The Rule of Threes - Marcy Campbell (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📗

I was hoping I could sneak in and disappear into my room, hold off the lecture for a while.

But Mom was right there in the kitchen when I walked in, next to Tony, who’d beaten me by a mile. “Both of you are here,” she said. “Good.”

I was expecting Mom to tell me how my suspension would go on my “permanent record,” and wondered whether Dad would come to my aid and say something like, Now, Susie, let’s not be too hard on her. But this wasn’t like coming home a half hour late from Rachel’s, I mean, Rakell’s, or eating a bunch of junk food right before dinner. I’d never done something this serious.

Mom was wearing her purple sweatpants that doubled as pajamas, holding a basket of Grandma’s folded laundry on her hip. I hadn’t seen her in her usual work skirts and blouses in weeks. Bits of hair had fallen out of her ponytail and lay flat against her cheeks.

But what Mom said wasn’t what I’d expected. “I need you two to entertain Grandma,” she told us. She pointed her chin toward the living room, then leaned in close to me and Tony, adding, “She is not happy about moving to the assisted living facility tomorrow. I’m hoping you can distract her while I finish packing her things.”

Entertain her? Distract her? She wasn’t a toddler, or a puppy. Could Mr. Villanueva have forgotten to call? It seemed like days ago that I had been in his office, but it hadn’t even been an hour. I was certainly happy Mom wasn’t yelling at me, but also, I was just a little bit put out that she hadn’t even asked about the contest results. Obviously, she had a few other things on her mind, but it still kind of hurt.

Tony and I did as we were told. As Mom went upstairs, we walked into the living room and found Grandma next to the fireplace, picking things up from the mantle—a brass candlestick, a framed postcard of a bird, a bowl of fake lemons—and looking underneath.

What was Grandma looking for? A price tag?

Tony looked over at me, raised his eyebrows, and sat carefully down on the couch. I shrugged and took the recliner. How exactly were we supposed to “entertain” Grandma? We were way too old to put on a song-and-dance number. Couldn’t I just talk to her, like always? I guessed some days, that just wasn’t possible anymore.

She finished examining the items on the mantle, put them all back in the wrong places, which was not like her at all, then looked curiously at Tony.

“I’m Eleanor Hanson,” she said. “You’re the exchange student, Anthony, correct?”

Tony didn’t answer right away, and I worried he was going to lose it again.

“Well,” she said, “is that correct, or isn’t it? Speak!”

“Yes, yes, ma’am,” he said nervously. He didn’t seem angry with her at all. He actually seemed a little scared.

Grandma went to the couch, still clutching one of the plastic lemons. She sat down slowly and turned her body toward Tony. Then she tilted her head and squinted, like she was trying to bring him into better focus. “Where are you from?” she asked.

Tony’s eyes went big. He brought his thumbnail to his mouth and started chewing.

“Europe!” I cried. I hoped she didn’t want more specifics. Our dad was mostly German. I had no idea where Tony’s mom’s ancestors came from.

Thankfully, Grandma didn’t ask. “I went to Spain once, with my husband,” she said. She leaned back on the couch cushions and got a faraway look in her eyes like she was recreating that trip. Then she said to Tony, “It must be hard, leaving your home. You probably have a beautiful home.” She looked down and gave the lemon in her hand a confused stare.

“It is hard leaving home,” Tony said thoughtfully. He held out his own hand and motioned for the lemon. “Here, I can put that back for you,” he said.

But instead of handing him the fake fruit, my grandma put her other hand on top of Tony’s, and squeezed. She closed her eyes and took a couple deep breaths. Tony glanced at me, then closed his own eyes and did the same. I managed to close one of mine, but I kept the other one slightly open. I didn’t want to let Grandma out of my sight. We must have looked odd, all of us breathing deeply and sitting like statues on the couch.

“I miss him,” Grandma said, her eyes still closed.

I felt myself tearing up. I missed Grandpa, too, but to be honest, I’d never been very close to him. I was so much closer to Grandma. And that’s who I missed, in this moment. Even though she was right here.

She was still Grandma . . . but she wasn’t. I was starting to realize that, even though we might have some okay moments, times when Grandma seemed like her old self, they wouldn’t last, and things would never be completely the way they used to be. She was the person who understood me better than anyone else, and she was disappearing. I squeezed both my eyes tightly shut, trying to keep the tears from spilling out.

“I really miss him,” Grandma said again.

“I know,” Tony told her. “So do I.” There were tears in the corners of his eyes as he said it, and I knew he didn’t mean that he missed my grandpa. Obviously. I knew he missed his mom. He missed his home.

A few days ago, I’d complained to Tony about my mom being on my case to get all my laundry folded and put away, and he had said he’d give anything right now to have his mom on his case again about something so normal, just like old times, before she got sick.

Grandma opened her eyes. She sat up straight, patted Tony’s hand. “No use getting upset, Anthony,” she said. “Your house is waiting for you. It will be there, with all your loved ones, when you get