The Goodbye Summer

  “I’m here. Well, it’ll be hard,” she acknowledged. “I’m sure it’ll work out, though.” She watched the numbers change on her digital clock. Finney slept with her every night now, a bad habit she didn’t have the heart to break. He liked to press up against her hip, under the covers. She liked the company.

  “I miss you, Caddie. I’m starting to think I imagined you.”

  She sympathized. Sometimes she thought she’d imagined herself.

  “I’ve read all the things I’m not supposed to say.”

  “What?”

  “A list at a grief site on the Internet. Things not to say to someone who’s lost a child. I can say I’m sorry, but that’s about it. And I can offer to be with you. Would that be okay? We could just sit. Anywhere. When we get tired of that, we could get up and walk the dog.”

  “Magill…” It was easier to be receptive or noncommittal—or like smoke, not give him anything to grab onto, nothing he could use to force the issue. But that’s what she’d been doing for weeks. She kept thinking he would give up. Since he wouldn’t, she had to dredge up the will from someplace and finish it herself. She had a little bit of kindness left inside her.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I don’t have anything. I’m out.”

  “Why don’t you let me try to help you? Give me a chance, Caddie. I don’t want you to hurt like this.”

  “There’s nothing you can do. I wish you would believe me. I’m sorry.” She hated disappointing people. “I’m not who I was before.”

  “I’d like to wait till you are.”

  “No, don’t, that would be—and anyway, it’s not—a disease,” she said, some strange bitterness rising in her throat, “I’m not going to get better. Please stop, just don’t call, it’s better if you don’t call anymore. I’m glad you’re all well, it’s great, you can get on with your life now. I’m so happy for you, truly I am. But when you call me, it—I know it shouldn’t, but it makes it worse.”

  There was the most awful silence. She took the phone away from her ear and cried through most of it.

  “Okay, Caddie. I think I’ve got it.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, you said that.”

  “Are you angry?”

  “Am I angry?” He made a sound, a sigh or a laugh. “I don’t want to make it worse for you, but you broke my heart. And I’m only telling you that so you’ll know how far I am from being angry. Here’s my new number in case you ever need it.”

  He recited it, but she had nothing to write on. “Thanks.” If she said “I’m sorry” again, it would be the fourth time.

  “Take care of yourself, Caddie.”

  After that, he stopped calling.

  Nana moved back home on a cold, ugly Sunday, in a biting wind that blew through clothes and skin straight to the bone. She’d never bothered unpacking most of her art supplies, so the move out went faster than the move in had six months ago. Caddie avoided farewells by telling people she’d be back, she had lots more stuff to haul, they’d probably never see the end of her. It was true, there were a few more boxes of junk in the basement she didn’t have the heart to deal with right now. But mostly what she didn’t have the heart for was last words, even with the addition of “But I’ll come back and visit all the time!” Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t, but the emotional strength to say goodbye even provisionally just wasn’t in her. Saying it to Magill had depleted her storehouse.

  For Nana’s first night back, Caddie made a special dinner with all her favorite foods, but neither of them felt like eating. It was no use trying to pretend they were celebrating. Nana hadn’t wanted to come home, for reasons Caddie still wasn’t a hundred percent clear on, but Brenda said the time had come. Her patience ran out when Nana used the private office phone to charge over three hundred dollars’ worth of 900-number calls to a TV psychic. When Brenda confronted her with the bill, Nana denied everything, excused herself, and ran down in the basement to hide. It took half a day to find her. Thanks to Thea’s generosity, Wake House was improving, upgrading, even expanding, but its purpose hadn’t changed. Elder care and convalescence were still its mission, and the elderly it cared for still had to be compos mentis. It was so unfair.

  In some ways it was good to have her grandmother back, someone to talk to and look after, someone who needed her. They watched TV after dinner, and it was pleasant to look over and laugh with Nana at the silly jokes on the program and make cracks about the products in the commercials. Nana had Finney on her lap, Caddie had some mending on hers. An idea of what the two of them looked like, what a third person would make of them, would chill her if she thought about it for long, so she didn’t think about it. Was it so bad that they were back where they’d started last spring, before Nana broke her leg?

  But they weren’t, of course. Caddie felt as if she’d lived a lifetime since then. And yet if that was true, why wasn’t she a stronger, better, wiser, braver person? Six months ago she wasn’t sure she wanted Nana to go away: now she wasn’t sure she wanted her to come home. Time changed most people, but even her ambivalence was the same. A sense of missed opportunities plagued her; time squandered; something precious she’d let slip through fingers too weak or indecisive to close together and make a cup.

  “Time for bed?” she suggested at a little after ten. “It’s been a long day for you.”

  Nana was watching the news. She got off the sofa and looked around. “Which room is mine? Do I sleep here?”

  “No, your old room, Nan, you know. Upstairs, where you always sleep.”

  She had to help her get undressed, remind her to brush her teeth, take her hair down for her. Had Brenda or one of the aides been doing this? Oh, surely not—it must be the newness of home. After Nana got into a routine, she’d be back to normal.

  Caddie tucked her in. “It’s so great to have you home,” she said, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. She looked anxious and wide awake. “Do you need anything? Glass of water?”

  “No.”

  “Well, holler if you do, I’m just down the hall.” Why did she feel she needed to remind her? She lingered, straightening things on the bedside table, unwilling to turn out the light and go. Then Finney jumped up, licked Nana’s cheek, and burrowed under her arm. Nana smiled and closed her eyes with a tired sigh. I knew he was good for something, Caddie thought, and kissed them both good night.

  The next day she got a long, newsy letter from Dinah. “Aunt D,” she signed herself. Caddie had written first, just a note to tell her about the baby, and Dinah had instantly called to commiserate. This was her first letter. Everybody was fine, she wrote, except Mother had a cold that wouldn’t quit and at her age a thing like that could go into pneumonia before you knew it. Earl was hard at work on his biggest project ever, somebody’s pet pig. Not a Vietnamese one, either, a regular pig, big as a sofa. He sent his love. (Earl.) First of the year, they might get Sherry to come stay with Mother while they drove up to Atlantic City for a night or two; they hadn’t been off somewhere together, just them, in over a year, and that wasn’t any way to keep the spark lit, if Caddie knew what she meant.

  “How is Cornel? How’s Magill? Send them my regards. Most important, how are you? I hope you are feeling better, honey, than when we last talked. My only advice is that time heals all wounds. Not that that ever made anybody feel better. I still miss my sweet Bobby, so there’s a wound that didn’t heal. I guess they scar over, though. That’s the best we can hope for, some thick skin to form between our pain and our tender hearts. Caddie, call me any time you want to talk, and know that I’m thinking about you. It’s still a miracle to me that we found you, or rather you found us. Lucky day! Hugs and kisses and much, much love, Aunt D.”

  Nana kept mixing up the Miss Michaelstown pageant with one of Caddie’s community orchestra concerts because they were in the same building. “Shouldn’t you be up there?” she asked several times as they took seats in the back of the civic center. They were late, and the hall wa
s already full. They’d missed the swimsuit competition, but the talent portion was just beginning. A girl in a long gown played the “Appassionata,” and Caddie wrung her hands. Oh, Angie, she thought, see what you’re up against! But the next contestant was a juggler, so maybe not. Then a girl who sang “The Wind Beneath My Wings.” A lovely, graceful ballet dancer. A girl who told jokes.

  When Angie’s turn came, the announcer called her “Miss Angie Noonenberg,” not Angela Ann or Angela May. She looked beautiful. She’d cut her long hair after all, and it was very punk and stylish, chopped-off chunks shooting out in all directions. Caddie could swear she’d gotten taller. She had on a short skirt and boots, and a sleeveless top with sparkly beads across the chest. Caddie’s heart was pounding like a machine. She had to grab Nana’s hand when Angie lifted her violin to her shoulder.

  She didn’t play “Man of Constant Sorrow,” she played a stark, raw ballad about the death of a coal miner in Harlan County, Kentucky. A hidden guitarist played acoustic accompaniment while she sang the lyrics in her natural voice, not the flat, nasal twang she’d affected for the other song. It was better this way; it was more honest. She played the haunting, minor-key melody with her eyes half closed, her body straight and tall and very much alone on the stage. Caddie had tears in her eyes before it was over and looked around to see if anyone else was as moved as she. Hard to tell, but the auditorium had gone very quiet; no one coughed or shuffled their feet. And when the applause came, it sounded serious, no whistling or calling out. That had to be a good sign.

  It was—Angie won! The talent part, not the pageant—the girl who juggled won Miss Michaelstown. “What did you expect?” Nana said when the emcee announced it and Caddie groaned under her breath. “I knew she’d win, she had the biggest tits.”

  When the house lights came up, all the contestants and their families and friends converged in front of the stage. “Nana, sit right here and don’t move, okay? I’m going to see if I can find Angie.”

  “Why can’t I come with you? I want to see her, too.”

  “Oh, okay, come with me. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know.” Because she hadn’t wanted to come to the pageant in the first place. Because on the way over she couldn’t quite remember who Angie was. Caddie took her arm and they went off in search of Angie.

  They saw her in the middle of a milling crowd of pageant beauties and well-wishers in front of the first row. Trying to get close wasn’t easy. Nana nudged one of the unsuccessful contestants, a red-haired girl who’d played the clarinet and told the crowd her wish for the world was peace and rapture through Jesus Christ. “You were very good,” Nana told her. “You just need bigger—”

  “You were,” Caddie cut in, “you were great—come on, Nan.”

  Over the heads of her admirers, Angie saw Caddie and let out a whoop. “Hey!” she cried, waving, jumping up on her high heels. “Hey, Caddie!” A moment ago she’d been a sophisticated young woman in a sleek white evening gown, but now she was a teenage girl again, the old Angie. She jostled people out of the way, Caddie did the same, and they threw their arms around each other. “You came!”

  “You—you were fabulous!”

  “Oh, I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t come? Angie, you won, you won—”

  “I know! Did you like my song?”

  “You should’ve won everything, you were robbed.”

  “I don’t care about that, I just wanted to win the talent. And I did!”

  “How’s your mother?” She could see her in the Noonenberg crowd, smiling and chatting, not a hair out of place.

  “She’ll get over it. I’m done with pageants—I only did this one for her. So did you really like my song?”

  “Oh, Angie, you were right and I was wrong. People weren’t even breathing. Because we knew it was real, it was you. From the heart!”

  Angie got tears in her eyes, so of course Caddie did, too. “Then I guess you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  “I never was—I thought you were mad at me.”

  They laughed, giddy.

  “I know I’m totally not going in the direction you wanted, Caddie, but I love what the band’s doing—it’s called Bitter Root, you have to come hear us—and if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have had the guts to even try.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is. Be excited by your music, that’s what you always told me. Remember? Be passionate. You said it a million times. Nothing matters but what you love to do.”

  “I said that?”

  “So really, this is all your fault. When I’m rich and famous, I’m dedicating an album to you!”

  It felt as if no time had passed since last summer; they could’ve been drinking Cokes in the kitchen after a lesson. Caddie hadn’t let herself know how much she’d missed Angie.

  A woman with Mrs. Noonenberg’s haughty eyebrows turned Angie around by the shoulders. “Aunt Chrissie!” Angie exclaimed, and the woman kissed her on both cheeks. Caddie smiled a goodbye and began to back away.

  “See you, Caddie—don’t forget to come and hear Bitter Root!”

  She blew Angie a kiss and turned around.

  Nana was gone.

  She found her outside, standing under a buzzing fluorescent light pole on a hillock of dead grass in the parking lot. A feathery snow had started to fall, had already dusted her black beret and the shoulders of her unbuttoned coat. She looked lost.

  “Nana!”

  “There you are,” she said in an airy voice, but relief was all over her face. “What took you so long?”

  “What are you doing? Why are you out here?”

  “I was—I can be out here, don’t talk to me in that tone. I wanted to wait in the car, is that a crime?”

  “The car’s way over there—!”

  “Well, I know that. I certainly know where the car is. You worry too much, that’s your problem.” She let Caddie take her arm.

  “Don’t go off like that, you scared me half to death.” She was still trembly from panic. In the five or six minutes Nana was missing, she’d imagined a hundred horrible things.

  Nana laughed and deftly changed the subject. “Let’s get ice cream on the way home; we haven’t done that in a long time. Let’s stop at Griffin’s and get sundaes.”

  Caddie chafed her grandmother’s freezing hands as they walked through the crowded parking lot; Nana’s gloves were still in her coat pockets. “Okay, that sounds good.” Except Griffin’s had gone out of business about six years ago.

  At home, Caddie ran a hot bath for her in case she was chilled, and afterward Nana put her nightgown on inside out. Caddie found her in front of the bathroom mirror, cursing the goddamn buttons, turning red-faced from frustration. “Well, no wonder,” Caddie said, and zipped the flannel gown over her head, put it back on, and buttoned it. “There you go, that’s better.”

  Nana brushed her teeth in a resentful silence, and later she grabbed the brush out of Caddie’s hand and dragged it through her wispy gray hair herself. “I can do it. I can do something.”

  From her own room, Caddie heard her get in bed and went in to say good night. She could tell Nana wasn’t listening to her small talk about Angie and how the evening had gone, her music lesson schedule this week, what they needed at the store. Nana sat up and cut her off in the middle of a sentence.

  “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. You and me in this old house, waiting for me to croak.”

  “What?”

  “Crack, I mean, not croak, crack. Go bonkers. Croak, too, but crack first. I put my goddamn nightgown on backwards.”

  “Oh, Nana.” She dropped down on the bed.

  “You’re laughing? You think it’s funny? It runs in the family—you won’t be laughing when it happens to you.”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  “Both my uncles on my father’s side. Winger blood. You could
be next.”

  She was right. It wasn’t funny.

  “I hate this. I didn’t want to be here when it happened,” Nana mumbled, plucking at lint on the blanket. “You can feel it coming on, that’s why I wanted out.”

  “I don’t understand. Even if it’s true, why is it better not to be in your own house?”

  She turned her face away.

  “Don’t you like it here? It’s true, we don’t have an elevator or motorized wheelchairs. And Mr. Lorton’s not around to be the oldest, so I’m afraid that’ll have to be you.”

  She wouldn’t smile.

  Caddie clasped her thin, wrinkled old hand. “When spring comes, we’ll start a new sculpture garden in the front yard. We’ll start all over. I’ll do the muscle work, you just have brilliant ideas. You’re the creator, you just point to things and say, ‘A little to the left.’ ” A fat teardrop landed on the hand Caddie was holding. “Why are you sad, Nan? Why?”

  She whispered something.

  “What?” Caddie leaned closer.

  “I don’t want…” Her lips moved, but no more words came out.

  Caddie whispered, too. “What don’t you want?”

  “I don’t want you to leave me.”

  Caddie’s chest felt constricted, as if a cord were tightening around it. She couldn’t get a deep breath. “Nana.” She watched their entwined fingers gently clench and unclench on top of the blanket. “I will never leave you.”

  “Shh,” Nana said, while silent tears slipped down her cheeks. “Bad luck.”

  “No, I won’t. I promise. Do you know why? Because you never left me. Everybody else did, but not you. My crazy grandmother.”

  Nana snorted and dashed at her eyes.

  Caddie handed her a tissue. “I’ve never even thanked you.”

  “Pete’s sake. For what?”

  “For keeping me. After Mommy left me with you. Dumped me on you.”