The Winner's Game(40)
Thankfully, Grandma’s ride is not yet done.
After the kids are all in bed, and Dell is asleep, I wander up to the attic on a hunch. Grandma Grace seemed so set on telling me something before her heart stopped, that I think I owe it to her to look. For nearly an hour I sift through boxes upon boxes of old junk, some of it dating back to when I was still a little girl. But just before midnight I crack open a particularly heavy box that Grace has marked, Important! It is filled with carefully stacked books, all of them different colors and sizes. I flip a few of them open to find that they are written in Grace’s distinctive handwriting.
Amused and delighted at what I’ve found—the second treasure of the day—I take one of Grandma’s “gurnels” downstairs on the couch and read until dawn.
Chapter 15
Ann
Do you hate me, diary? You should. I’m an awful person! Great-grandma crashed today while we were visiting her. Just like that, everything went south. One second she’s talking to us about a letter from her husband, and the next second she’s in cardiac arrest.
That could be me. Probably will be, in fact.
That’s what makes me so awful! I love Grandma to death, and I’ll definitely miss her when she’s gone, but as I watched them working on her, trying to bring her back, part of me didn’t want her to make it.
Pretty twisted, huh?
I wanted to see her die! Not that I wanted her to be gone. I just wanted to see for myself what it’s like, you know? Dying. I wanted to know if that last moment was painful for her, or if she would look relieved.
I’ve been in her situation before—lying half dead, with people trying to bring you back. I don’t remember much other than drifting down a dark, peaceful tunnel. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I wasn’t coming back. Of course, then I did come back, which was much more painful than leaving, that’s for sure.
So go ahead and hate me, diary. I would if I were you. But can you blame me for being interested? I just wanted to see death from the other side of the body, so as to better prepare for what’s coming…
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, once we’re home from the hospital in Seaside where they’ve moved Grandma, the weather finally turns perfect. Mom and Dad want some time alone to talk, so Bree and I take Cade out to the beach, where he can dink around some more with Grandpa’s metal detector.
To me, the beach is heaven on earth. When I die, I’m going to ask God if I can just take my little harp to Cannon Beach and spend eternity strumming hallelujahs on a comfy beach chair. Seriously.
When I’m dead, though, I hope my scars will be erased so I can wear a nice V-neck tankini—pearly white, of course—while I’m lounging on God’s heavenly sand. As it stands now, I’m not too fond of being seen in a bathing suit, because the purple line on my chest practically glows in the sun. Rather than suffer through people’s stares, I wear a tank top with a neckline that even a nun would feel comfortable in.
For two solid hours Cade traipses back and forth over the beach, covering an area half the size of a football field. Periodically the alarm goes off, signaling hidden “treasures” beneath the surface. Each time, he eagerly marks the spot with his toe, tosses the metal detector aside, digs furiously, sifts through the sand, and eventually unearths…a bottle cap. Or a screw. Or some other worthless piece of metal that someone left behind.
No more notes from Grandpa to Grandma.
No treasures whatsoever.
While I’m busy watching Cade uncover junk, Bree mostly just watches the teenage boys playing Frisbee. Two of them, both bare-chested, seem to be showing off for her.
Don’t they realize she just finished middle school?
Oh well. When Bree wants to be noticed, she gets noticed. She’s always been that way. All popular kids are, I suppose.
When Cade’s battery finally dies, he brings his bucket of junk to where I’m sitting.
“What did you find?”
“Not much. Eight bottle caps, a broken piece of a lighter, a screw, and a fishing lure.”
“No money, huh?”
“I wish.”
“Well, don’t give up. It’s a big beach.”
“Maybe tomorrow. The thing’s dead already, so I have to charge it again.”
Seeing that the boys are getting a little too flirty, I yell and tell Bree that it’s time to go.
She drags her feet, but follows us back to the house.
After dinner, Dad packs up and heads for Portland. Thankfully, this time his send-off is uneventful, unlike last week at the restaurant. There are no long good-byes, just hugs and see-you-laters with the kids. He and Mom each give an awkward wave—nothing verging on affectionate, but at least there are no angry words.