Grandma (short story)

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"Grandpa's dead, Grandma."

"That's what I thought, too," said the elderly woman, her pale eyes too dim to reflect her excitement. "But now he's back."

"He can't be 'back'," said Martin thinly, adjusting his tight glasses. "The dead stay dead."

"He's not dead," said Grandma forcefully.

"He went down with his ship," said Martin uncomfortably, shifting in his cafe chair, hoping none of the other students could overhear them. "You said so yourself at the funeral."

"How would you know?" asked Grandma, more curious than accusing. "You weren't even a year old."

"Mom told me," said Martin, taking a quick sip from his coffee.

"I did say that at the service," admitted Grandma wistfully, "but I was wrong. They never found his body..."

"They never found anyone's body," protested Martin, "and they didn't need to - they were a hundred miles from shore."

"Martin, just listen for a moment," she pleaded. "I knew this would be difficult for you to hear, but I wanted you to be the first to know. Everything that you're saying - everything - I told myself for twenty years, every morning, every night. I was so sure he was gone. But now..."

"Wait - you're serious?" asked Martin, the cold autumn breeze rattling their outdoor table.

"It was yesterday morning," said Grandma distantly. "I nearly died of fright when I opened the front door and...and there he was. Shaken, disheveled, scarred - but there."

"You really are serious," said Martin, setting down his croissant and removing a pen from his suitcoat. "Tell me more."

"Put away that pen right now, young man," said Grandma cheerfully, adopting a tone of mock-authority. "I'll not be one of your test subjects. This is breakfast, not research."

"Sorry, Grandma," said Martin, replacing the pen. "You would have been anonymous anyway."

"And recognize myself when I read your thesis?" she asked, pretending to be horrified.

"It's only halfway done," he said. "But you were saying - Grandpa's still alive?"

"Yes," said Grandma softly, losing her smile. "He just appeared on my doorstep, like a lost puppy - not saying a word, just staring at me. I invited him in - after I found my voice - and asked if he wanted to eat something. Instead, he collapsed on the couch, and didn't wake up for hours."

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Martin, perplexed. "Your husband returns under mysterious circumstances, after decades of going missing - and you just let him take a nap?!?"

"I didn't...I just didn't know what to do," stumbled Grandma weakly. "I thought I was dreaming. All I could do was...was sit and watch him."

"Interesting," said Martin, taking mental notes for further transcription.

"When he woke up, the first thing he did was say my name, and then ask for something to eat," she said, not touching any of the cafe food her grandson had bought her. "I brought him into the kitchen to make him some toast, but instead he grabbed the bread from me and ate it straight, right then and there - no jelly, even."

"Interesting," repeated Martin, clicking his perfect teeth.

"He went back to sleep after that and woke up after a few hours, late in the evening," she said, shivering as the wind streaked by. "I don't know if he'd been sick or starving or whatever, but this morning, he was fine."

"What do you mean by 'fine'?" asked Martin carefully.

"You're not a psychologist yet, Martin, so don't use that detached tone with me," warned Grandma.

"Half a thesis away," Martin reminded her. "But please, I mean - in a loving, grandkid-kind-of-way - how is he now?"

"He's not the same," admitted Grandma. "He's talking now, though a lot slower than he used to. He looks pretty old - but then, so do I."

"You look young enough to me," said Martin clumsily.

"Thank you," she said gracefully. "But it's different, somehow. When you look in his eyes..."

"Yes?"

"He hasn't told me where he was all those years," said Grandma cautiously. "He seems a bit ashamed, and maybe afraid - afraid of what I might think. I don't know. Yes, it's the same man I always knew and loved, but he just seems...hollowed out."

Martin's calculator watch started beeping.

"Sorry, Grandma, but I have to go," said Martin, pushing away from the table.

"Wait!" she said, surprised. "Aren't you interested in this? I left him at home so I could meet you for breakfast and..."

"Of course I'm interested," he said distantly, gathering his papers. "But you know - classes and all. Look, maybe you could bring Grandpa by tomorrow morning for our usual breakfast appointment? I'd love to meet him."


* * * * *


"Where's Grandpa?"

"He didn't want to come," said Grandma sadly. "He's shy - always was, still is."

"Shyness can be a product of traumatic stress..."

"I warned you, Martin, none of your psychologizing here," she laughed. "Work later, breakfast now."

"Then let's eat," said Martin, sitting down eagerly, setting down the two croissants and coffee mugs.

"I'm really not hungry," apologized Grandma wistfully.

"You've hardly touched your food this entire semester," he said.

"I've never been particularly hungry," admitted Grandma, "but since I'd been paying for these meals all these years..."

"So if I let you pay for this one, you'd feel obliged?" smiled Martin. "Not this time, Grandma. You remember what I said - as soon as I could afford it, I'd pay you back for all those free meals."

"Every morning," said Grandma, remembering.

"And now that I have my first grant check, I can start paying you back, one meal at a time," said Martin, ripping a section from his croissant. "Should only take me three more years before we're even."

"And now that you're so rich..."

"Rich for a student, anyway," grimaced Martin, watching the other university students in the cafe. "This semester, finally, I've been able to afford my own apartment - all alone, no roommates!"

Grandma's face fell. "All alone..."

"I'm sorry, Grandma," said Martin, stirring his coffee. "Something about Grandpa?"

"Nothing," she said weakly. "Go back to eating."

"No, what's wrong?" asked Martin, prodding just as his professors had taught him.

"Your grandfather was never a stingy man," explained Grandma. "Almost bankrupted us when he bought that...that boat."

"Thank goodness for the insurance settlement," said Martin tactlessly.

"Just last night, he asked for some money - said he needed to buy some 'things'. He said he couldn't use the credit card because it had been cancelled."

"So he'd already tried to use the card?" asked Martin.

"I hadn't considered that," said Grandma thoughtfully.

"Why would he do that?"

"Probably wanted to buy some 'things', like he'd said," offered Grandma.

"But what kind of things?"

"I don't know," said Grandma, "but I gave him all the cash I had in the house. He took it all and then was gone for a few hours. When I asked him about it, he said it would be a 'surprise'."

"Do you think this behavior is unusual?"

"I said, no psychologizing," warned Grandma.

"Sorry, Grandma," said Martin unapologetically. "But now I'm even more curious. Ask Grandpa if he can stop by tomorrow for breakfast - tell him I'm really interested to see him."

"I'll ask," she agreed.


* * * * *


"Well? Where is he?"

"He's coming," said Grandma softly. "He says he has some things to deal with first, but he'll be stopping by."

"He'd better come quickly," said Martin impatiently, checking his watch. "I can't be late for class."

"Not even today?" she asked hopefully. "Surely you can be late just this once."

"I've never been late for a class," huffed Martin, "and I never will."

"He'll be here," she assured him. "But in the meantime, tell me, how's your thesis coming?"

"Great," said Martin, chomping through his croissant. "I got the title approved yesterday. I'm calling it 'The Resurrection Obsession'."

"That almost rhymes," said Grandma approvingly. "But a cute title will only get you so far."

"The subject matter is hardly cute," said Martin, wounded. "It details the irrational ways the psyche deals with the emotional fallout of death."

"That sounds very technical," said Grandma, meaning 'incomprehensible'.

"It is," said Martin proudly. "I've two hundred footnotes so far, and I'm only done with the first half. That's where I deal with religion - the promise of eternal life, the centrality of resurrection, and the need for physical and emotional restoration."

"I didn't think you were interested in religion," commented Grandma.

"Only insofar as it encourages mental illness," sniffed Martin, twisting his glasses. "My second half will be more interesting, about specific individual occurrences of subjects who refuse to believe that their loved ones or enemies are dead, or are staying dead."

"But your grandfather is real," she said defensively.

"I never said he wasn't," replied Martin, sipping his coffee.

"But you implied that," insisted Grandma.

"Why would you think that?" asked Martin cautiously, shifting into interrogation mode.

"I don't know," she apologized. "I suppose I'm just jittery, that's all."

"Drink some coffee," urged Martin, pushing the cup towards her. "It's too sweet for me."

"No thank you," said Grandma. "Not thirsty."

"Tell me, about Grandpa..."

Martin's watch beeped.

"Back to class," said Martin, standing up.

"Wait," said Grandma. "Your grandfather hasn't arrived yet - wait a little while longer."

"Tell him to be on time tomorrow," he said frostily.


* * * * *


"You're late."

"I know - I'm sorry," said Grandma. "I was up with your grandfather all night long. I think he's sick."

"You should take him to a doctor," advised Martin.

"He wouldn't let me," she said. "He doesn't trust doctors."

"Really," said Martin, munching his croissant suspiciously. "Maybe you could call Mom and have her look him over."

"I'd rather not," said Grandma slowly. "I'd best not tell her about him until I know everything's all right."

"What - you haven't told her yet?" asked Martin, surprised. "Why not?"

"I already said that you're the only person I've told," said Grandma wearily.

"But Mom - I mean, he's her father - shouldn't she know?"

"When was the last time you talked with your mother?" asked Grandma.

"Not since the start of the semester," said Martin, caught off-guard.

"You used to call her all the time," chided Grandma.

"I've been so busy," he said, "trying to get my thesis ready that I just haven't had time."

"Same here," said Grandma triumphantly. "Too busy preparing your grandfather so he's ready to meet the family."

"Too busy," mused Martin, poking at his croissant.

"You know that I couldn't hide anything from you, Martin," she said kindly. "That's why I told you. These past few years we've grown so close."

"I know, I know," said Martin. "With you living so close to the university, and thanks to these daily breakfast meetings...well, it's good to be close to my favorite grandmother."

"I'm your only grandmother," she laughed.

"And he's my only grandfather," prodded Martin.

"He'll be here tomorrow, I promise," said Grandma. "He just needs to get used to the idea."

"The idea?"

"He's so shy," explained Grandma.


* * * * *


"I thought you said he'd be here."

"He will be," said Grandma. "He'll be here later, I'm sure. He said so himself."

"This time, I came prepared," said Martin smugly, pulling a sheaf of paperwork out of his backpack. "I'll read you my thesis while we wait."

"That looks really long," she said, concerned. "Will we have time?"

"I'll make the time," said Martin strongly. "I'll wait all day if we have to."

"What about your class?"

"Skip the class," he said, opening the folder. "I'll wait for Grandpa."


* * * * *


"Grandma, we need to talk."

"About what, dear?"

"About Grandpa," said Martin.

"If this is about him not coming yesterday, I already apologized for him, and..."

"Grandma, listen to me," said Martin. "I think there may be something very wrong here."

"You think I'm just imagining him, like one of the crazy people in your thesis," said Grandma angrily. "I'm not crazy!"

"I didn't say you were," said Martin coldly.

"You implied it," she snapped. "You think I'm crazy, like your poor aunt."

"That's not what I meant, Grandma," said Martin, attempting tenderness. "I just meant that this is all so confusing, and maybe..."

"You're saying I'm crazy," insisted Grandma, "just because you haven't seen your grandfather. Is that it?"

"That's one element," allowed Martin, swirling his coffee.

"Your grandfather is alive. He's alive." She stared straight at him. "I know it, and I can prove it."

"I'm not doubting you," lied Martin, "I'm just trying to make sense of all of this."

"I'll make him come," muttered Grandma. "Then you'll believe me."


* * * * *


"Grandma, did you call me last night?"

"No, dear," she said. "I was so tired after yesterday, I went straight to bed."

"Someone called me around midnight," said Martin gruffly. "There was only silence on the other end."

"It wasn't me," said Grandma.

"I called the phone company," continued Martin between coffee sips. "They have this great feature that lets you know the number of who just called."

"Yes?"

"It was your number."

"It wasn't me," she repeated. "It must have been...must have been your grandfather."

"Grandpa?" asked Martin, disbelieving.

"I had a long talk with him yesterday afternoon," explained Grandma. "I said you'd accused me..."

"I didn't 'accuse' you, Grandma."

"I told him that you didn't believe he's really alive - that you thought I was crazy."

"I didn't say that, Grandma," persisted Martin, tapping his croissant.

"He was very concerned," said Grandma. "He said he didn't want to give the wrong impression. He said he wouldn't let me be locked up like his daughter."

"She had a totally different problem," said Martin, remembering his aunt.

"So, you do think I have a problem!" she said sharply.

"I didn't mean it that way," said Martin quickly. "But why did you call me last night?"

"I didn't call you!" insisted Grandma. "But I did give your number to your grandfather."

"Really," said Martin, shifting his glasses. "He didn't say much."

"He's so shy," said Grandma. "It takes tremendous courage for him just to leave the house - he's so suspicious of others. He prefers to go out at night because he meets fewer people."

"Next time have him say something," said Martin dryly.

"I told him that you needed to meet," said Grandma. "So that you don't think I'm crazy."

"Will he join us today?"

"I don't think so," said Grandma. "Maybe tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting."


* * * * *


The phone shattered the evening silence.

Martin moved away from the computer and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Silence.

"Is this 'Grandpa'?" asked Martin. "Hello?"

Silence.

Martin hung up the bedroom phone, then immediately dialed the operator.

"I thought so, thanks," said Martin, listening to the operator read off the number.

"Tomorrow," said Martin aloud, hanging up the phone, "I'll call the clinic."


* * * * *


The phone rang again.

"Hello?" demanded Martin, upset to be pulled away from his thesis work.

"Is that you, Martin?" asked Grandma, her voice tinny and weak.

"Yes, it's me," he said. "Listen, did you call me an hour ago?"

"I think your grandfather did," she said.

"We need to discuss this," said Martin. "Tomorrow over breakfast..."

"Martin, listen to me, please," said Grandma. "He's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"He left a few minutes ago," she explained. "Said he's going to visit you."

"Really," said Martin, tangling the phone cord. "I'm pretty busy tonight - I'm trying to finish this one section on my thesis."

"I tried to make him stay," she said weakly. "I asked him to please stay."

"What do you mean, Grandma?"

She hung up.


* * * * *


"Pick up, Grandma," muttered Martin, listening to the phone ring. "Pick up."

No answer.


* * * * *


"Mom? Are you there?"

"Martin! Martin, at last..."

The door echoed with three dull knocks.

"Mom, be quiet, OK? I have to say this quickly, and I don't have much time."

"Martin, honey, I haven't heard from you since the semester began..."

More knocks against the door.

"Listen, Mom, I'm in trouble, I'm in real trouble. I'm trying..."

"What kind of trouble?"

The knocks shifted to the wall beside the door.

"Mom, please just listen, all right?" demanded Martin. "I've locked all the doors and the windows, but I don't know if it'll be enough."

"What are you saying? What's wrong?"

The knocks reverberated against the first windowpane.

"Let me talk, Mom," said Martin, his voice rushed. "I tried to explain to her, but I just didn't understand what she meant. I was too busy working on my thesis to pay attention."

The knocks continued, wracking the wall between the two front windows.

"At first I didn't know what to think. And then when he started asking her for money..."

"Who was asking?"

The knocks, circling around the house, rapped against the next windowpane.

"Mom, let me finish!" shouted Martin into the bedroom phone. "Look, I thought - I thought, maybe he was a con artist. One of those predators we see on television, the ones that rob seniors."

The knocks passed by the window, moving on to the next section of the wall.

"Then I thought he was a delusion, like in my thesis," said Martin, scattering pages across the apartment floor. "Maybe she was so obsessed with him that she was deluding herself into thinking he was really alive. Like Subject C on page thirty-four."

The knocks reached the apartment corner and wrapped around to the next side of the building.

"Martin, I'm so confused..."

"I was too, Mom," interrupted Martin. "I tried to talk to her about it - gently, I swear I did it gently. I thought she needed to see the truth slowly."

The knocks tapped steadily against the wall, drifting nearer to the bedroom.

"But she took it all wrong," he continued, his heartbeat accelerating. "She told him about it. She told it all wrong. It wasn't my fault, I swear, but now he's upset, and..."

"You're not making any sense, Martin," said his mother, bewildered.

"He's searching, Mom," stammered Martin. "He's looking for me. He thinks I'm going to lock her away like my aunt - like his daughter. He won't let that happen to her."

The knocks echoed against the bedroom wall.

"Martin, who are you talking about?"

"Grandpa," said Martin quickly. "Grandma called to warn me that he's coming over..."

The knocks tapped against the bedroom window.

"Martin, your grandmother died three months ago, remember?"

The bedroom window shattered.

 

Y'know, cliffhangers suck

 

Nice
Like one of the Friday night stories.

 

Damn. That one I like. It wasn't as confusing as your other ones and I could make sense of it.

 

Damm you write well! I love all your short stories! Your penultimate line seriously scared me