Chapter 8

It was a little after three on Friday when I got home from school. As I stepped through the back door, I caught my parents in the middle of—well, it sounded more like an argument.

“Chris, the man is seventy-two years old. You are going,” Mom said firmly, then turned to me. “And you too, Joe.”

I stopped between them and the door. “What’s going on?”

Dad stared at the floor while Mom explained, “Your Grandpap Long is in the hospital. We’re leaving in ten minutes to go see him.”

My stomach tightened. “How is he? What happened?”

“He fell and took a nasty hit to the head. They’re running tests now.”

“Okay, let me take my books n’stuff to my room. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dad’s family lived in the far northern part of the county, not far from where we’d gone for Mom’s reunion. We made good time on the highway, but that only took us as far as the county seat. From there, it was another twenty miles on two-lane roads, passing through a series of small towns, red lights slowing us down at every turn.

Thank God we didn’t get stuck behind a coal truck.

The car ride was quiet, but my stomach twisted in knots. My foot tapped restlessly on the floorboard, and I blinked back the sting in my eyes, trying not to picture my grandfather unconscious in a hospital bed, tubes and wires strapped to his body.

My chest thudded in time with my heartbeat as we pulled into the parking lot just after five o’clock.

Miner’s Hospital was an old three-story red brick building, its architecture looking like something out of the turn of the century. The small lot was mostly full. We hurried inside and took the elevator up to Intensive Care.

As soon as we stepped off, Uncle Jerry and Grandma spotted us from the lobby.

Barely five feet tall and nearly as wide, her red hair tied up in a bun, Grandma waddled toward us, her floral dress swaying like a parachute.

Mom embraced her. “Oh, Martha.”

Dad bit his lip, shook Jerry’s hand, then asked, “How is he?”

Grandma took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her belly, her large, sagging breasts resting against them. She let out a deep sigh.

“Looking good so far, but the doctors still don’t know what happened. Either he had a stroke and then fell, or he fell because of a stroke.” She closed her eyes and grimaced, fighting back tears. “Forty-two years, and I’m still not ready to give him up.”

I hesitated, then stepped forward and held out my arms. She was a good half foot shorter than me, but she pressed her face into my chest.

“Ah, you’re such a good boy, Joe.”

Dad asked, “Have you talked to Evelyn and Dean?”

Jerry nodded. “They’re coming in from Akron in the morning.” He gestured back toward the waiting area. “Let’s go sit down.”

Mom sat beside Grandma and took her hand. “How has he been lately?”

“He put on a little weight and hasn’t been sleeping as well, but nothing too bad—at least, nothing out of the ordinary for his age. And maybe that’s the problem.”

I leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

She gave me a tired smile. “You know how hard it is to get him to see a doctor when he’s feeling fine? ‘Not enough time, costs too much money, and all they wanna do is pump me full of pills.’”

Dad scoffed. “Hmph—stubborn.”

Grandma frowned. “Jerry does the heavy lifting now, but good luck keeping your father off that tractor. He’s out there every day, and he still insists on driving the truck down to Snyder’s plant himself.”

Then she wagged a finger at me. “You better not be eating any Utz chips!”

I chuckled. “You don’t have to worry about me, Grandma.”

A voice called from down the hall. “Mrs. Long?”

Grandma turned. “Yeah?”

A doctor in a white coat approached. “Your husband appears to be stable, but we’d like to run another test—a carotid angiography—to determine whether he suffered a stroke.”

She stiffened. “Is it safe?”

“We’ll insert a catheter into an artery, guide it up to his neck, then inject a contrast dye so we can examine the blood vessels in his brain with an X-ray.”

She waved a hand. “Excuse me, Dr. Pennington, but I don’t need the how-to’s—I asked if it was safe.”

The doctor hesitated, then softened his tone. “There’s a two-percent risk of causing a stroke—possibly permanent—and about a one-percent risk of a seizure.”

Grandma’s face paled. “Oh, God.”

The doctor placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know that sounds alarming, but in medical terms, those are relatively low risks. This is a common procedure. If he has already suffered a stroke, we need to know—so we can insert a stent to prevent another.”

She swallowed hard, wiped at an eye, then nodded. Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Okay.”

After the doctor disappeared down the hall, Jerry glanced at his watch. “Yunz wanna grab something to eat?”

Grandma let out a deep breath and nodded. “Sounds good. I’ve been cooped up in here all day. How’s about the Cherry Tree Diner?”

Dad looked her over from head to toe and frowned. “Mother, don’t you have anything better to wear?”

She sighed. “I’m fine.”

Without another word, we all walked quietly down the hall and out to the parking lot. Jerry waved as he headed toward his truck. “See yunz over there.”

Barely a word was spoken between the three of us in the fifteen minutes it took to get to the next town up the main road, a stone’s throw from the farm where Dad grew up.

I knew we were getting close when Dad took a left onto a smaller road, then a quick right into a parking lot just off the main highway.

The Cherry Tree Diner was a one-story structure with a peaked roof and a log veneer, nestled among tall evergreens. Standing outside the entrance, we spotted Jerry pulling in, so we waited while he helped Grandma out of the truck.

Dad motioned toward the door. “You go first,” he said as Jerry passed by, then stepped aside to hold it open for their mother.

A middle-aged hostess greeted us at the entrance. Jerry held up his hand, fingers spread wide. “Five adults.”

She nodded, stacked a set of menus, and led us to a table by the windows in the main dining room.

For the next few minutes, we were all buried in our menus, flipping through the pages in silence—until an attractive young waitress strolled up to the table.

“Are you folks ready to order?” she asked, smiling brightly.

Her name tag read ‘Karen’. She was tall and slender, long legs complementing a toned frame, with smallish boobs and a well-shaped butt. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she carried herself with effortless confidence.

Uncle Jerry ordered first, then Grandma, followed by Mom and Dad. When it was my turn, I glanced back at the menu one last time.

“I’ll have the roasted half-chicken, uh ... with broccoli and mashed potatoes.”

Karen looked up from her notepad and smiled. “Sure thing.” She took our menus when I handed them over and walked off toward the kitchen.

Jerry leaned over and tapped my hand. “Nice, huh? I know her mom.”

I looked down, feeling my face warm.

Dad smirked. “She’s probably some kind of cousin.”

Jerry grinned. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Dad turned toward Grandma. She stared right back at him and said matter-of-factly, “Yes, my parents were first cousins. Your father has Keiths on his side, and I have Longs. Nothing wrong with that—but she’s one of them Stiffler girls. You know what they say—every Stiffler has a Peter, and every Peter has a Stiffler.”

Mom glanced at me before quickly changing the subject. “So ... Martha, how’s the farm doing?”

“Good. Snyder’s been paying well. We planted two hundred acres of potatoes this year, another eighty of corn and hay for the animals. Slaughtered a cow and a couple of pigs for ourselves to get through the winter.”

Jerry nudged me. “Hey Joe, when yunz come over later, I’ll let you try some of my homebrew.”

I grinned. “Must be nice growing your own steaks and beer.”

Dad started to say something, but Grandma cut him off. “Christopher, your sister and them won’t be here ‘til tomorrow—so Joe can have his own room tonight.”

Dad’s expression tightened. “That’s all right, Mother. We’re staying at the Days Inn down the road.”

She pursed her lips and squinted at him. “Why? We have plenty of room. It’s not like I’m gonna charge you.”

“I ... just...”

She slammed her fist on the table, sending silverware clattering. “Why are you so ashamed of us?”

“I don’t—”

“You know your grandfather built that town?”

Dad scoffed. “What, thirty houses?”

“Yes! Thirty families his mill provided opportunities for.”

Dad’s face reddened. “You know I wasn’t looking forward to digging in the dirt and shoveling shit my whole life.”

“Well, you think that’s all we do?” Her voice was rising, sharp with frustration. “Listen, I am thrilled with what you’ve done with your life. No one was making you stay here—but don’t you ever forget where you learned hard work from.”

Dad looked down, shaking his head. “Father.”

Grandma wasn’t done. “I was sixteen when I had you, but I never felt sorry for myself. Your father worked and saved his money for near twenty years before that, waiting for the day. When it came, I was looking forward to helping my husband, making a home, raising a family. I have no regrets.”

Mom placed a gentle hand on Dad’s arm. Both he and Grandma looked away from each other, neither saying another word.

A few moments later, Karen returned, balancing several plates.

She started with mine, flashing a smile. “Here’s your chicken.” She handed out a couple more before adding, “I’ll be right back with the rest.”

The rest of dinner was quiet. Grandma lit a cigarette, Dad and Jerry left tips, Karen flashed another smile, and I followed Mom and Dad out to the car.

Ten minutes later, Dad stepped out of the motel lobby, waving a set of keys in his hand. “Room one-twenty.”

It was still early, and there wasn’t much to do. Mom and Dad both sat on the bed, flipping through channels, while I fiddled with the radio, trying to find the Pirates game. No luck—as apparently, they’d been rained out.

I sank into the lone chair in the corner by the window, letting the low hum of static fill the silence. Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift to Hannah—to her smile, her laugh, the way she felt in my arms. I replayed the moments we’d shared over the past few weeks, the memories swirling in my head, all set to the quiet rhythm of the music playing in my ear.

Somewhere along the way, I must’ve started dozing off.

Realizing I wasn’t going to last much longer in the chair, I stretched, stripped down to my T-shirt and boxers, and slid under the sheets.

Mom glanced over. “Going to bed already?”

“Yeah, I was falling asleep in the chair. Might as well be comfortable.”

Dad barely looked up from the TV. “Goodnight, son.”

“‘Night.”

I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to take me.

Of course, once I was in bed, I couldn’t sleep.

I laid there, unmoving, as one show ended, then another, then another.

It’s been at least forty minutes.

At some point, I must’ve drifted off—until I heard Dad’s voice.

“Dammit, Meredith.”

I blinked awake. The room was dark. The TV was off.

Mom’s hushed voice followed. “Shh, keep it down.”

Dad lowered his voice, but there was a raw edge to it. “You know, from as early as I can remember, I watched my father out in the fields, day in and day out, year after year. The same fucking thing—over and over and over again. And then you die. I wanted to get away from that so bad.”

Mom’s voice was soft. “It’s okay.”

“It’s like some cruel joke.” His tone was bitter. “Like God’s playing a damn trick on me.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“Not really. Maybe I just figure that if he is real, I’ll be going to Hell. Easier to believe it’s just boom, lights out—it’s over.”

Mom sighed. “Chris, it’s not ... you’re not...” She exhaled deeply. “Well, anyway, what’s this big trick?”

“You know—I went to college, I used my brain, and guess what? Five days a week, nine months a year, I walk into class and do the same damn thing over and over again. I didn’t escape anything.”

“It’s not like that. You’ve accomplished so much. You’ve helped so many kids.”

“Yeah? Well yesterday, Judy Harris—bright kid—she raises her hand and asks, ‘Are we ever going to use this for anything?’” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I didn’t swear or anything, but I could feel the veins in my neck bulging. And all those snot-nosed kids were just staring at me.”

Mom hesitated. “Oh, wow.”

“I’m forty-one years old, Meredith. And what am I doing now that I wasn’t on the day I got hired? And I’m looking ahead at another twenty—maybe even thirty—years? I can picture it now. The year two-thousand, the twenty-first century...”

“That doesn’t start until two-thousand and one...”

“Whatever. First week of January, two-thousand and one, and I’ll be standing in front of a class saying, ‘Now children, let’s learn about the quadratic formula... ‘ just like the schedule says.”

“Maybe you could learn computers, like Joe.”

“Shit, I grew up with adding machines. And now I’m supposed to get excited about sitting at a typewriter to produce a stack of punch cards?”

“You make it sound like turning forty is the end of the world. There’s no reason you can’t still be learning new things at fifty-five or even sixty.”

“To do what?”

“There’s nothing saying you have to be a teacher forever. Find something you love. But don’t worry so much. I’m sure you’ll feel better later.”

A long silence followed. Then, Dad’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“You know what would really make me feel better right now?”

Mom’s response was immediate. “Did you forget that our son is in the next bed?”

“Maybe you could just...”

“How many times do I have to tell you? That thing ain’t going in my mouth.”

I stifled a chuckle—then froze, heart pounding.

Who’d have ever thunk I’d be getting more than Dad?

He let out a long sigh. “Fine! Just roll over and go to sleep—like you always do.”

I was in the car, driving down the highway—except I was in the passenger seat, and Hannah was the one behind the wheel.

The landscape looked like Pittsburgh, with steep hills towering over the broad river below, bridges crisscrossing in every direction. We were laughing about something, having a great time, when suddenly Hannah missed the turn.

Unaware, she plowed straight ahead, through the barrier.

The car flew into the air, weightless for a moment, before nosing downward toward the water.

Just like that, in an instant, certain death came rushing at me, right into my face.

Three ... two...

I forced my eyes open, gasping. My heart was pounding out of my chest.

I don’t want to die.

I laid there, my breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. After a moment, I forced myself to take slow, deep inhales, willing my pulse to slow.

The motel room was pitch dark, barely any shapes visible in the shadows. My bladder ached, a dull pressure that forced me out of bed. I swung my feet over the edge, careful not to trip as I made my way toward the bathroom.

Flicking on the light, I winced as it stabbed at my tired eyes and immediately switched it off, using the brief flash of brightness to orient myself.

I found the toilet, relieved myself, and stumbled back toward the bed.

What the hell was that about?

I rubbed at my face, still shaken, my mind wandering.

The pastor at Kathy’s funeral had said those were his favorite times to give a sermon—because at funerals, everyone was thinking about their own mortality.

A hand on my shoulder startled me awake.

“Joe, wake up!”

I groaned, feeling the world pull me up from sleep.

Mom shook me lightly. “C’mon, get up and get dressed—we’re going over to your grandparents for breakfast.”

I forced my eyes open, squinting against the motel light. My head still felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish.

“Yeah, okay.”

I wiped the crust from my eyes and managed to swing my feet onto the floor.

It was a little after seven when I finally dragged myself into the bathroom. I’d slept, but I wasn’t sure how much rest I actually got.

Turning the shower on hot, I let the steam fill the small space before gradually twisting the knob colder, forcing myself awake.

As I scrubbed under my balls, my thoughts drifted to Hannah—then froze.

My breath hitched, my hand tightening around myself as the dream came back in full force.

A shiver ran down my spine, but I wasn’t cold.

Shaking it off, I finished rinsing and stepped out, grabbing the thin motel towel from its rack.

I walked back into the room, running the towel through my damp hair.

“Where’s my clothes?”

Mom, sitting on the bed, pointed to the chair. “In that bag over there, honey.”

The driveway wound up the hill, flanked by trees that peeled back to reveal the two-story house on the right and the barn on the left. Dad parked, and I shivered slightly as I jogged up the wooden steps leading to the long front porch.

As soon as I stepped through the door, the smell of bacon hit me.

Uncle Jerry glanced back from the stove as my parents followed me inside. “Hey, Chris—I took Mom down to the hospital earlier. They moved Dad to a private room last night, so we can see him as soon as we get over there.”

Dad shrugged off his jacket. “So, the old man’s not kicking off yet?”

Mom sighed. “Chris!”

He held up his hands. “Oh, I’ll behave.”

Jerry shot him a glare before turning back to the stove. “I’ve got plenty of bacon. Yunz want any scrapple too?”

I raised a hand. “I’d like some.”

My parents sat at the round wooden table without saying a word.

Jerry nodded. “Get it out of the fridge and cut me a few slices.”

A few minutes later, our plates were piled with scrambled eggs, home fries, and bacon—plus scrapple for me and Uncle Jerry. I shoveled in the last bite just as Jerry tapped me on the arm.

“Come on out to the barn with me.”

Mom reminded me, “Honey, don’t forget to rinse off your plate and put it in the sink.”

After cleaning my dishes, I stepped out onto the porch and into the crisp morning air. A fog hovered over the pond about fifty yards away, where a small herd of cows gathered at the edge of the water.

I caught up with Uncle Jerry near the barn. “You need some help?”

The chickens clucked as he pulled the door partway open. “Nah, I want to talk.”

I followed him inside. “About what?”

He spun around and looked me dead in the eye. “For one—how long has your dad had that stick up his ass?”

I sighed, pushing my hair back from my forehead. “Other than the usual, he seems ... frustrated. A little out of it. He snaps at people, no patience.”

Jerry shook his head. “Well, it’s really starting to piss me off.”

“Mom practically had to drag him up here yesterday.”

“I know Dad and him were never on the best of terms, but for Christ’s sake, that’s his father laying in the hospital.”

“I think it scared him.” I hesitated. “Last night, they thought I was asleep, but I heard him talking to Mom about how he’s in a rut—and then you just up and die.”

Jerry let out a bitter chuckle. “When he was a kid, he always had his nose in a book. Sort of like you—no offense. We all knew he wasn’t gonna be a farmer, but what the hell does he have to complain about?”

“That he’s stuck. That he doesn’t think he’ll ever do more than he is now.”

Jerry scuffed the dirt floor with his boot. “Fuck that. He just needs to stop treating people like shit.” He exhaled sharply, then glanced at me. “So, how you been? Hardly see you anymore.”

“I’m good. Started my junior year in college, and I got to play in the tourney this summer.”

“Sounds great. You twenty-one yet?”

“Nah, just turned twenty last month.”

“Well, I’ll still get you that beer when we get inside.” He smirked. “Got a girlfriend yet?”

I felt heat creep up my neck and looked away.

Jerry pointed at me and grinned. “Yep! What’s her name?”

“Ah ... I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

I hesitated. “Well ... okay. Her name’s Hannah. But you can’t tell my parents. They don’t know yet.”

“And why is that?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Uh ... because ... she’s my cousin. Mom’s niece.” I forced a grin. “Nothing wrong with that, right?”

His eyebrows shot up. “You serious?”

“Yeah, I thought you and Grandma said—”

“That was like fifty years ago, dude.”

“Wait—what about Aunt Fanny? Your own sister? That was only twenty years ago.”

Jerry sighed. “C’mon, man. Don’t you think we’re inbred enough? Maybe there’s a reason they live in Florida, where nobody knew them growing up.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Now you’re making it sound gross.”

He snickered and made an obscene gesture with his hands. “So, are you guys...?”

I grinned and nodded. “Yeah, a couple times now.”

He groaned. “I hope to God you’re using protection.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He held up his hand for a high-five, and when I slapped it, he smirked. “You know, at your age, if you don’t get it regular, that thing’ll just shrivel up and fall off.”

I laughed and shook my head.

“No—really,” he continued. “That’s what they told me, and I never wanted to take any chances.”

I smirked. “So why aren’t you married yet?”

“I don’t want some chick taking all my money.”

“All your money?”

“You think because I’m a potato farmer, I’m some poor hick? I got decent cash put away. And last year, the gas company came in and drilled on my land—so now there’s royalties on top of it.”

I held up my hands. “Hey, I wasn’t saying that—but I’d think out here, it’d be harder to meet a bunch of women to date than just one to marry.”