Devil's Plaything - Matt Richtel [26]
She seems to take a moment to digest my response, then smiles. I suspect it is a rote reaction, an if-then program triggered by my jocular tone she’s come to recognize.
“Are you trying to distract me?” I ask.
“I don’t understand.”
I hold up the piece of lined notebook paper. “Would you mind if I look at this?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ll just glance and if it seems too personal I’ll put it away.”
On the paper, in Grandma’s jagged scrawl, she’s written: “I have three children.” But she’s crossed out “Three” and written “Two” next to it. Below that, she’s written: “We came from Eastern Europe? Western Europe?” She’s also penned: “Irving drove a blue Chevrolet.”
My heart drops. The notes must be part of Grandma’s desperate attempt to hang on to her memories, to clarify her life.
“You raised two great sons, Grandma. My dad and Uncle Stevie,” I say.
“I know that.”
“It’s no fun to get old. We all forget things. Anytime you have any questions about the old days, you should ask me. I’m right here.”
I fold the piece of paper and put it in my pocket. “Grandma, can I ask you something?”
No response.
“Favorite grandmother, I have a question.”
“Okay.”
“Is something making you afraid?”
“David hated to talk about his feelings. He hated to talk about anything, like Irving.” David is my father.
I take her hand.
“You mentioned a man in blue. Would you tell me about him?”
“You are much more like me, and David is much more like Irving. Isn’t that strange?”
I take a deep breath. How can I get her to remember? Grandma Lane has become by far my toughest interview.
“Yesterday, in the park, you referred to a man you’d seen earlier. Am I making sense?”
She doesn’t answer.
These are complicated questions, even for someone who has fully functional gray matter.
“Grandma, yesterday you joined me at an office for a meeting. We went to your dentist. Did you see a strange man there?”
“This isn’t fun.”
“Do you have a friend named Adrianna?”
Grandma looks down.
“Who is Adrianna?” I ask, pointedly.
Her head jerks up and looks at me wide-eyed. She lets out a terrible wail.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here,” I lean in close. “It’s okay.”
She is quiet again, and breathes deeply.
“I love you, Grandma Lane.”
“I love you,” she finally says. “I can trust you.”
“Of course you can trust me.”
“What?” she asks.
“You can trust me. Always,” I say.
Suddenly, she no longer looks afraid. She’s serious, like a college professor. “Adrianna can’t breathe,” she says. “They made it that way.”
“Who did? Who made it so Adrianna can’t breathe?”
Before she can answer, I hear a knock on the door, and it opens. In the entrance stand Vince and an obese guard. The guard has his hand on a wood baton cradled on his belt he certainly hasn’t had cause to use for a decade.
“Vince, I already asked you to leave,” I say.
“And now I’m asking you to leave.”
“Get out.”
“Under state law, I have the right to bar anyone from the premises who presents a disruption to a resident, even family.”
The fat guard’s breathing is labored to the point of wheezing. He drums his fingers on the baton.
Chapter 13
“Thank you for your concern, Vince. Lane is doing okay,” I say, suppressing more confrontational urges. “She got a little frightened.”
“Nevertheless, I feel it would be best for you to go. She needs a calm environment, maybe a sedative. You seem to be exacerbating whatever is troubling her.”
What pops into my mind is, No way that I’m leaving Grandma. I don’t like or trust Vince. I don’t understand the keen interest he’s suddenly taking in us. I’m also struck that I’ve no idea what are my legal rights.
“Give me a few minutes to say goodbye to her,” I say, adding after a pause, “in private.”
He looks at the guard and back at me.
“We’ll wait outside. Five minutes.”
They leave and shut the door.
“Grandma, you said you trust me, right?” I whisper.
“I have since you appeared on this earth and I started changing your diapers. And do you want to know something?”
“What, Grandma?”
“You were a big pooper. Explosive. Oh goodness you could