Invisible (13 page)

Dad throws his hands in the air. “We just liked it.”

“
Anyway,” Mom continues, “Minerva was the first pick and we actually put it on the birth certificate, but Grandma Rose was fuming mad. She gave us royal hell, saying the poor child would be made fun of her entire life if we gave her that name, so we changed it to Eva.”

“
You have got to be kidding,” says Eva, clearly not amused.

A smile slowly unfurls across my face. The story didn’t disappoint. “What’s so bad about Minerva?” I can barely keep a straight face. “We could have called you Minnie. Or if they named you Artemis, Artie would have been cute.”

“
Ha, ha, ha,” Eva says with a sneer. I file away this little tidbit to break out as needed at a later date. Being named Minerva, even if it was for a couple of days, is far worse than being named after a dog.

After dinner, we move into the living room and talk about Grandma Rose and the special memories we have of her.

“
Gran was my best friend,” I say, immediately hating the lame sound of the words as they leave my mouth. She was so much more than that, and there’s no way to adequately convey what she meant to me. Words just can’t cut it.

Mom smiles, but it’s the expression under the expression that tells me I’ve hurt her. I suppose I said what she’d always suspected. Now she knows I love Gran more than her. Even though regret creeps through me, there’s no taking my words back.

She looks away and clears her throat. “Hey, why don’t we go upstairs and pick out some pictures from different times in Gran’s life,” Mom suggests. “I was going to do it later. I figured I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Mom’s already neatly swept her hurt feelings under the rug. Might as well carry on as if nothing’s wrong. Mom, Eva and me head upstairs to the spare room to go through pictures. I’m surprised Mom has so many photo albums as well as boxes full of pictures.

“
Gran gave them to me a couple of months ago.” Mom pats one of the old flower-print boxes. “Almost as if she knew something was going to happen.”

“
Well, she
was
old,” Eva says.

I give her a quick slap on the arm.

“
Ouch!” She clamps a hand over the red spot I left and steps away.

Mom ignores our bickering and continues, “The funeral home will need them first thing in the morning to make a memory montage. The photos are scanned and then shown on television screens placed throughout the room during the wake.”

I pull out a few of Gran and me. In one she’s holding me when I was a baby. I know it’s me ’cause it’s written in faded ink on the back of the picture in Gran’s neat script.

“
You know, she was the first person to hold you when you were born,” Mom says. “Even before your Dad or me.” She shakes her head and gives a little laugh. “Gran got right in there and took you out of the nurse’s arms. I remember what she said like it was yesterday.”

“
What’d she say?” I ask.

“
She said you were just a peanut of a thing.” Mom looks into my eyes. “You only weighed five pounds ten ounces when you were born. You were the tiniest little thing.”

“
I’m certainly not tiny now.”

Mom holds the photo to her heart and sits on the futon. “You’re not so big, Lola. Yeah, you’re tall, but what’s wrong with that? It’s nice to be tall.”

She’s just being kind, just saying what a mother’s supposed to say. I sit beside her and take another look at the photo in her hands. “I never felt like I fit in. It’s like I don’t belong in this family. You guys are so different from me. And you can’t deny that I’m fat.” I grab a handful of belly blubber and jiggle it.

Mom sighs and turns to face me. “You’re a beautiful, smart, kind girl. Stop putting yourself down. Do you think Grandma Rose would like to hear you talk about yourself like that?”

Mom’s never said anything like this to me before. Maybe it’s because I’ve never told her how I feel. I can be withdrawn and usually keep my feelings to myself. Reluctantly, I admit that maybe it’s me who doesn’t try hard enough to be a part of this family.

“
Be honest, Mom, she could stand to lose some weight.” Eva smirks.

The truth of my sister’s words instantly slams shut the tiny crack I’d allowed to open around my heart.

“
Asshole,” I mutter angrily as I get to my feet.

“
What? It’s true,” she protests with a wicked smile.

I hip check her into the wall and stomp from the room. Behind me I hear Mom helping Eva to her feet and yelling at her at the same time.

Then again, maybe I don’t want to be a part of this family.

Chapter Twenty-Three

By the time I climb into bed, I’m filled not only with grief over Grandma Rose, but hatred for my sister. Shutting off my brain is impossible and I toss and turn for hours. I imagine doing all kinds of mean things to Eva like flushing her cellphone, destroying her make-up suitcase, or stomping her head in. The only person who was ever able to free me from my rage is gone. Grandma Rose was the one I could talk to about anything and that included my evil sister. She could talk me down off the ledge every time and was always able to slip in something better for me to think about, before I even realized what happened.

The suffocating darkness of my room and the lonely quiet of the house drive me from my bed. My pain is monumental and my need to be near Gran is gargantuan.

After dressing, I grab my journal and stuff it into my satchel. I leave a note on the kitchen table, letting Mom and Dad know I’ve gone for a walk. The door squeaks, freezing me to the spot. I listen for a moment and, when I realize I haven’t disturbed anyone, I sneak out into the early morning darkness.

The sun is not yet up and the cool air chills me to the bone. My loneliness is a solid, black thing, coiled around my throat like a boa constrictor. I tug at my collar to keep the panic from choking me. I run, trying to outpace my anxiety, but the banging of my heart feels too much like the panic I’m running from. I slow my pace, forcing long deep breaths and trudge on to fulfill a compulsion I cannot ignore.

Briefly, I think of Mom and hope when she gets my note she can understand and forgive me for once again not being there for her. My pain has driven me to such selfishness.

As I slip the key in the door to Gran’s apartment, it’s impossible to believe she won’t be on the other side waiting for me with tea and burned cookies, and another crazy masterpiece on her easel. My heart shatters at the thought of never again hearing her voice, or her laughter or her words of wisdom. Of never looking into her eyes or feeling her touch, never ever again, as long as I live.

The apartment is black as pitch and eerily silent. I flick on the lights. Nothing has been touched. It feels as if she’s on an errand and will soon burst through the door with her usual exuberance. I crumple to the floor at the entrance of the sunroom and cry. Soul shredding sobs make my shoulders heave. I cry and cry until I have no tears left. I am empty.

“
Gran, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I love you so much and I miss you. I want you to know you were the best grandmother
ever
and you’ve given me so many wonderful memories. I was blessed to have you in my life and I will keep you in my heart forever.”

Does she hear me? I guess I’ll never know. But I remember a story she’d told me not so long ago. It came out of the blue and now I wonder if Gran did have some kind of premonition of her impending death, or maybe it’s just natural for eighty-year-olds to always be thinking of their mortality.

Gran explained that she and I are connected by an invisible cord. Though we can’t see or feel it, it’s there and can never be severed. It’s the connection of love and she said that when she leaves the planet, the connection will still be there. We’ll always be attached because of the strength of the love we have for each other. Although I never liked to hear her talk about death, I loved that story. It doesn’t seem farfetched to me. I know for a fact that just because something can’t be seen, it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Finally, I pull myself to my feet and walk slowly around the tiny room. Canvases of all shapes and sizes are stacked one against the other, leaning on every wall. I flip through and find John Travolta and Katy Perry. I pull them free and select a couple others to take home with me.

Then I sit in my usual corner of the couch and pull the journal from my satchel.

“
Gran, I hope you don’t mind that I’m telling our secret,” I say aloud. “It’s a better story than the one I was writing and besides, no one but us and a couple of my friends will ever know it’s true anyway.”

I put pen to paper and write, ignoring the persistent ringing of my cellphone and the little beeps that tell me I’ve got a text message. The whole world can wait because nothing’s more important than the story I’m telling. The words pour from me as if Gran is there beside me, whispering them in my ear.

Hours fly by like minutes and I continue until my fingers are cramped and my hand aches, and the rumble in my stomach cannot be ignored. I stop briefly to make a cup of tea and a peanut butter sandwich, and then I begin again.

By the time I close my journal, it’s just past one in the afternoon. Unbelievably, I’ve written twenty-seven pages. I’ve never written so much in one day that I can actually be proud of. With a deep sense of contentment and accomplishment, I swing my feet onto the couch and snuggle against the soft cushions, letting my sleep-heavy lids fall. My breathing deepens and I drift into sleep.

A loud knock startles me and for a moment I’m frozen in place. It takes half a breath to remember where I am.

“
Lola, you in there?” Dad calls.

I jump to my feet and run to let him in.

Strain and worry show on his face.

“
Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?”

“
I was writing,” I say softly.

He sighs and rubs his jaw. “Your grandmother’s wake is today. People will be arriving at the funeral home in less than an hour. Come on, let’s get you home so you can change.” He takes me by the arm.

“
No, wait.” I run back to the living room and gather up my belongings as well as the artwork and return with arms full.

Dad takes the pictures and helps me adjust my satchel across my shoulders. “Ready?”

“
I’m ready to go, but I want to stay home.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut his words off. “I’ll go to the funeral tomorrow, but please, Dad, I’m not ready to see Gran in a coffin yet. Not today, okay?”

“
God damn it, Lola, your mom’s not going to be happy about this.”

“
I know and I’m sorry to be such a disappointment. I’ll be there tomorrow, okay?” There’s a quiver in my voice and my eyes are wet with tears.

“
Let’s get you home.” He takes my key and locks Gran’s door.

* * * *

Once home, I check my phone. There are thirty-three texts from Charlie. I decide it would be easier to phone her rather than text back.

“
Oh my God, are you okay? Why didn’t you return any of my messages?” she asks in a flurry.

“
I’m fine. I spent the day at Gran’s.”

“
Oh.” Her voice grows solemn. “My mom wants to know when visiting hours are for the wake.”

“
I’m not going to be there. The rest of my family is there now. I’m not sure when it’s over tonight.”

There’s a long silence. Neither of us has been through anything like this before and it’s awkward and uncomfortable.

“
I’m going to the funeral tomorrow though, so I won’t be at school until Thursday,” I say finally. I think about asking if she’s seen Jon but I can’t go there yet, it’s raw and embarrassing. No matter the circumstances, I still stood him up.

“
I’ll tell my mother we should go tomorrow then.” There are tears in her voice.

“
Thanks, Char, you’re a great friend.”

Charlie gives me a rundown of what I’ve missed in school and tells me she’s collected my homework from all my teachers and that she’ll bring it over later, after the funeral.

“
Thanks again,” I say.

“
No problem, Lola.” She pauses. “I love you.”

Her words catch me off guard. “I… I love you too.”

The connection goes dead.

It’s time to type out my story and when I’m done, I print two copies; one for me and one for Gran. Then I fill out the online registration on my school’s website, attach the electronic file and hit send.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I’ve never seen a dead body.

The casket is at the far end of the funeral parlor and I walk slowly, ominously, toward it. The overpowering scent of the flower-filled room makes me gag, yet I force air into my lungs to keep my heartbeat steady. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of, seeing Gran in a coffin or disappearing.

Only close family are allowed in right now. Uncle Brian, his wife Maryanne and their boys Jimmy and Ryan are chatting with Mom and Dad. Gran’s last surviving sister, my great aunt Mary and her family sit solemnly in a corner sniffling and sobbing. This is our last chance to see Gran and say good-bye before we head to the church for the funeral mass.