“Yes, eight months ago. Don’t you remember? I explained everything to you then, from start to finish.” Dad rubs the tops of his knees, as if to stunt the flush that is creeping up along his neck. “Ascension Thursday is the root of our deepest beliefs here, Mother. I know you know that. And for you to just show up—without warning—and expect us to realign our plans according to your whims is just … just incredibly rude!” He leans back into the couch, red-faced from his outburst, and wipes his lips. A long silent moment passes as Nana Pete stares at Dad. No one moves.
“Well,” she says finally. “You’re exactly right, Leonard, come to think of it. I shouldn’t have come swooping down on you out of the blue. I’ve had some things come up unexpectedly over the past few weeks that I thought I would share with you. But you’re right. I should have at least called. My needs are no more important than yours. They can wait.” She reaches down and tugs at the bottom of her white button-down shirt until the wrinkles disappear. Then she places one palm on my knee and one on Benny’s. “I won’t stay long. A few days at the most. And while I’m here, I won’t get in your way. I promise. But will you give me some time with the children until I leave again?”
Dad’s face softens at his mother’s conciliatory words. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Of course,” he says. “But it is Ascension Week, which means the children must stay quiet. No running around the grounds like they usually do with you. You’ll have to take them back to the house and visit there until dinnertime.”
“Fine,” Nana Pete says. She gets up, pulling Dad to his feet, and kisses him hard on the cheek. He looks uneasy. “Have you called Lillian?” she asks in a low voice. “Even just to say hello?”
Mom looks up sharply.
“You just never know when to stop, do you, Mother?” Dad drops Nana Pete’s hands. “Let’s go, Ruth,” he says. “We have work to do.”
…
Nana Pete takes my hand as we walk out to her car. Benny has already raced on ahead and climbed inside. I run my thumb gently over the raised green veins on the surface of her hand. They are soft as velvet.
“Why do you always bring up Lillian, if you know Dad’s just going to get mad?” I ask gently.
Nana Pete tilts her head and studies a turtle-shaped cloud. “Oh,” she says finally. “That’s just what mothers do.”
I don’t press her. The only thing I know about Lillian is that she is Dad’s younger sister and that there was some kind of falling out between them years ago. To this day, I’ve never heard Dad talk about her, and for some reason, he has forbidden Nana Pete from discussing her at all with us. Still, I can’t remember a single visit where Nana Pete hasn’t mentioned Lillian to Dad at least once.
“So why did you come now, instead of in August like you usually do?” I ask.
“Well, I can’t come in August, Mouse. My doctor wants to do a few tests on me then, so I won’t be able to travel for a little while.”
I stop walking. “Tests?” I repeat. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Nana Pete laughs. Her teeth are the color of dimes. “Now, don’t get yourself in a tizzy, darlin’. I’m not getting any younger, you know. And this is what happens when you get to be my age. My doctor just wants to check out this old body of mine to make sure everything’s still ticking.”
“Oh. So it’s just a checkup, then?”
Nana Pete nods, staring straight ahead. “Exactly right, Mouse. A checkup.”
The inside of the Queen Mary smells faintly of onions. One of Nana Pete’s weaknesses is junk food, especially something called Funyuns, which she brings us (secretly) every year. They’re puffy little things that taste like onion-flavored air. I like them all right, but I’ve tried only a few and that was a long time ago, before I started reading The Saints’ Way. For one thing, they’re completely against the rules here. For another thing, saints would never fill their bodies, which are temples of the Holy Spirit, with junk food. But Benny is addicted to them. Now he waits in the backseat, his mouth hanging open like a puppy, until Nana Pete pulls a bag out of the glove compartment.
“Nana Pete,” I start. “Please. You know … ”
She laughs and tosses the bag back into Benny’s outstretched hands. “I know. I know, Mouse. But they’re not going to kill him. I promise.”
I turn and glare at Benny. He already has four of the puffed rings inside his mouth. His jaw freezes as our eyes meet.
Nana Pete reaches out and cups his chin in her hand. “Oh leave him alone, darlin’,” she says. “Let him enjoy something.” She squeezes Benny’s chin and, as if on cue, he starts chewing again. I turn back around and stare straight ahead. Nana Pete laughs and then pokes me in the arm. “You don’t have to be so serious about everything all the time, Mouse.”
“Can we go back to the house now so I can lie down for a while?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the windshield. “I’m pretty tired.” Nana Pete slides her hands over the white leather wheel. Her fingernails, painted a shiny purple color, glitter under the sun.
“Actually, Mouse, I think that’s a fine idea.” She starts the engine and revs the gas. The radio turns on immediately, filling the car with pounding drums and a wailing woman’s voice: Sweet dreams are made of these, Who am I to disagree?