Hidebehind

Twenty-Seven

The next morning, I was sitting and looking out at the peach trees again; there was nothing to do, and it was unseasonably warm for late November. For some reason, I liked sitting there, just like Grandpa did. The patio got all the sun, but the back porch felt quieter, somehow—more private. And then there was that smell of peaches . . . I hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but I assumed they smelled it too.

I had not slept well after breaking that picture in the bedroom. Penny's words had played in my brain all night, and I'd had strange dreams about our parents which I'd mostly forgotten by the time I'd woken up. The uneasy night had left me in a weird mood, though, and so I'd wanted to be alone.

Great Grandma's was nothing even close to normal for a kid to grow up in. She had one TV (which was ancient and fizzled a lot), no cable or subscription services of any kind, no video games, internet on one primordial computer, and no sports equipment, bikes, or anything else that might be remotely interesting for someone my age. Penny got along better than I did; she found paper dolls and old books and board games pretty amusing, and I'd been a little entertained by those at first, too, but as time wore on, I was starting to lose it out of boredom. I didn't even want to explore the farm anymore—not without Jay. Not alone. I didn't want to wander anywhere alone.

If I'd known where Jay lived, I could've maybe gone to his house, but then again, I'd have to ask Great Grandma for a ride, and I didn't want to talk to her. I wished I had a bike.

Suddenly, the screen door behind me squealed open, and Great Grandma said, "Mrs. Francis just called. Says she's bringing the kids by so you can have some fun together."

"What?!" I snapped, spinning so hard I fell out of my lawn chair.

She sized me up with her shrewd eyes. "Robert, it's good to make friends. You need to make friends. I'm a boring old lady without much for you to do around here."

I couldn't disagree with that, but in my shock, I'd forgotten my vow of silence as well as how bored I'd just been feeling. "Great Grandma, I don't want to be friends with them. I don't like Alex. He was . . . he was really mean to me!"

She let the door shut behind her. "Honey, I'm telling you; they're nice kids, the Francises. Give him another chance, all right? Maybe he just fell in with some unkind boys and it was them trying to tease you."

"Please, no. Please call her back and tell her nevermind." My hands were actually clasped as if I were praying, which I sort of was. "Alex doesn't want to be my friend. His mom is probably forcing him to come here. I promise that neither of us wants to see the other!"

"Well, maybe the girls can play, then, and you two can stare at the wall."

She was as unmovable as a monolith. I groaned inside as well as audibly and then, when she'd gone back in, started to feel a little frantic. What was I supposed to say to them? Not just Alex, but his sister, too? How could she do this to me?

I was so angry that I threw my lawn chair off the porch, where it landed gracelessly in a holly bush. Descending the stairs, I ignored it and went to walk through those dead trees. The sunlight felt warm on my back, and it lessened my anger a little. But as I moved absentmindedly, distractedly through the small orchard, I felt hot tears form in my eyes. Maybe I didn't hate Alex so much—maybe I hated myself more.

"Robert," said a voice behind me.

It was Grandpa. I turned and looked at him, but I couldn't bring myself to smile or say anything.

"You like it out here?"

He was lucid. I liked when he as clear-minded. When his brain wasn't tangled and clouded and he recognized me. Grandpa walked stiffly to the remaining lawn chair on the porch and settled into it. I was struck by his stilted movements; I hadn't really noticed, but now that I thought of it, I realized that he moved less ably than Great Grandma. Not only was his mind older than hers, but his body seemed older as well.

I nodded in assent to his question.

"Not me so much," he said, and his eyes seemed to frown.

That confused me, a little. I'd seen him sit out here so many times. He'd told me his dad had planted the trees, that he loved the peaches, when he was a kid. That he hoped they were just dormant, if that were even possible.

"I thought you liked it out here?" I said, more a question than a comment.

His eyes closed, and I wondered if he were retreating into his mind again, if I was going to lose him.

"You sit out here every day, Grandpa. You're always out here."

"It's because I need to be," he replied.

Still standing in the orchard, I was chilled when the sun moved behind a cloud and left my shoulders. I didn't know Grandpa's state of mind, and it always freaked me out when I couldn't exactly tell whether he was with it or not. His words became unpredictable, and often he didn't know who I was.

But I knew that I was still his grandson. That I owed it to him not to run and hide when he got weird. So I went and pulled my chair out of the holly bushes, went back up the stairs, and sat next to him.

He opened his eyes again but stared off into the trees, perhaps not even quite seeing them.

"Why do you need to be here, Grandpa?"

With a sigh, he replied, "Make sure he stays where he is."

"Who?"

"Dad."

My brain connected a few dots. "Your dad? Luther who built the house in the woods? Who died a long time ago?"

Grandpa nodded solemnly.

"Didn't he plant these trees?"

"Yep."

I was perplexed and, as often when conversing with Grandpa, a little creeped out. There was always something off-putting in his certainty. So I asked the question that his words had hinted at.

"Where does he need to stay, Grandpa?"

For a few seconds, he didn't answer, and I wondered if he'd heard me. Then, with resolve he said, "Dead."

"They're here!"

I yelped a little at the surprise of Penny's voice behind me. Frustrated at her interruption, I turned to Grandpa, but he had closed his eyes again, and I couldn't get another word from him.

Glowering at my sister, I slumped down in my chair and shut my eyes, too, hoping she'd leave me alone. It worked. She mumbled something about needing me, about Great Grandma going to tour the property with Mrs. Francis, then about figuring something out herself and eventually went back inside. I stayed by Grandpa for another ten minutes or so, but the word began to hover a little too closely over me—dead—and in spite of his being right there, I felt alone and strange, so I ended up going inside in spite of my original intent to stay away from the Francises.