Chapter 22
Grandma took a deep drag then coughed then laughed then coughed again.
“Dear Lord, did they always taste this bad?” She coughed some more, pulling a tissue from her dressing gown pocket to dab her watering eyes.
“No one’s forcing you.” Anna lit her own and inhaled smoothly.
“And at some point you’re going to have to quit. But tonight we both get a free pass.” Grandma tried again, more cautiously, and this time kept the smoke down. “Perhaps it’s like riding a bike. You never really forget.”
“Yeah, maybe, but if you get dizzy, let me know.” It had been a long, odd day, and as they headed toward dawn, it was getting stranger.
The doctors had said that Grandma might become more erratic as time went on, but this wasn’t that.
This was just a whole facet of her personality that Anna had never seen.
Was she chilling out now that she was fading?
They stood in silence, breathing smoke into the night for a long moment before Grandma spoke again.
“I think I understand how you felt—how you feel—now.” She held the cigarette expertly between two fingers as she tapped ash into the dirt. Maybe it was like riding a bike. “Afterward. Not being able to remember something happening, but everyone else knowing. It’s not very nice, is it?”
“No.” Anna’s throat tightened and ached and she pretended it was from the smoke rather than the threat of tears. “It’s not.”
“It was difficult,” Grandma said. “All of it. Your grandfather—well, he was—he would have hated—and I—and to think of all those people seeing you like that … well, I … I kept thinking of him.”
Anna felt so awkward hearing Grandma struggling to talk about the thing, she wanted the ground to suck her down alive. “I know I disappointed you,” she said quietly. “Everyone was embarrassed. And I know you think it was my fault.” She stopped herself before she could add You made that clear.
“It wasn’t that.” Grandma inhaled again, her mouth tighter.
“Perhaps some of that. I just didn’t understand.
I didn’t—I didn’t want … a fuss. To have it all …
well, you know how people are.” She looked at Anna, her eyes clear.
“I was wrong. There should have been more of a fuss. Maybe then they’d have found them if we’d made a fuss without you having to remember. ”
They stood there, cigarettes in hand, both determined not to cry, both with backs ramrod straight.
Neither moved to touch or hug the other, but it was a moment between them nonetheless.
Anna thought back to what Dr. Burdett had said about them looking the same.
Perhaps they were more alike than Anna had realized.
It was the closest to an apology she was going to get from Grandma, and in many ways it was better than a straightforward I’m sorry.
“Not sure it would have made much difference. I was out of it. Those guys just did what boys do, isn’t that what everyone said? I wish I could remember, but it’s done now.”
“Not for you, though, dear, is it?”
Anna shrugged. She was glad that the security light wasn’t fixed yet and the darkness was cloaking them. She could see the shine of Grandma’s eyes but no deeper than that, which meant it was the same the other way. They both had a little protection. “Why are you talking about this now anyway?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m worried I won’t get the chance to say the things I want to. The things I find hard. I worry more these days.”
“You know,” Anna started, careful, “Mom got some sleeping pills in case you need them. I know where they are. If you want one ever, just ask.” If Grandma mentioned it to Mom, Anna would take Mom’s anger.
This was the right way to do it, not slipping pills into an old woman’s hot chocolate secretly, like a roofie at a party or a man in a clown mask with a syringe.
“I would like not to be a worry, that’s for sure.
” Grandma let out a long sigh, staring ahead.
“But if it’s all right with you, I’ll pass.
Never did like how they made me feel.” She paused, inhaling, no hint of a cough now.
“But if you want me to take them so you don’t stay up worrying, then I will. ”
“It’s fine by me, Grandma. I don’t sleep much anyway.”
“Thank you. That’s a relief.”
A relief. A funny way to put it. Anna could understand not wanting to take pills. Mom was always complaining about pill-reluctant patients, but to call it a relief was a strange turn of phrase. “Then I’ll keep flushing them down the sink.”
“Thank you.” Grandma bent down and carefully stubbed the cigarette out before straightening up, still holding the butt.
“Maybe one day you’ll remember what happened to you,” she said.
“Or maybe it’s better that you don’t. Only time will tell.
It’s a long life, Anna, even if it doesn’t feel much like it now. ”
“Thanks, Grandma.” She didn’t know what else to say but took the butt from her. “I’ll get rid of that.”
“Our secret,” Grandma said.
“Our secret.”
Grandma headed inside, all careful, birdlike moves.
“Oh, but, Grandma?”
She turned.
“If this turns into a habit, you’ll buying the next pack.” A thought dawned on her. “What happened to that half pack in your room? On the dresser. Were they Dr. Burdett’s?”
Grandma frowned, pausing at the open front door. “What cigarettes? Johnny doesn’t smoke. Maybe the occasional cigar.”
“But I—” Anna stopped herself, seeing the worried confusion on Grandma’s face that something else had slipped between the widening cracks of her mind. “Sorry, my bad. I forgot I took them back,” she lied. “I must have left them in there when I took the towels in.”
“Oh,” Grandma smiled, relieved. “That’ll all well, then. Good night, Anna.” She drifted inside like a wraith.
Around the corner of the porch, Anna dumped both butts into the tin can she’d half filled with water a while back, now thick with cigarette-stub sludge.
It was a surprise to see. She didn’t think she’d smoked so much since they’d been here, though she must have.
Each one was smoked right down to the butt, just like she smoked them.
She made a mental note to either add more water or switch it out for a fresh one tomorrow, fully aware that her family might forgive her moods and occasional outbursts, but accidentally setting Grandma’s house on fire in this endless dry weather would be a step too far.
She’d only started smoking after the thing.
Before then she’d vaped sometimes, had the occasional joint at a party, but in general had stuck to beer and wine and done just fine.
Until she hadn’t. And now Grandma was smoking too.
That was a surprise. They needed to fill up their empty spaces with something, it might as well be American Spirit.
As she locked up the house and crept back to her room, Anna hoped Grandma didn’t take her at her word and start buying. Finding Grandma behaving strangely was one thing—Grandma behaving strangely while smoking would mean one burned-down house in no time, tin can of water or not.
Grandma. Not only was she acting weird—she was saying odd things.
That was twice she’d mentioned girls while she was in her lost state.
The girls, they won’t shut up. That’s what she’d said in the kitchen, and what was it tonight?
They’re so loud. It made Anna shiver. And then They say a girl died here.
Now, after what Melissa had said about the dead lingering, Anna couldn’t shake the ridiculous thought of Lila’s and Bonnie’s ghosts somehow being trapped inside Grandma’s head, trying to communicate.
It was stupid, just too much death in one evening.
No one had died in this house, and Grandma was simply slipping into dementia.
She checked her phone, and there was a message from Melissa, as promised.
Home safe, MOM! and a couple of laughing emojis.
Then there was a second message that had arrived ten minutes later.
Obvs let me know YOU got home safe cuz I’m worrying you got lost and are now trapped in some shit Children of the Corn sequel.
Oh wait. There’s hardly any corn. I guess those kids will have moved out of this part of Nebraska to somewhere with rain. But seriously, let me know!
So Melissa liked terrible horror movies too, another thing they had in common. Anna quickly messaged back that she’d been dealing with some Grandma stuff but yeah, she was home.
Thanks for letting me offload about Lila and Bonnie. I’m not always such a whiner.
Anytime. It must be so hard for you all. And their parents.
Yeah, Lila’s left but Bonnie’s are still here. Out on Archer. Same house. Anyway, I gotta sleep. Lucky enough to have some farming to do tomorrow.
Anna sent her a good night and then opened her laptop and the document with only a title.
In the quiet darkness, she jotted down a summary of the time in the cemetery, adding Melissa as a potential inclusion subject, then played back the recording of Jamie, his quiet disembodied voice her only company as she made notes.
Both he and Melissa were still haunted by the loss of Lila.
It was strange to think of them all partying downstairs.
Had they been in this room? She wished time could fold and she could see it.
Looking down at her document, she added, My connection.
They used our new house as a party house.
Have I started to feel the ripples myself even without knowing them?
She knew what a psychologist would say—she was exploring other people’s traumas as a way to avoid facing her own, but she had no intention of writing about that. She wouldn’t even put the piece in—if she did ever submit it—under her own name, just in case anyone recognized it.
They say a girl died here. She added Grandma’s creepy sentence as a subheading.
A title and a subheading and a bunch of notes.
The whole notion of the article was starting to feel more concrete, and she closed the laptop down before her self-doubt crept in.
Maybe she’d never show it to anyone. Maybe she’d just write it for herself to prove she could, college degree be damned.
With her bedroom curtains still open, she stared out at the moon until the darkness began to fade, and finally she drifted into sleep.