I was sleepless, smelled like Doritos, and had drunk far too much bad coffee, but almost eight hours later my SUV rolled into the small town of Hamletville where I’d grown up. It was like reliving a bad nightmare. Memories of an only occasionally happy childhood and even worse youth lived on every corner. When I drove past his shop, my heart still hurt—even four years later. I strained my neck to try to catch a glimpse of him but saw nothing.
My Range Rover easily took the bumps, turns, holes, and trenches of Fox Hollow Road. Guilt overwhelmed me when I arrived. It had been almost a year since I’d been back. My grandmother’s lawn had not been mowed in ages; weeds were knee high. Some shingles had come off the roof, and the place looked even more like a witches’ cabin than ever. My grandmother had closed all the shutters on the house and had nailed boards across most of them. Despite the fact the sun had just risen, my grandmother was there, hammer in hand, working on barring up the front picture window. She was wearing a purple checked dress, and her hair was covered in an old yellow and blue flowered babushka. When she saw me, she came off the porch and waived my SUV forward.
My first thought was that she was not well. Last year my assistant’s mother had entered early stages of dementia and started displaying odd behavior. Perhaps my grandmother . . .
“No, no, Layla, Grandma is fine. Come. Help me now,” she said, interrupting my thoughts as she opened the door to my SUV. “Oh, Layla, you need a shower.”
“Of course I do, Grandma. I just drove across four states to get here.”
“Ehhh,” she muttered and then led me into the house.
The scene was one of complete disarray. It looked like she had unloaded every cupboard and was sorting items.
“Tomorrow the men come to fix the roof and clean the chimney. Already I’ve had wood delivered, but Layla, I had the men put it in the dining room. I know, everyone thinks Grandma is crazy.”
“Well, Grandma, it is a dining room.” I noticed that the old oak China cabinet had been pushed in front of the living room picture window. It was now blocking most of the light.
“Grandma . . .” I began, but I was not sure what to say.
“Here, Layla, I want you to go to store. Buy all the things on my list. No questions. Just buy it all,” she said and then handed me a wad of hundred dollar bills. I looked from the money to the list to her and back to the list again. “No questions,” she said, “but take a shower first. You stink.”
“Grandma.”
“I’ll get you a towel.”
My grandmother’s bathroom, decorated with red-trimmed white towels and smelling like lemons, was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. So confused by the scene, I didn’t know what to do. Like the obedient girl I’d always been, I did what she told me. As the water poured over me, I tried to make sense of what was going on. All I knew was every hair on the back of my neck had risen and there seemed to be an odd buzzing in my ears, like the feeling of being near something high-voltage. I tried to shake it but couldn’t. My grandmother’s seriousness made me want to obey her, but too much life and education made me want to stop in my tracks.
When I came out of the shower my grandmother was nowhere to be found. She’d left me a clean towel and a note written in Russian: “Went to woods. Will be back. You go to the store.”
I went to my room to unpack. It was full of boxes. Inside I found cases of antibiotics, bandages, and other medical equipment. I dressed quickly and went onto the front porch. From that vantage point, I noticed that Grandma had recently installed a very tall chain-link fence around the house. I was so tired when I’d arrived I hadn’t notice it. The gate stood ajar. Grandma must have left it open when she went on her walk. Things were getting weirder by the moment.
“Grandma?” I called into the forest behind her house, but there was no reply. I decided to head to town and shop as she’d asked.
It was a Saturday morning, and the streets of the sleepy town were a-typically quiet. I pulled into the parking lot of “Hicktown Hardware and Huntin’ Goods.” At least the owners, the Lewis family, had a sense of humor. I made a silent prayer to God that I would not run into anyone I knew. No luck.
“Ah, Layla, are you here to pick up Grandma Petrovich’s order?” the owner, Mrs. Lewis, asked as she snubbed out her cigarette. The air around the cash register was hazy blue. I had not seen Mrs. Lewis in almost five years, but she still looked exactly the same: tightly permed brown hair, overly thick smoke stained glasses, and blazing pink fingernail polish. She had been glued to a small T.V. sitting beside the cash register. I could hear the over-expressive voices of excited newscasters.
I nodded. “She added a few more things,” I said and read off the list which included more batteries than one person could need in a lifetime, two-way radios, three axes, and high-powered binoculars.
Mrs. Lewis instructed a shop boy to gather the items on my list. I paid cash, nearly $1200, for all of the items, including the pre-order which was packed into mystery boxes.