The Winner's Game(33)
“I do love you,” I say flatly. “Even if you don’t love me, I still love you.”
“No you don’t.”
“How can you say that? If I say I do, then I do.”
“Words alone are hollow. It dawned on me when I was talking to Bree that we don’t love each other anymore. We used to love each other. I mean really love each other, fiercely. And I think we still want to love each other. Maybe we both still feel that sense of commitment and obligation for the other, but you don’t actively love me anymore, Dell, and I’m probably guilty of the same thing. We’re hoping for the noun of love, but not applying the verb.”
“Honestly, I don’t even know what that means.”
“You would if you loved me.”
“I do love you!”
“Then show it, Dell. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Yeah, well, it goes both ways,” I say angrily. “You get what you give, I guess.” I hesitate briefly, wondering what I can say now. Nothing. Stop before the hole gets deeper. “This conversation is getting us nowhere. We should stop now, before one of us says something we really regret.”
Chapter 13
Cade
WHEN DAD SHOWED up yesterday, he said the weather was going to get better.
He was wrong.
It’s still as rainy as last week, and I’m really getting tired of it. I want to be flying kites and building sand castles and feeding seagulls; instead I’m stuck inside doing nothing but adjusting rabbit ears above the television.
I wonder if it’s rainy like this back in Portland? I bet not. My friends are probably having the best summer ever, while I’m stuck here with nothing to do.
After lunch Mom and Dad make us go visit Grandma Grace again. I haven’t been around a lot of old people, so maybe my opinion is wrong, but I don’t think she’s doing so hot. She looks so weak, like the smallest movement might break her. It’s really a bummer, because she’s always been really cool to us kids. Now she’s just sort of there, if you know what I mean. Like in limbo, waiting for something else to happen.
It’s kind of sad—Grandma Grace would probably like to die, but Ann doesn’t want to and doesn’t deserve to. I don’t understand why Grandma should get to live so long but my sister could just drop dead tomorrow, without warning.
I don’t want my sister to die. I don’t want anyone to die, but especially not my sister.
Anyway, when we get to the place where Grandma is at, I have to plug my nose. I really don’t like the smell. I’m convinced it’s the old people who smell, but Dad says it’s the smell of all their medicines. Maybe he’s right, because I spot a nurse going from room to room with plastic cups loaded with humongous pills for everyone.
How the heck do their old throats swallow those things?
“Speaking of medicine,” says Dad, “Ann, you’re looking kind of pale today. Are you keeping up on your meds?”
She rolls her eyes. Ann hates her pills, but she has to take them every day or she gets really weak. “Not because I like to, but yes.”
When we go into Grandma Grace’s room, it’s nice to see that she still recognizes everyone. Mom wasn’t so sure she would. But today her speech is really jumbled, like she’s chewing on marbles. On several occasions she says things that we can’t make any sense of.
The worst is when Mom tells her we’re going to start organizing the things in her bedroom so we can give the walls a fresh coat of paint. Grandma gets a distant look in her eyes, then says something that sounds to me like, “Down throat way the score chards.”
“What’d she say?” I whisper.
“Down through the way to score charts,” chirps Bree.
Huh?
“Right,” snickers Ann. “That clarifies things.”
Mom leans in closer. “Grandma, I didn’t catch what you said. Something about scorecards?”
Every wrinkle on Great-grandma’s face pulls together into a massive frown. “The nude books,” she whispers slowly. Or at least that’s what it sounds like. “I won the nude books.”
The way Dad and Mom look at each other, I suddenly have a feeling they are going to sort through Grandma’s stuff in private before they let us in the room to help.
Sure enough, when we get back to the beach house, they tell us we’ll be called to help once everything is “safe.”
The good news is that we don’t have to help right away with the work. The bad news is that we now have more time to kill on our own, and the weather still stinks.