Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [60]
“It was my fault she left. The fight —”
But Big Jack was already shaking his head. “No way, kid. It took me a long time to realize that things weren’t my fault. That I wasn’t the one in control. That no matter what I did, the consequences would probably have been the same. And it’s hard, I know; you don’t want to give yourself over to the people who are willing to take you in — take care of you — because it feels like you’re betraying your own mother.”
Jack stared at his lap. “I am.” His voice was barely a whisper.
“You heard about the man who called your grandmother from the boat, right?”
Jack nodded.
“Who do you think gave that guy your grandmother’s phone number?”
Jack looked up. “Mom?”
“That’s right. She may have been manic, but she was taking care of you, kid.”
Jack and Big Jack sat silently for a few moments. Jack pulled out his elephant and held it in his hands. He remembered lying on the elephant rock on Mount Desert Island — how sturdy it had felt beneath him, how comforting it had felt to have the warm sun on his back. He looked up at Big Jack.
“You ready?” Big Jack asked.
Jack took a few deep breaths. Finally, he nodded, got up, and walked over to his grandmother.
Would she be angry at him for running away, for not calling her and telling her what had happened? So angry that she wouldn’t want him?
But the moment she looked up and saw him coming down the path, he knew he didn’t have to worry. Not about that.
“Jack!” she yelled, like she couldn’t believe he was there, like all she’d wanted in the world was to see him and know he was safe. She ran toward him, her arms wide, and he threw himself into her embrace.
He couldn’t believe it. He was crying for the third time that day.
Elephants love reunions. They recognize one another after years and years of separation and greet each other with wild, boisterous joy. There’s bellowing and trumpeting, ear flapping and rubbing. Trunks entwine.
Jack didn’t need any of those things to know that Gram wasn’t mad. That quite possibly she understood even more than he did.
The two of them sat down on her bench together. Jack could tell that his grandmother wanted to ask loads of questions but wasn’t sure where to begin.
“Who told you I’d be here?” asked Jack.
“No one,” said Gram. “Every day I’ve gotten calls telling me you’ve been seen — I got one from the Waldoboro Police Department today — but no one, no one, has been able to find you.”
“Then what are you doing here?” he asked. It seemed like too big a coincidence.
“It was my only hope,” said Gram. “The only place in Maine I thought you might choose to come to. I’ve been right here with Lydia all week.”
Jack looked up to where Lydia was, hidden just around a bend. He still couldn’t believe he was actually here, that he’d actually made it. “I knew I had to see her,” he said. “As soon as I realized I couldn’t make it back to JP, I knew this was where I had to go. I thought if Mom found out, it might remind her of the time she took me to see an elephant. And that she might understand that I was OK. That I still loved her.” He wondered if any of that had made sense.
Gram’s eyes got teary, and he knew she understood. “You know, I took you to see an elephant once, too,” she said. “Of course, you wouldn’t remember,” she added. “You were such a little thing when I took you to the circus. You hated being in the big top, hated the clowns, but oh, how you loved the elephant!”
Blood whooshed in his ears. It was Gram who had taken him? Not Mom?
“It was like you were long-lost playmates,” she continued. “’Phant was one of your first words.”
Jack was still trying to adjust his memories. Maybe that was why his mom had eventually stopped sharing his love of elephants — because she was so angry at Gram. If it weren’t for Gram, he wouldn’t have been obsessed with elephants in the first place.
Another memory struck him. “Do you still have the elephant bed?” asked Jack.
“You remember that?” Gram looked astounded.
“The posts