My Name Is River Page 8

“Go on,” Gram says.

  “Well, he was at the Eisenhower National Historic Site in Pennsylvania when—”

  Gram interrupts Billy and looks at me. “Your mom and daddy used to live around them parts.” Then she apologizes to Billy and tells him to go on.

  “Uncle Jay was taking pictures when his wife had to go to the bathroom. She asked him to watch the baby, but Uncle Jay never heard her. When she came back, their baby was gone.”

  Gram closes her eyes. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” She gets real quiet and lets out a sigh. “Did they ever find that baby?”

  Billy shakes his head. “The police searched for years but didn’t have any luck. I was so young at the time, and no one ever talks about it, so I don’t know very much about it. Anyway, after that Uncle Jay’s wife left him. But even after all those years, Uncle Jay still carries a picture of them in his wallet.”

  Gram gets a puzzled look on her face and says to Billy, “I’d like to see that picture sometime.” Then she shakes her head a few times and looks out the kitchen window toward our mailbox. “Well, I’m gonna see if the postmaster brought me anything exciting too. You never know what the day’s gonna bring.” She heads out, letting the screen door slam behind her.

  I sort through the hummingbird pictures, looking for my favorite. “You know, Billy,” I say, “today could be my lucky day. There just might be a letter from my parents waiting in the mailbox.” I look out the window and see Gram hopping down the driveway on one foot—she might as well be on a pogo stick. I try distracting Billy so he doesn’t look out the window.

  We sort a few more pictures, when I look out the window again. This time Gram isn’t hopping. She’s lying at the edge of the road, right beside our mailbox. At first I wait to see if she’s doing some crazy exercise, but when she doesn’t move, I yell for her and run outside. Billy hurries behind me.

  I lift Gram’s head, but her eyes stay closed. Billy runs back toward the house, yelling over his shoulder, “I’ll call an ambulance!”

  “Our phone’s been shut off!” I yell back. “Just get Tilly’s keys.” Billy freezes, so I yell again, “Get the keys!”

  I check Gram’s pulse, remembering what Billy said about a hummingbird’s heart beating six hundred times a minute and a human’s beating seventy-two times. I haven’t counted one on Gram.

  I grab the keys from Billy and slip behind Tilly’s steering wheel, trying to remember everything I’ve watched Gram do. I put the key in, turn it, and push on the gas. Tilly starts on the first try. I shift into reverse, push on the gas, and the truck jerks backward toward the mailbox. I shift into park, get out, and open Tilly’s tailgate. I yell for Billy to help. Somehow we manage to get Gram in. I shove Billy in the back too and tell him to stay with her. I slam Tilly’s tailgate shut and climb back in the driver’s seat.

  Billy’s voice is trembling. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m driving to your house. We need a grown-up to get Gram to the hospital.”

  “That won’t work,” he says. “My dad’s at church, and my mom can’t leave the kids.”

  I tell myself I can do this, shift into drive, point Tilly in the direction of the church, and press on the gas. As I look in the rearview mirror, I meet Billy’s eyes. I can tell he’s crying. I yell through the glass, “Have you ever done CPR?”

  “I’ve only seen it on TV.”

  “That’s all right,” I tell him. “Do the same thing. Push down in the middle of Gram’s chest a bunch of times. Then tip her head back and plug her nose so you can blow air into her lungs. You have to blow twice.” I look in the mirror again and see him trying, but it doesn’t look like it’s going well.

  “I’m sorry!” Billy yells. “I don’t think I’m doing good enough.”

  I forgot about his arm. I pull Tilly over to the side of the road and tell Billy to switch with me.

  His voice is panicky. “I’ve never driven before.”

  “We don’t have time to worry about that. You just have to do it.” I jump in the back of Tilly, next to Gram, and push on her chest hard and fast. “Come on, Gram. You can’t leave me.” I tip her head back, plug her nose, and then blow two big breaths into her lungs. Breaths of life. No death, Gram, only life. I do it over and over and over.

  When we reach the church, Billy gets out and runs for help while I keep trying to save Gram. Before I know it, Pastor Henry’s in the driver’s seat, squealing Tilly’s wheels, and racing to the hospital. When we get there, he backs Tilly up to the emergency department, and a bunch of doctors and nurses rush out to help. They lift Gram out of Tilly, place her on a stretcher, and wheel her away before I can tell her goodbye.

  I’m still on my knees in the back of Tilly, crying harder than I ever knew I could.

  Pastor Henry, Billy, and I sit in the waiting room. There must not be any other emergencies in Birdsong today because we’re the only ones waiting. And that’s a good thing because there’s only three chairs.

  Pastor Henry puts his hand on my shoulder. “Would you like me to pray for your grandmother?”

  I nod. I figure if God helped us get an awesome camera when Billy prayed, then God will definitely help Gram if Pastor Henry prays.

  The three of us hold hands. Since Billy’s at my left, I take hold of the hand on his dangling arm (which I’ve never touched before). It’s soft, warm, and squishy—kind of like pizza dough.

  Pastor Henry bows his head. “Dear heavenly Father, we need your help. We ask that you be with River’s grandmother and that you’d give the doctors wisdom as they make medical decisions. And if it be your will, we ask that you’d keep her with us for many years to come. But if you choose to take her, we ask for the strength to go on. We pray this in your name. Amen.”

  I have to be honest. Even though I’m grateful Pastor Henry prayed, I actually think it would’ve made more sense to just ask God to make her better. Because, really, that’s what I need.

  Pastor Henry takes my hand. “River,” he says softly, “God doesn’t always answer our prayers like we want. We can pray for things to turn out a certain way, but the decision is ultimately up to him… and we won’t always understand that. But because God is God, we need to trust that his ways are good.”

  I nod, trying to understand, but there’s no space left in my brain for that because there are two very big thoughts taking up all the space: the first is wondering if Gram will get better, and the second is knowing my parents need to find me fast. If Gram doesn’t make it, I’ll have no one.

  Pastor Henry leans back in his chair, staring out the window. Then all of a sudden, he sits up straighter than a two-by-four and starts asking a million questions (I think he finally realized Billy drove Gram’s truck). “How much traffic was there? Did you stop at the main intersection and look both ways? Did you even consider how dangerous that was? What would you have done if you got in an accident?”

  Billy looks scared to death. He’s probably wondering what Pastor Henry’s going to do. And all I can do is sit here wondering if Billy’s ever been grounded before.

  Gram’s doctor pushes the waiting room door open and walks straight at me. My whole body’s tight, and everything inside me is shaking. I don’t want to hear what he says, but he bends down right in front of me so I don’t have a choice. “She’s a lucky lady to have a granddaughter like you,” he says. “If you hadn’t done CPR and gotten here as fast as you did, she wouldn’t have had a chance.” My body can’t make up its mind—it shakes, it cries, it laughs, and it cries some more. It’s never had to make so many decisions.

  The doctor says Gram needs to stay overnight so he can monitor her and make changes to her heart medicine. As he starts to leave, he turns around. “You know,” he says, “your grandmother started to explain what happened. She said she was hopping down the driveway to get her mail, but then she closed her eyes and fell asleep. She never finished explaining. Anyway, I thought the whole hopping thing sounded strange, so I’m wondering if you have
any idea why she would’ve been hopping when most folks her age walk.”

  I tell him about her nincompoop therapist.

  18

  A Plan of Our Own

  One good thing about Gram being in the hospital is that I get to spend the night at the Whippoorwills’.

  When Billy and I read the little Whippoorwills a story before bed, they beg us to read a Bible story about a giant fish that swallowed a guy named Jonah. It’s an interesting story (and Billy swears it’s true). The story begins with God asking Jonah to do something, but since Jonah doesn’t want to do it, he tries running away from God (which is a stupid thing to do if you ask me). Jonah thinks he outsmarts God and takes the first boat out of town (that’s because they didn’t have cars back then). But God doesn’t let Jonah get away, and he makes a storm happen. When the waves become wild, Jonah gets tossed overboard and swallowed by a giant fish (Jonah actually stays in its stomach for three days). Well, Jonah finally gets smart. He asks God for a second chance, and lucky for him, he gets one. God tells the fish to spit Jonah out on shore, which it did (even the fish knew enough to obey God). Sometimes people have to learn the hard way.

  After we finish the story, I help tuck the little Whippoorwills into bed. Each one of them says a prayer for Gram. Even little Forrest.

  In the morning Mrs. Whippoorwill makes everyone breakfast. She has a huge pot of oatmeal simmering on the stove, she’s poured a whole jug of orange juice into a counter full of glasses, and she’s used an entire loaf of bread to make the tallest stack of toast I’ve ever seen.

  Pastor Henry takes a piece of toast off the top and wipes the last bit of oatmeal from his bowl. He says to me, “I’ll bring your grandmother home from the hospital at eleven this morning. That will give her time to rest before you get home from school.”

  I don’t think Pastor Henry knows Gram that much because Gram’s not real good at resting. Even if the doctor gives her strict orders to stay in bed, she’s bound to start up with all her hopping, galloping, milk-jug-leg-lifting, ballet moves (and heaven only knows what else).

  Billy and I ask Pastor Henry if we can go with him, since we want to bring Gram home too, but he shakes his head and insists we go to school.

  When asking doesn’t work, we beg.

  He shakes his head and says, “Not a chance.”

  I try sitting through math class, but I can’t concentrate. I couldn’t care less about long division. All I want is to get Gram and bring her home.

  Later during English, Ms. Grackle instructs us to sit with our partners. “By the end of this class,” she says, “the goal is to have your project essay completely outlined and approved by me.” But Billy and I come up with our own plan (which is definitely not the same as Ms. Grackle’s). We suddenly (and suspiciously) come down with terrible stomachaches, so Ms. Grackle sends us straight to the nurse. Billy and me walk down the hall, holding our stomachs and making the best groaning noises we can. We reach the nurse’s office, gripping our stomachs and bending over in pain.

  Billy talks first. “Miss Nightingale, River and I don’t feel good. Our stomachs feel awful.”

  I give Miss Nightingale more information. “I think it has something to do with breakfast.”

  “She’s probably right,” Billy says. “We drank sour orange juice, ate toast made with moldy bread, and our oatmeal was horribly lumpy.” I nod my head and agree.

  Miss Nightingale scrunches her nose like she’d just stepped on a dead mouse. “Well,” she says, “there’s no doubt about it—the both of you need to go home immediately.” She picks up the phone while asking Billy for his number.

  “That’s okay, Miss Nightingale,” he says. “There’s no need to call my parents. I don’t want to be a bother to them. My mom’s home with all the little ones, and my dad’s busy preparing Sunday’s message. I can walk home.”

  When Miss Nightingale asks for my number, I explain, “Gram couldn’t pay the phone bill, so ours is shut off” (this is true, so just like Gram, I didn’t lie… except about my stomachache… and I also agreed it was caused by sour orange juice, moldy toast, and lumpy oatmeal). I wonder if God forgives people if they have a good reason to lie.

  Billy assures Miss Nightingale, “You don’t need to worry about River. I’ll walk with her and see that she gets home safely.”

  She pats Billy on his head. “You’re a real gentleman.” Then she hands us a pass to leave school and says she hopes we feel better.

  As soon as we walk out the front doors, our stomachaches disappear, and we feel one hundred percent better. We race down the steps. I glance back over my shoulder, hoping we don’t get snared by the falcon.

  We’re halfway home when I get the brainstorm about making Gram a welcome-home lunch. And I know exactly what she needs—chicken noodle soup, bologna sandwiches, and a tall glass of groundhog punch.

  Billy scratches his head. “Groundhog punch?”

  “You’ve never heard of it?” For once I get to teach Billy something. “It’s a magic punch that Punxsutawney Phil drinks each year. That’s why he lives a long time. So I bet if Gram drinks some, she’ll live a long time too.”

  Billy nods. “That’s an interesting thought.”

  I take a few more steps. “But there’s one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  I hesitate to tell, since I’m not sure Billy believes in the whole magic punch theory, but I go ahead anyway. “We can’t make it because the recipe is top secret.”

  “Well,” Billy says, “why don’t we come up with our own magical punch recipe? We could use your Gram’s favorite drinks as the ingredients and then mix them together. If groundhog punch works for Punxsutawney Phil, then maybe our recipe will work for Gram.”

  As I shoot Billy a smile, he takes my lead. We race down the road and around the corner to Quick-Shop to buy Gram’s favorite drinks (I can’t help thinking how smart we were to leave school before lunch, otherwise we wouldn’t have any lunch money).

  We grab a cart and race through the aisles. I toss in lemon-lime soda, a carton of cranberry juice, orange juice, and pineapple juice, and then a family-size can of chicken noodle soup. We don’t buy Berry Burst Drink Mix because Gram’s always stocked up on that.

  After paying we have ten cents left, so I slide the dime to the cashier and grab two red-hot fireballs.

  By the time we get to my house, it’s ten forty, and our fireballs are the size of a pea. Billy hurries to set the table, and then I ask him to make seven bologna sandwiches (Gram will definitely have a big appetite).

  I heat the soup, let it simmer, and then get ready to make our magical punch. I slide our stool to the cupboard and climb up. I reach for Gram’s special glass pitcher, hoping the whole time I don’t drop it because it means so much to her. She won it by mailing seven hundred Berry Burst Drink Mix labels to the company and being the one lucky person to have their name drawn (I’ll bet she was the only entrant because I don’t think anyone else would be crazy enough to save seven hundred Berry Burst labels). But everyone in Punxsutawney knew Gram wanted that glass pitcher, so we’d always find Berry Burst labels tucked under our door. Gram ended up saving all seven hundred labels in just two weeks. She was happier than a pig in mud when it arrived in the mail. When we packed to move, I saw her wrap eleven towels around it (so even if the movers used it to play football, there was no chance of it breaking). Gram only uses it on special occasions, but I think her coming home with a beating heart is definitely special.

  I measure one cup of orange juice, cranberry juice, pineapple juice, and Gram’s favorite Berry Burst drink and pour it into her pitcher. Then I add the entire can of lemon-lime soda. And finally I drop in twelve ice cubes and stir it around and around until it creates a magical whirlpool. I take a sip from the spoon and smile—the magic already makes my tongue tingle. I carry the pitcher to the table and carefully set it down, feeling happy that something this simple might actually help Gram live a whole lot longer.

  As soon a
s Billy finishes the bologna sandwiches, we hear the sound of tires in the driveway. Two seconds later Gram and Pastor Henry walk through the door.

  Me and Billy shout, “Surprise! Welcome home!”

  Gram nearly jumps out of her skin, “Oh, my stars! You scared the kajeebers outta me!” She laughs a big belly laugh and then waddles over and gives us each a bear hug. “You kids saved my life, and I can’t thank you enough. The doctor adjusted my heart medicine, and now my ticker’s good as new. And boy, do I feel terrific!” As soon as she spots the food, she releases her hug and skips to the table with the grace of a hungry hippopotamus. She sits down with a thump.

  Pastor Henry sure looks surprised… probably not so much at Gram’s skipping as at seeing me and Billy standing in the middle of the kitchen. And he definitely doesn’t seem happy about it.

  He glares at Billy. “What in the world are you doing here?” (I’m thinking if Pastor Henry didn’t ground Billy yesterday for driving Tilly, this might be a perfect opportunity). “Aren’t you supposed to be in school, young man?”

  Billy shrugs his shoulder. Now, since I believe friends should always rescue each other, I put my hands together like an angel and look at Pastor Henry. “You’re invited too! Everyone likes chicken noodle soup and bologna sandwiches, so you’re going to stay and eat, right?”

  His eyes stay glued on Billy. “No,” he says, “I’m afraid not. I have responsibilities at the church.” I consider telling Pastor Henry about our magical punch, but this doesn’t seem like good timing.

  Pastor Henry is still glaring. “Billy,” he says, “the minute you’re done eating, you’re to come directly to the church. You’ll spend the afternoon polishing every pew. And if you take too long getting there, you’ll have the opportunity to polish them twice.”

  After Pastor Henry leaves, I ask Billy what a pew is. He says they’re the benches we’ve been sitting on (I’m relieved because with the sound of a word like “pew,” I had visions of Billy polishing every toilet in the church. Lucky for Billy they’re benches).