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Show CHAPTER THIRTEEN Even though Grandfather was home now, I felt I couldn't desert Grandmother. And I realized I had come to enjoy the pattern of my summer. I looked forward to hearing Grandmother's stories about Paul. His boyhood adventures helped me imagine what he was like as a soldier. At night I made up dreams about him in the war, before the final adventure that killed him. And now Grandfather was home. Sick still, but at home. I wanted to see him, talk to him. About Uncle Paul. And Andrew. And to see if he was more of himself and less frightening, less shadowy. The next morning I found Grandmother on the porch. The house behind her was quiet. "Morning, Annie. You're the last of the Metcalf clan to arrive. Your dad and mum have already been by to see James." She patted the bench beside her. "Come sit down. Your grandfather is too tired to have any visitors. He's resting up. For what, I wondered? I had imagined that when he returned from the hospital he would want to be up and out, seeing to his roses that were straggly and unkept, feeding the hens that were noisy under his bedroom window, seeing all the things he had missed. But instead he was asleep. Still. "Can't I just peek in? To see him? I'll be quiet." "Well, I guess it can't hurt. Be careful. Don't wake him. He's always been a light sleeper." She watched me from the front door as I crept across the living room, past and around the heavy furniture and down the long hall. |
