Laura Miller - By Way of Accident

And after I tell him everything I can about Brooke, I sigh happily and sit back in Grandma’s old chair. It feels kind of good to tell someone about her. I look over at Grandpa. He’s lookin’ out the window again. The blinds are pulled up, and the curtains are wide open, and all you can see is black and specks of white now. The white reminds me of somethin’. He seems to be in the talkin’ mood tonight, which might never happen again. So I figure it’s now or never.

“Grandpa?”

“Son?”

I hesitate before I just decide to spit it out. “Why do you like Aquarius so much?”

He glances at me and then quickly returns his stare to whatever he’s lookin’ at outside that window.

“The Star of Hidden Things,” he recites.

“The star of what?” I ask.

“Near the top of Aquarius is The Star of Hidden Things.” He seems to smile a little bit — not with his mouth, but more so, with his eyes. “Makes me remember there are things we can’t see — memories we haven’t made yet.” His gaze never wavers from the window as he speaks. It’s like he’s thinking about somethin’ far off — or far back.

A minute passes like this, and then he turns his eyes back on me. “Remember that, son. There are things you and I can’t see. But He’s always workin’, son. He’s always workin’.”

I don’t know what he means. I don’t know who’s workin’ or what for or what I can’t see, but I nod just the same. Then I watch him go back to starin’ out that window again, at the black and the stars and the quiet. And I just do the same, and I think about Brooke and the freckles on her shoulders and the gray in her eyes and the way her words sounded like butter and flowed like honey. And I think about what Grandpa said — about love and about Aquarius and its star. And I wonder if Brooke is lookin’ up at the same sky. And I wonder if she’s thinkin’ about me. Nobody had to tell me to fight for Brooke. I don’t understand why grown-ups are always fightin’ for everything. Love seems pretty simple to me. It feels natural — easy. I love Brooke. She loves me. I would never give up on her. No matter how far her daddy might take her away from me, I’d still find a way to get to her. But what I hadn’t considered, I guess, was that there was a chance she could give up on me. And I didn’t know it at the time that Grandpa and I were sittin’ there together, but I was about to get a hard dose of reality. I was about to find out what all the fightin’ was for.

Ihaven’t heard from Brooke in a little more than a month. She has to be in her new place by now, and I’m guessin’ she just hasn’t had time to write or her last letter got lost in the mail or somethin’. I only have her return address but maybe they’ll forward it to wherever she went. I have to try.

I stick the letter into the envelope and scribble her last address onto its front. Then I send up a little prayer that it gets to her. Grandma always used to say that all prayers are answered. I hope she’s right. Next, I jot down my address in the top left corner and fish for a stamp in my mom’s purse before I shoot out the door and off to the mailbox.

A few minutes later, I’m closin’ the lid with the envelope inside. But I keep my fingers on the mailbox’s metal handle. I’m puttin’ a lot of trust into this whole mail system. I tap the handle a couple more times and then step back and stare at the metal box. She would have written as soon as she got there. I know she would have. I let a weighted breath fall from my lips; it feels like it was sittin’ in my lungs for way too long. And I think of all the reasons why her letter wouldn’t be here, and then I remember somethin’. In one of the letters she sent me when she first moved to Illinois she gave me her phone number. My body stiffens right before I tell it to run. And I run back up the driveway and into the house. I sprint up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom and close the door. There’s a phone on their nightstand, and neither of them would know I was usin’ it until they got the bill, of course. Then I would hear about it, but I would have to worry about that then.

I punch in the numbers I memorized the same day I got the letter. The number was for emergencies. I think this counts.

I press the last digit and put the phone to my ear. There’s a slight pause, and then the first ring comes as loud as a giant damn bullfrog. I jerk the receiver away from my ear a little as the second ring comes just as loud. After three, I hear someone pick up the phone, and I hold my breath. Maybe it’s Brooke.

“Hello.” Somebody with a gruff voice answers on the other end. I try, but I can’t put a face to the voice.

“Uh, hi, is Brooke there?”

“Brooke?”

I nod my head at the deep, grumpy voice that makes him sound as if he’d rather pull his own arms off than talk to me.

“Hello?” he says.

“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Brooke.”

“There is no Brooke here,” the man growls.

“Okay,” I say, as I gnaw on my bottom lip. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Okay, bye then.”

“No, wait.”

I listen as his breaths return to the phone.

“Do you know where she went?” I ask.

“Where she went?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She used to live there.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Sorry, I don’t know the people who used to live here.”

“Oh,” I say, disappointed. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”

I hang up the phone and fall into my parents’ bed. I think it’s just hittin’ me now that I have no address, no phone number, no way of reachin’ her. It’s as if she’s just disappeared — or as if she were never there in the first place.

So, I guess this is the fight Grandpa warned me about. I sit up straight and grab my imaginary armor. It’s time for battle.

“Grandpa.” I make my way to his room in the back of the house. He hangs out in there most of the time now. Mom has been stayin’ by his side pretty much day and night for a week now. He had another “scare,” as my mom puts it, last week and was in the hospital for a few days. Dad says he’s on borrowed time now. But I don’t know. Grandpa never liked to borrow anything from anyone. And anyway, I try not to think about it. I can’t imagine a world without him, so I don’t even try to. And anyway, we still have things to do around the farm. We had been talkin’ about fixin’ some fence a while back — back before he got sick. I think deep down somewhere I’m still just waitin’ for him to get better so we can go do that.

“Grandpa, you up causin’ trouble yet?”

I stop a few feet inside his room. His eyes are closed.

“Grandpa?” I whisper.

I walk over to his bed and sit down on the chair that’s been next to his side for the past week. I know Mom’s always tellin’ me to let him sleep, but I’ve gotta ask him a question about Brooke. And I’ve got to ask him fast before Mom comes waltzin’ back in here, catches me botherin’ him and shoos me away.

“Grandpa,” I whisper again. And this time I rest my hand on his arm.

He doesn’t move. I take my hand back and study his face and then his chest, and then I know somethin’s wrong.

“Mom,” I yell. I get up and run into the kitchen. “Mom, somethin’s wrong with Grandpa.”

Mom takes one look at me and then drops the towel she’s holdin’ before runnin’ past me. I follow her but stay back at the door. I’m terrified of what she’s gonna say. I watch her try to wake Grandpa. I watch her check his pulse. Then I watch her head fall and rest on his chest, and I know. I feel tears start to burn my eyes. I don’t know what life is like without Grandpa, and I’m not ready yet — I’m not ready to find out.