of your life, but you don’t realize the day or the year as much as you do when you’re older.
Grandfather said he was aware of every minute now.
Maybe this was one of the results of a family tragedy Anna had described: you couldn’t help but feel and be older and more aware of what would be coming tomorrow.
The fall seemed to slip by. You could almost smell winter in the ocean breeze. The water looked colder, the clouds heavier. Birds looked more frantic to me. It was as if they and the geese were afraid they wouldn’t get away.
I returned to my art that I had been working on at the time of my dizzy spell. Mr. Angelo had safely stored the painting I was doing at the time.
“This is your first masterpiece,” he said. “You have to complete it.”