Sic groans.
“We’re going to bring Iain there for a visit tomorrow to see how he likes it,” says MaxiMum.
He won’t. Sumac’s sure of that suddenly.
“He doesn’t want to watch movies,” says Wood between his teeth. “Can’t you guys punish him some other way?”
“It’s not a punishment,” says PapaDum.
Grumps will hate Sunset Vista, even more than he hates Camelottery, Sumac decides. He’ll call the resistance pool unnatural; he’d rather swim in the lake, and the round-the-clock nurses won’t let him. He’ll refuse to play billiards or euchre with other random oldies, or go sightseeing. He probably won’t be allowed to smoke even in the pergolas in the garden. Nobody there will give a hoot about him because they don’t know Iain Miller; he’s nobody to them.
“It’s about making sure your grandfather gets the care he needs,” says MaxiMum.
“Yeah, right,” says Sic.
Aspen bounces wordlessly, for once, watching faces. Brian yawns, watching the stars. The monitor on MaxiMum’s belt transmits Oak’s small dreaming murmurs.
“Attacking Oak, then running off … Iain’s dementia’s clearly getting worse fast,” says PapaDum.
Sumac can’t speak: It’s as if her throat’s been filled up with cement.
A tear runs down CardaMom’s nose, and MaxiMum slides an arm around her. “Maybe we were naive,” CardaMom sobs. “Bit off a lot more than we could chew.” Almost laughing: “This is what comes of being the family that likes to say why not.”
PopCorn speaks up hoarsely. “My bad. My dad. My big dumb idea in the first place.”
“It was worth a try,” PapaDum tells him.
“Experiments always are,” says MaxiMum.
“No!” Sumac blinks the tears away. “Listen. There’s something — I — I — I —”
“Take a breath, beta,” says PapaDum.
What Sic said to Grumps about her: Was it true? “I’m not a cheetah, I mean, a cheater,” Sumac wails. “But I am a liar.” Agony to say the word. “I’m really, really sorry, it was a lie not to explain about the game.”
“What game?” asks CardaMom.
“It was Blind Man’s Buff we were playing, like in Napoleon — olden times. Grumps was blindfolded, see? When he stepped on Oak.”
MaxiMum nods, getting it.
“Well. That’s a relief,” says PopCorn, almost in a whisper.
And it is: Sumac feels so much lighter already, as if she’s dropped a heavy bag.
Aspen’s accusing stare breaks; she grins. “You’re not a cheetah, Sumac, you’re a lion.”
“Huh?”
“Lying, get it? Get it?”
With a great effort, Sumac ignores her sister. She asks the adults, “So he can stay?”
But their long faces tell her she’s miscalculated.
“It was an accident,” she rushes on, “a total fluke that Oak crawled right under Grumps’s boot!” Was this the Lotterys’ bad luck that’s been waiting for them all these years?
“Still,” says MaxiMum, “Iain needs constant, professional supervision so he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone else.”
“Or wander off again,” PapaDum puts in.
“He didn’t wander!” The last word comes out in a squeak. “Not like across a train track. He took a taxi to the airport, which is a perfectly sensible thing to do, and he’d have gotten as far as Faro if you meanie pigs hadn’t canceled his credit card.”
“True,” says PopCorn with a sigh. “But my dad needs so much help.”
Sumac flails for a second. The dads and moms didn’t see Grumps the way she did, all knobbly and out of place against the massive glass wall of the airport. They don’t realize that he belongs to the Lotterys now.
Then, noticing that Brian’s conked out in the middle of the trampoline, still wearing her fire truck, she thinks of something. “Oak needs help too,” she says, “but we’re never going to send him away to live with strangers!”
“Eminently logical, as usual,” murmurs MaxiMum.
“Oh, come on….” That’s PapaDum.
“It’s neur, neuro —” Argh, thinks Sumac, what’s that word?
“Nureyev? The ballet dancer?” suggests PopCorn, puzzled.
“Brains not being the same as each other,” says Sumac, “and that’s OK.”
“Neurodiversity,” supplies MaxiMum, nodding.
“The difference is that we all love Oak,” says PapaDum.
“Well, I bet if we practiced a bit more, we could love Grumps,” Sumac tells them, looking from face to face. “It’s only been three and a half weeks. Surely it’ll get easier? Like the elderberries that need cooking before they’re friendly to stomachs.”
CardaMom reaches out for Sumac’s hand.
She scrabbles for a good argument. “It’s like your proverb,” she tells PapaDum. “We’re only halfway up the coconut tree, and there’s no point stopping there, because we don’t even have half a coconut yet.”
“But, Sumac —”
“He’s our plus one,” she roars at them all. “Like it or lump it.”