The Way Back Home Read online

  I drop my bike inside the gate. Granny’s on the veranda glider in her plaid dress and bulky black sweater. It’s kind of her uniform, along with the red leather purse slung over her shoulder so she won’t forget where she put it. It has her wallet, car keys, Kleenex, surprises and a phone my parents got her in case she falls and can’t get up.

  Granny’s eyes light up: “Zoe! What’s the magic word?”

  I’m too old for this but it makes her happy. “Rhubarb.”

  “Pie!” Granny hugs me. “Want to go inside?”

  “Why? Don’t you like it here?”

  It’s not Granny’s fault, but her place smells of old person. On good days, the air is heavy-sweet, like the inside of a cookie jar. On other days, well, Granny doesn’t clear the mousetraps. Dad replaces them when he comes by once a week with any mail he’s picked up at Canada Post, which is basically nothing.

  We rock together on the glider. When I was little, I’d crawl underneath and count the earwigs curled up in the screw holes.

  “So,” Granny says, “what does my little Bird bird have to tell me today?”

  I want to make up fun stuff, but out of nowhere my head’s on her shoulder and I’m going on about how Madi kicked me off her cafeteria table — where, okay, maybe I don’t belong, but sitting there was the only thing halfway cool about me.

  “You don’t need Madi,” Granny says. “Make other friends.”

  “Who’d want me?”

  “Anyone with a brain.”

  “Why?” I sniffle.

  “Because you’re good, and kind, and loyal, and you have the biggest heart in the world.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “Are you calling your granny a liar? Who else has a grandchild visit them every day? So you forget that little Madi toad. Those Mackenzies always think they’re better than everyone. Well, want to know why her great-uncle had a closed casket? He passed out on the railroad tracks. Ended up in five pieces. They never did find the feet.”

  I’ve heard that story a million times, but it always makes me laugh. “What do you think happened to them?”

  “I think a couple of dogs had a chew and died of foot poisoning.”

  “Or Uncle Chad hid them in the freezer for a souvenir.”

  “Or your aunt Jess made them into soup.”

  “Or somebody kicked them up Madi’s ass.”

  Granny slaps her leg. “Now you’re talking.”

  Granny and I look out at her yard. I love all the bird baths, especially after it rains and the robins and jays splash around. I also love the baby carriages and my old Tonka truck: she used to grow flowers in them, so really they’re more like planters. Then there’s the mannequin with the shower cap lounging in the wheelbarrow — we call him Fred — and the windmill from the old miniature golf course. Everything has a story, even the bird nests lining her veranda.

  Today, there’s something new. “Where did that tricycle come from?”

  Granny frowns. “That’s a mystery. What’s your theory, Detective Bird?”

  “Some kid left it?”

  “I wonder where he went?”

  “Maybe he was kidnapped in an ice-cream truck,” I wink. “Let’s check the Tastee Freeze. I’ll bet we’ll find him in a hot fudge sundae.”

  Granny laughs, pats my knee and we get into her old Corolla. Her door won’t shut tight ’cause it’s dented in. Granny ties the front and rear window frames together with a dog collar.

  “What happened to the door, Granny?”

  “Some fellow must’ve backed into me in the parking lot.”

  We drive off, ignoring the dinging sound. Granny’s careful. She goes slow and when we get near parked cars, she steers into the middle of the road. Some guy honks behind us. Granny pulls to the curb and lets him pass. “People today.” Her lips move like she’s concentrating on a grocery list.

  “Granny?”

  She shushes me with her hand. “I’m thinking … We’re going somewhere.”

  “Yes. To the Tastee Freeze.”

  “Well, of course to the Tastee Freeze.” She taps her finger on the wheel.

  “Two streets up, to the left?”

  “I know that. Your granny’s just a little distracted is all.”

  At the Tastee Freeze, Granny stays in the car while I order our sundaes. She watches me eat, then gives me hers. “We should get going.”

  “We just got here.”

  “You can’t trust people these days. When you’re gone, they clean you out.”

  As we pull into her drive, I think about how I imagine murderers in the closets when I come home and Mom and Dad are away. “Want me to help search your place to make sure nobody’s snuck in?”

  “God bless you.”

  Granny’s place is cluttered like my bedroom, only with crusty antiques and things she keeps “just because.” She checks the main floor while I do upstairs, starting with her bedroom. Not to be mean, but she should wash her sheets. Still, if you can’t live like you want when you’re old, when can you?

  For fun, I look in her closets, armoires and under the bed where she keeps scrapbooks and family photo albums. Her night table is full of framed pictures, too: of Grampa, me, Mom and Dad, and Uncle Teddy when he was little.

  Uncle Teddy was twelve years older than Dad. He died before Granny and Grampa moved here to look after great-grandpa. Once, I asked Granny what happened. She teared up and left the room. Dad says to leave it alone, so it must have been awful, like maybe he killed himself? Anyway, I think he was her favourite ’cause the dust on his picture is smudged from her picking it up.

  “All clear downstairs,” Granny calls.

  “All clear up here,” I call back.

  Outside, Granny leans against the veranda railing. “When you’re old, they want you gone.”

  “I don’t, Granny.”

  “I know, Pumpkin.” She gives me a hug. I wish she’d never let go.

  4

  It’s breakfast. Mom pokes her fork at Dad. “Jess and Chad have a point. Think of that pile of cards by the stove. Your mother’s place could go up any time. People would say we should have done something.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Dad says. His shoes have been off since Sunday.

  “Oh no? Those little blisters on your arches are back.”

  “Hello,” I go, “I’m eating.”

  Mom ignores me. “When was the last time you went through her fridge?”

  “Carrie, I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? I’ll bet half her groceries are rotten. What if she gets food poisoning?”

  Dad closes his eyes like he’s praying. “I’ll have a look before lunch.”

  “No. I’ll have a look. You say you’ll look but you won’t. And speaking of groceries, Heather Watkins saw her at the store in her dressing gown.”

  That’s a lie. Granny never wears anything except her plaid dress.

  “Did you hear me, Tim? Heather Watkins saw your mother at the store in her dressing gown!” Mom sees my death stare. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that. Spit it out.”

  “Mrs. Watkins should stick her nose up her butt. And before she talks about Granny, she should stop Emily from sticking her snot on the cafeteria chairs.”

  “That’s enough, young lady.”

  “You asked.”

  Mom clatters the dishes to the sink. “The truth is, since your grampa died your granny’s been off the rails. Never mind. Ignore the obvious.”

  “The obvious is, you want Granny locked up so you can grab her place and move your stupid salon to Main Street.”

  Mom whirls round, hands full of cutlery.

  “Go ahead. Stab me, why don’t you?”

  “Zoe. Carrie.” Dad says.

  Mom starts to cry. I grab my backpack. As I stomp out the door, Dad says, “Carrie, she didn’t mean it.” But I did.

  * * *

  Forget school. If Mom’s coming to Granny’s, I h
ave to clear her fridge. I drop my bike by the veranda, knock and step inside. “Granny?”

  No answer. She’s normally up by now. Sometimes she naps on the comfy couch in the den, where Grampa slept when he couldn’t climb the stairs. She’s not there today, though, or in the living and dining rooms, either. I check the kitchen. Whoa, what a death stench!

  I go upstairs and peek in her room. The curtains are closed. Granny’s lying on her bed, fully dressed. I edge over slowly, so I don’t trip on boxes or stub my toe on the garden gnome.

  “Granny,” I whisper. “It’s Zoe.”

  She sits bolt upright. “Zoe, what are you doing here? It’s past your bedtime.”

  “It’s nine in the morning.”

  “My goodness.” Granny blinks. “I have to tinkle.” She navigates to the bathroom. “You can keep me company, if you like.”

  “That’s okay. Why don’t you close the door?”

  “I need to see where I am.”

  I go down to the kitchen to solve the mystery of the death stench plus hide the cards by the stove. The mousetraps are empty. I squirt detergent down the sink drain to cover whatever’s rotting, but it’s not that. I check under the papers across from the sink. There’s a dried-up hamburger under some flyers, but it’s not that, either. I toss it all in a big green garbage bag and open the fridge.

  Granny comes into the kitchen. “Looking for something?”

  “No. Granny, why don’t you throw things out?”

  “Waste food?” She squints at the counter by the stove. “Didn’t I have cards there?”

  “I put them in a drawer.”

  “Why?”

  “Mom’s coming over. She doesn’t like to see stuff by the stove.”

  “That’s her problem. When things go in drawers, they disappear.”

  “Granny, before we think about the cards, want to play a Detective Bird refrigerator game?”

  “What is it?”

  “Actually, it’s What Was It? We point at things. If the other person can’t figure out what it was, we throw it out. Like, this plastic bag with the green mush. What was it?”

  “Beats me.”

  “So out it goes.” I toss it in the bag.

  “Wait. I might want that.”

  “What for?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Fine. I’ll put it back when Mom leaves.” Not. “Now it’s your turn. Pick something you don’t know what it is.”

  Granny points at a pan of soup with grey fuzz growing on it.

  “This is Mom if she saw that.” I make a face.

  Granny laughs and makes an even bigger face. We go back and forth until we’re howling. Next thing you know, we’re ditching mystery meat in puffed-up packages, old eggs and lumpy milk. But even when we’re down to the nasty ketchup bottles, there’s still that smell.

  We open cupboards. Nothing. Then I open the stove. There’s a raw chicken in a roasting pan.

  Granny claps her hands. “I wondered where that went.”

  A knock at the front door. “Yoo-hoo.”

  Mom!

  “Tim, Carrie, what a surprise,” Granny says, heading to the door. “Zoe didn’t tell me you’d be joining us.”

  “What’s Zoe doing here? Holy Toledo, what’s that smell?”

  I toss the roasting pan into the garbage bag and try to haul it out the back door before they get here. The bottom bursts. There’s crap everywhere.

  Mom and Dad come into the kitchen. Dad’s mouth bobs open and shut like a goldfish. Mom covers her nose with her arm. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Toilet’s down the hall,” Granny says.

  “I’m going to be sick, I’m going to be sick.”

  “I heard you the first time! Down the hall. Don’t throw up in my kitchen.”

  “Mom, Dad, just go outside. I’ll clean it all up. Everything’ll be fine.”

  “It won’t be fine!” Mom says. “Tim, do something.”

  “What?” Dad sweats.

  “Yes, what?” Granny asks. “What’s going on?”

  “You don’t know?” Mom gasps.

  “I know you’re in my kitchen. What I don’t know is why.”

  “Mother—” Dad says.

  “Don’t ‘Mother’ me,” Granny snaps. “Zoe and I were having a visit. Next thing I know Missy Ferguson’s going to vomit in my kitchen.”

  Mom whirls on Dad. “This can’t go on.”

  “What can’t go on?” Granny goes.

  “THIS!” Mom waves her arms. “Who knows what’s living in the walls, the furniture?”

  “Mom,” I blurt, “ever wonder what’s living in your wig?”

  “To the car!”

  “Zoe’s staying right here,” Granny says, steamed as a kettle. “I invited her. Not you. It’s you that needs to be going.”

  Mom’s eyes explode. “Tim! Are you going to let her speak to me like that?”

  Dad’s melting. “Mother. Please. Tell Carrie you’re sorry.”

  “Why?” Granny says. “She’s your problem, not mine. Get her out of here.”

  “Yeah.” I stand beside Granny. “Things were perfect before you got here.”

  “Zoe—” Dad says.

  “Well, they were. We cleared the cards. We cleaned out the fridge. We did lots of stuff. Then you guys came and everything went crazy.”

  “Zoe, just— just—”

  “Leave her alone!” Granny goes. “You’re dumb as cows and twice as homely.”

  “We need to call someone!” Mom says.

  Granny punches 911 on the wall phone. “We need you out, is what we need. So leave or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

  “Mother — for Heaven’s sake, Mother—”

  “Police? Yes, I … I …” Granny totters back and forth. Her face goes white. Her eyes go wide. The receiver falls out of her hand. She drops to the ground.

  “Granny!”

  She doesn’t move. Mom grabs the receiver. “Police. This is an emergency.”

  I hold Granny’s hand. “Wake up, wake up.”

  Dad flaps his arms. “God! God! Help us, God!”

  Next thing I know, Granny’s in an ambulance, Dad and me beside her, Mom following in our car. We fly through the countryside to the county hospital, emergency entrance. The paramedics wheel Granny away.

  5

  I’ve been sitting opposite Mom and Dad in the waiting room for hours. No sound except a mother on the other side of the room going, “Stop that. Stop that,” while her kid runs around pretending he’s a race car.

  Dad leans over to undo his shoelaces.

  “We’re in public,” Mom whispers.

  He grabs his armrests like on that plane to Mexico. Mom clicks her nails. My eyes drill holes through their skulls: This is your fault. If Granny dies— No, please God, don’t let Granny die. If You let her live, I’ll believe in You forever.

  A doctor comes through the swinging doors. “I’m looking for the Birds.” We huddle round him and shake hands. “I’m Dr. Milne.”

  “Is Granny all right? What’s happening? How is she?”

  Dr. Milne smiles at me the way Dad used to. “Your granny’s fine. She’s awake, talking, able to move. She’s been asking for you.” He looks to Mom and Dad. “There’s bruising, but no broken bones. We’ve put her on a fluid drip. She was very dehydrated. That’s likely why she fell. Everything should be fine, but we’d like to keep her overnight for observation.”

  “Certainly.”

  We follow Dr. Milne through the swinging doors and down a corridor to Granny’s room. She’s propped up in a bed at the far end. Her arms poke out of her hospital gown like reeds. My parents talk with the doctor while I run inside and give her a kiss. “Granny!”

  “Zoe! What’s the magic word?”

  “Rhubarb.”

  “Pie.” She laughs. “They tell me I had a fall.”

  I nod. “How do you feel?”

  “How do you think? Say, what’s this thing sticking i
nto my arm?”

  “A drip tube. The doctor says you were dehydrated.”

  “Oh.” Granny blinks. “You know, I had the strangest dream. I was planting tulip bulbs with Teddy. He put the bulbs in the earth and I covered them, and he said, ‘Are they dead?’ and I said, ‘Why?’ and he said, ‘Because we buried them. Should we pray?’ So we did, and then I said, ‘In the spring, they’ll be born again as flowers.’ He hugged me and said, ‘I want to be a flower.’ Then I woke up and there was a doctor and nurses and now here you are, and isn’t that the strangest thing?”

  I nod. What’s keeping Mom and Dad so long?

  Granny strokes my cheek. “Your uncle Teddy was like you when he was a boy. Such a good heart.”

  My parents come in with Dr. Milne.

  “Tim, Carrie, what a lovely surprise,” Granny says.

  “Mother …” Dad shuffles. “The doctor would like to ask you a few questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Just a few questions to see how you are,” Dr. Milne says. He sits on the chair across the bed from me, puts his clipboard on his knee and takes out a pen.

  “Zoe,” Mom says, “maybe you’d like to wait for us in the hall.”

  Granny squeezes my hand. “If there’s to be any questions, Zoe stays right where she is. She’s my witness.”

  “Why do you need a witness?” Mom asks.

  “As if you don’t know.”

  Dr. Milne signals my parents. “It’s fine.”

  Granny tosses Mom a So there look. “So, Doctor, what can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you could tell me what day it is?”

  Granny’s eyes narrow. “Why, it’s today.”

  “And what day is that?”

  “The same day it was when I woke up.”

  Dr. Milne makes a note. “Can you tell me what season it is?”

  Granny glances out the window: “Well, I don’t see any snow, so I guess it isn’t winter. How about summer?”

  “It’s fall, Mother,” Dad says.

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Mrs. Bird,” Dr. Milne asks pleasantly, “could you please count backwards from one hundred by nines for me? One hundred, ninety-one, eighty-two and so forth?”

  “Of course I can.” She stares at him.