The Year I Almost Drowned (23 page)

spastically from my lips. My mother and father talked to each other. Finally. It took

them over seventeen years, but at least they had closure. She wouldn’t tell me

what they had said to each other, only that they both were able to say some things

that needed to be said and that they would be filling out the paper work for a

divorce within the next few months. I wanted to know what was said between

them. How did they feel about each other after all that time? Did she forgive him

for leaving? Did he forgive her for lying? But those were answers I would never

know because the conversation was theirs to have and theirs alone.

I lay on the porch swing, swaying back and forth, still in the black dress, my feet

hanging over the edge. I was so tired from the day, I could’ve fallen asleep right

there and then. The sun was setting, casting a perfect shade of violet in the sky.

Crickets were chirping constantly. A murder of crows flew around, circling in the

sky,

making

their

calls.

The door opened. “Finn.” Jesse cleared his throat. “I’m taking your dad home.

Lilly

said

you

were

pretty

beat.”

I pushed myself up and looked up at him. Sometimes Jesse seemed so tall; I

couldn’t see the sunset anymore. My dad stood next to him holding a large

casserole

dish

covered

with

aluminum

foil.

“I can do it. Let me find my shoes.” I stood up and searched the porch. I couldn’t

remember

where

I

had

placed

them.

He quickly touched my arm and said, “Stay here with Lilly and get some rest.”

His touch made me lose my breath for a split second. The strange sensation of

something flying in my stomach surfaced. After all this time, how could he still

have

that

effect

on

me?

“Okay,”

I

relented.

He

smiled

softly.

“Good.”

I hugged my dad goodbye and smiled gratefully at Jesse. “Thank you for doing

this,”

I

said

to

him,

stifling

a

yawn.

“It’s not that far out of my way.” He said it like it was no big deal, when in fact, I

knew that it was, and then they left.

I missed hearing the sound of my grandfather’s thunderous steps moving about

the house early in the morning or late at night; his loud, husky voice that could be

heard for miles and miles; his greasy, delicious diner food that brought me

comfort on any given day; and his half-lip curled smile that warmed my heart.

Time passed, but nothing was done, nothing was accomplished. It’s like we were

all frozen solid and unable to move, just allowing time to pass us by. The month

of

June

was

almost

over.

Doing nothing depressed me even more. It gave me too much time to think about

my grandfather, about the fact that I missed him so much, about the fact that he

was gone, and about the fact that I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. I was

going stir crazy. Every day was the same: get up, get dressed, and do nothing–

there wasn’t a purpose. I felt like my spirit was slowly withering away. The overall

feeling of the house was the same. Its life was gone. Nana just moved from one

room to another. She was there but not there. We were shadows of our former

selves. I knew things had to change; we could not continue to go on like this.

It had been several weeks, and the diner was still closed. On some of those days,

I drove by it, just to see it, which was a stupid idea because all it did was remind

me that my grandfather was gone. Seeing it empty inside and the “Closed” sign

on the front door, made me feel that loss; it’s like it was a metaphor for how we

were

all

feeling

about

everything.

I didn’t know what Nana was planning to do with it, but I had a sneaking suspicion

she was going to sell it, and I definitely didn’t want her to–especially not to Mike

Wyatt. That didn’t set right with me. It’s not what Grandpa would’ve wanted.

She sat in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee and eating a piece of dry toast. It

was unusual for her to not make breakfast, but her desire to cook had waned

since my grandfather passed away–no pies, no lavish breakfasts, nothing. Not

only did the house feel empty; it smelled that way, too. The warm, pleasant

fragrances had all but disappeared. It just didn’t have a smell anymore. It was

sterile.

I grabbed a Pop Tart and plopped it in the toaster and poured myself a cup of

coffee, adding cream and sugar. The Pop Tart popped up from the toaster. I

placed it on a napkin and came over to the table, sitting directly across from her.

“Morning, Finn,” she said. Her elbows rested on the table, her hands held a mug.

“Nana.

I’ve

been

thinking,”

I

started.

“That

sounds

dangerous,”

she

teased.

I smiled. Even though she was grieving, she hadn’t lost her witty sense of humor.

“I’d

like

to

discuss

the

diner

with

you,”

I

said

seriously.

“Oh,” she answered quietly. “I don’t know what I can tell you about it.” Her lips

turned down. “I know you’ve been trying to figure out your grandfather’s books

and

I

appreciate

it.”

“Yeah. I think I’ve got his system figured out,” I said and paused. “Are you

planning

to

sell

it?”

I

spit

out

quickly.

She didn’t look surprised by my question. It’s like she was expecting me to ask it.

She leaned forward and nodded her head slightly. I frowned and she said, “I know

it’s not what you want to hear. But I can’t keep it open. I don’t want to run it, Finn.”

“Why?”

“Frankly, I don’t have the energy or desire to run it.” She sighed and then

continued, “I used to work at the diner with your grandfather. Then your dad got

sick and well, that took a lot out of me. I had to focus on helping him get better; I

just didn’t have the time for it anymore. After that, I found I didn’t miss it much.”

“But

it’s

a

him.”

“I know this is hard for you, but I think it’s best,” she said.

How could it be best? It had been his for almost fifty years, and now she was

planning to get rid of it? Like that. She had to change her mind; she just had to.

A million thoughts were racing through my mind. I wanted to persuade her to keep

the diner open a least a little while longer. I wasn’t ready for that kind of change.

“Let me try running it, at least until you find a suitable buyer. It’s a waste to let it

sit there closed when you could be making money from it,” I said almost

desperately. “Grandpa would agree.” That was a low thing to do. Using his name

to serve my purpose was beneath me, but I was desperate to make her see my

point. I had no idea what I was doing. Running a diner, what was I thinking? But

it had been on my mind, and for some really strange reason, it made me feel at

peace

once

I

said

it

to

her.

She shook her head. “I’m not sure about that, honey,” she said skeptically.

“I’m off the entire summer, Nana. And, I know the ins and outs of the place. I can

get Dad to help cook. Let me at least do this until you sell it.” I placed my hands

on

her

soft

arms.

“Please,”

I

begged.

“I don’t know how Pete will fair cooking at the diner. He hasn’t had a job in a long

time,” she said. Several wrinkles creased across her small forehead. “And

running it and working there are two different things, Finn. It’s not easy.” She

twisted

her

lips

to

the

side

and

gave

a

pensive

expression.

“At least let me try. Give me that. Grandpa would hate for it to stay closed while

you find a buyer,” my tone became more confident. The more I spoke, the more

I believed what I was saying, even though the thought of running the diner was

the craziest idea I’d ever come up with in my nineteen years of life. “If I can’t do

it,

we’ll

keep

it

closed.”

She was silent for a while. I had no idea what she was thinking. “Okay,” she finally

relented. “But the first sign of trouble, we’re locking the doors, shutting off the

lights, and closing it until we sell it. Mike Wyatt has been flying around here like

a buzzard, I’m pretty sure he’ll make me offer. Whether or not I accept it is a

different matter.” She pursed her lips and then moved her arms out to the side

and started flapping them up and down, making a “grrr” sound.

I

laughed.

“Thank

you,

Nana.”

I

hugged

her.

“Don’t get too excited yet. You may not thank me once you see what you’re in

for,”

she

said.

***

I drove to my dad’s house. He had worked at the diner when he was younger; I

assumed it would be like second nature to him. But when I brought it up to him,

he answered before I could even finish asking the question. In fact, he was

adamantly opposed to the idea. It wasn’t the reaction I had expected; I naively

thought he would be willing it to do it without a moment’s hesitation.

“It won’t be that long, Dad. Nana’s trying to find a buyer,” I said.

A huge canvas leaned against a tree. He stood in front of it, applying long, black

brush strokes upward in a crescent formation, forming the shape of a tree bush.

He moved his hand up and down and then in a circular motion. The more I talked,

the more haywire his brush strokes became and the tree he was painting became

more

abstract.

“I haven’t cooked in that diner since you were a baby,” he said to me, still painting.

“Mike Wyatt made Nana an offer. If we keep it closed, she’ll sell it to him. If we

keep it open, she’s more likely to be patient with who she sells it to,” I said.

He threw his paint brush down on the ground and scowled. “Mike Wyatt is a

sleazy miscreant!” he shouted. I had to keep myself from laughing. Sometimes,

my father would use these grandiose words to describe things or people, and it

cracked me up. “I went to school with him, and he was a slimy, loathsome soul

then.”

I added more fuel to the fire. “He’s made her an offer. She’s mulling it over right

now.” I was being cunning, but I wanted this. It was important to me. I was on a

mission to prove something, to whom, I don’t know. Maybe to my grandfather? I

didn’t know, but trying to open the diner again made me forget that I was grieving.

“Come on, Dad. We can do it together, at least for the summer. I’m sure by then

Nana will have a buyer.” I had no idea what I was talking about. I was making up

stuff

as

I

went

along.

“Well, she’s not selling it to Mike. That would be over my dead body.” He shook

his

head

in

disgust.

“Please

say

you’ll

do

it.”

I

squeezed

his

arm.

“I’ll try, Finn. For you, I’ll try. I owe that to you,” he said. “Why’s this so important

to

you?”

He

formed

an

inquisitive

expression.

It just was, I thought. Was that a suitable answer? “It just is,” I said. It was a part

of

Grandpa

that

I

couldn’t

let

go

***

My phone and my alarm clock buzzed simultaneously, directly into my ears. I

leapt out of bed, took my shower, grabbed a Pop Tart, (I really missed my Nana’s

breakfasts) and headed out the door–all within a matter of fifteen minutes. It was

a little before five-thirty in the morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet; the animals were

still asleep. No one was up that early, no one except me. I drove toward my dad’s

house. The long, winding roads were empty and completely bare of any light. The

moon

still

glowed

in

the

pitch

black

sky.

Nana had explicitly expressed her concern about my dad working at the diner.

“It’s going to be hard for him,” she had said to me. “I don’t think you’re thinking

things

through.”

I knew it would be hard for him, but I think he needed the challenge as much as

I did. He needed this like I needed it. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

He was waiting outside for me and holding his coffee thermos. A dull light shined