Queenie Baby: Pass the Eggnog (6 page)

"We've been watching it on Mammaw's iPad. We're off to a good start, if I do say so," added Uncle Grover.

When did Mammaw get an iPad? And what was she using it for?

Memories of Aunt Pearl borrowing my laptop last summer made me cringe. It had taken me a month to get all the porn sites to quit popping up.

"We're going to lip sync to the music, so all we have to do is get the dance down right," explained Mammaw. "I used to be quite a dancer you know."

"You did the hula. Ain't no hula's in the movie," Granddaddy said.

"She can do the hula if she wants," said Aunt Pearl. "Don't wanna hear none of your lip Hacker."

Before they could come to blows, I pointed them towards the kitchen and assured them Ashley would work it all out.

Diana one. Ashley zero. Ah, sisterly love.

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

It had started to snow again when Kyle arrived at nine to pick me up for our hike. I was waiting on the porch, dodging my sister's attempts to measure me for the gown she hoped to find at the town's consignment shop.

"You look like a snow bunny," Kyle said, giving me a peck on the cheek. He still looked like Grizzly Adams.

"Thought you were shaving off your beard?"

He smiled ruefully. "Trying to keep it just a little longer. I can't believe I let your sister talk me into shaving."

"She's gotten the best of us. I spent the morning practicing Christmas carols." I sighed.

He opened his truck door for me, and I climbed up into the surprisingly luxurious cabin. "This is some truck," I said looking at the leather seats and dashboard bells and whistles.

"Lindsey bought it the month before she left. She took my paid-off Toyota and left me with this thing. My mortgage is less. But it's not worth trading in yet."

He didn't seem bitter. More annoyed than anything. "So were you surprised when she left?"

He pulled onto the main road that headed into town.

"Nope," he said with a sigh. "I saw it comin' a mile away. At least it wasn't for another guy. We still talk every week. I worry about her being in Philly by herself."

Still talking to his ex after a year? Something was a little strange here.

"I'm surprised to hear that you're so close to your ex-wife," I said as diplomatically as possible.

He glanced over at me. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. We're definitely through." He nodded his head as if to confirm it to himself.

"So when was the divorce final?"

Silence.

"It's not final yet, is it?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I went to a lawyer and got the ball rolling, but I guess I've been dragging my feet ever since. And she doesn't do well with details, so I expect she won't file either."

"Have you seen her since she left?"

"Nope. It'll be a year tomorrow."

"She left you on Christmas Eve?" I stared at him with my mouth open. Talk about a nightmare before Christmas.

"It was tough," he said quietly.

I sat quietly as he parked the truck in front of the tiny post office.

Before I could open the door, he had hopped out and was pulling it open for me.

I smiled. I liked old-fashioned guys.

"I just want you to know that I am ready to move on with my life. Meeting you has made me realize what I've been missing out on this past year."

Uh-oh. "Kyle, I think I should warn you that I'm already seeing someone."

Kyle sighed. "Jake told me you were seeing someone. I just thought maybe it wasn't serious because he wasn't with you for Christmas." Wow, when you put it that way, it sure didn't sound good. I took a deep breath and followed him into the post office. It was as old-fashioned on the inside as it was on the outside. A wizened old lady of at least eighty bustled about the small iron cage of her window.

"Well, I'll be. Looks like you've caught yourself a snow bunny Kyle!" she cried.

 I smiled politely. Kyle blushed and then introduced me, ending with why we were there.

"Well ya don't say Brandy's back in town! An' yer her girl." She shook her head and made tsking sounds. "Now that was quite a story back in the day. Poor thing. But Babs was always a wild child. So 'course she married the craziest man she could find. Not that he wasn't handsome, and he had a certain charm I'll admit." She winked at me. "But Bab's husband had a love of the liquor, and there weren't nothing he loved better. I wasn't surprised when he high-tailed it outta here after her death. But we haven't seen him 'round these parts in over forty years. What makes you think he's here?"

Kyle and I glanced at each other. I shrugged and said, "Babs told us he's in town somewhere and that he's dying. She wants my mom to reunite with him before it's too late."

My reference to my dead grandmother didn't seem to faze her. Jeez, had everyone gone
Sixth Sense
on me? "Ya don't say," whispered Mabel. "Don't that just beat all. Well ya never know when the dead are gonna make themselves known."

"Do you have any idea where my grandfather might go if he were back in town? Did he keep in touch with any friends?" I asked.

"If he has, he hasn't been mailing under his own name. I'd have picked up on that in a second." She thought for a few moments. "Back when we were all goin' to school together, he an' some boys used to have a hideout up near Chances Point. Not many folks up there this time of year."

Kyle whistled. "That's five miles straight up. Barely a path, and right now it's under three feet of snow. No way an old man could've made his way up there."

"Maybe he had help," I said. "Is there someone he could've hired to take him up there and bring him supplies."

Kyle laughed. "Yeah, me."

"No," I said, thinking it through, "he would've recognized your name. Is there someone else? A competitor?"

"There's Sprague Tours outta Jim Thorpe."

Mabel snapped her fingers. "Saw that Sprague truck three times this month. Struck me as strange since you do most the tours around here."

"Can we get up to Chance Point today?" I asked.

Kyle frowned. "I don't know about
we,
Diana. It's not an easy trip. I'd need to go back to my shop and get some heavy gear. Let me call Sprague and feel him out."

"No! He might tip off my grandfather."

"He's not going anywhere on his own. I can guarantee you that. It would be better if Sprague contacted him. Maybe he'd take us up there," Kyle reasoned.

"Okay," I relented, "but if he gives us the runaround, you've got to take me up there. It's Christmas, and my grandfather belongs with his family. Not dying alone in the wilderness." I'm not sure where all that came from. I guess my Christmas spirit had been dimmed but not extinguished.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Truth be told, I'm glad you called," said Bill Sprague. "I hadn't felt right about leaving an old man up on the mountain in the first place."

"I can't believe we found him," I said again as Bill's outback Jeep climbed the snowy path up the mountain.

"Like I said on the phone, I think he's in pretty bad shape. He looks like a tough old bugger," he paused, adding, "but the way he talked sounded like he didn't have much time left."

Kyle gave me a sympathetic look.

"Did he give a reason for coming back?" I asked.

"Didn't say much other than he wanted to be left in peace. Just paid me to take him up there an' to bring him supplies."

"My mom would be devastated if she found out her father was so close and she didn't get to see him before he died. Thank you for doing this."

Bill nodded.

The Jeep started to bog down as the path disappeared. Bill turned off the engine, saying, "We walk from here. 'Bout a mile."

Bill passed out snowshoes and poles. He had also brought a sled of sorts so we could transport my grandfather back to the Jeep. The snow picked up intensity the farther up the mountain we climbed. There was white as far as I could see, and it was so quiet. Like it was a thousand years ago, and we were the first humans to pass this way.

"You doin' okay?" Kyle asked.

I nodded.

"Not exactly what I was thinkin' when I invited you on a tour. I pictured a walk in the snow, followed by some hot chocolate in front of a cozy fireplace. Just the two of us," he added, with a smile.

"Yeah, this is some first date," I joked. "But it's beautiful."

Kyle looked a little startled, but then warmed to the idea. "I guess you're right. It
is
our first date."

I was kicking myself for that offhand comment. I really didn't want him thinking of this as a first date. "Let's just think of this as a friend helping out another friend instead of a date."

"Yeah, this isn't much of a date. But while we're on the topic, I'd like to ask you on a real date." Before I could remind him that I was already dating someone else, I noticed a column of smoke rising in the distance. "Look," I said pointing to the smoke and side-stepping the date question. "There it is."

Bill nodded. "Good sign to see the chimney smoke. I been worried this whole way we'd find he'd already passed."

The tiny cabin came into full view a few minutes later. A stack of wood sat next to the front door. The snow was pristine around the outside of the cabin, indicating its occupant hadn't been out yet this morning.

I started feeling nervous about seeing my grandfather for the first time. What if he didn't want to come with us? Maybe I should've brought my mom. Indecision weighed down what should have been a happy moment.

The sound of a lock turning cracked through the quiet. The door flew open and the barrel of rifle appeared. The unmistakable click of a bullet entering a chamber stopped us in our tracks.

Bill held up his hands. "Mr. Wilson, it's me, Bill Sprague."

"Whatcha doin' up here? I didn't call you!" The gun was unwavering. The voice surprisingly strong for a dying man.

"I've brought your granddaughter," Bill called. "She wants to take you back to your daughter for Christmas."

I stepped forward. "I'm Brandy's daughter, Diana. I just want to talk to you."

The gun wavered. "Who's that big fella with you?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's Kyle Johnson from the Johnson farm," I called back.

He lowered his gun and motioned us in. His eyes were blue and sharp; his hair was white and thick. And he didn't move like an old man.

"It's not very nice to put a gun on a visitor," I chided as I stamped my boots off on the doorstep.

"It is when you're not expectin' a visitor." He turned to Bill. "What part of wanting peace and quiet did you not understand?"

Bill shrugged. "I haven't been feelin' right about this, Mr. Wilson."

We all shuffled into the snug cabin. Kyle shut the door behind us.

My grandfather indicated we should sit at the old wooden table and then said, "State your business and go. I want to finish my breakfast."

I looked longingly at the coffee pot on the big wood stove in one corner of the room.

My grandfather followed my gaze. "Guess you'll be wantin' some coffee."

I nodded and gave him my best smile. He grumbled and set the pot on the table with three chipped mugs. Kyle poured me a steaming cup. I grabbed it eagerly and took a sip. Not bad and definitely hot.

 I glanced around the room. Pretty sparse. No sign of medical equipment, though. If he really was dying of something, it didn't look like he was receiving any treatment. In the corner sat an old acoustical guitar. Immediately drawn to it, I walked over to get a better look. It was an old Gibson—probably 1930s by the look of it—but it had been well-cared-for, and the strings looked fresh. It wasn't as ornate as a lot of guitars from that era, but if it was what I thought it was, it was way more valuable.

"Is this really a D-28?" I asked, touching the neck lightly.

"It sure is—you play?" he asked in surprise.

I nodded. Wow, a Gibson D-28 was the stuff of legends. This thing was worth more than my condo. I ran my fingers over the strings.

He looked up at me. "What kind of music do you play?"

I shrugged. "Contemporary, pop, rock. I've written quite a few of my own songs. I've been a full-time musician for the last five years."

"Well, pick it up," my grandfather said irritably. "Ain't gonna play itself."

"Really?" I asked in surprise. He nodded. I picked up the guitar reverently. It felt warm to the touch; almost alive. I strummed it lightly, honeyed notes oozed from the strings. Beautiful. It felt sacrilegious to play a contemporary song; the guitar begged for some vintage country. I searched my brain for something upbeat and, more importantly, something I remembered. Almost with a will of their own, my fingers picked out notes and a voice in my head whispered, "San Antonio Rose."

The melody came easily; the words not so much. As I stumbled over the second verse, I heard my grandfather's voice join mine. He rose from his chair and came to stand beside me. I smiled over at him. His hands were watching my fingers.

We finished with a flourish. Bill and Kyle clapped.

"You are great, Diana!" Kyle said with enthusiasm.

"You two should take that act on the road." Bill smiled and toasted us with his cup of coffee.

"Where'd you learn to pick a guitar like that?" my grandfather asked, taking the guitar from me.

"I'm self-taught. Spent a lot of time watching others and reading books." He set the guitar back on its stand. "Only thing my daddy ever gave me was that guitar. If he knew what it was worth today, he'd rise outta the grave and take it back. Story goes he won it in a card game in 1938. Guy that he cheated had nothin' in the world but that guitar, so he paid his debt with it. He claimed he'd paid a $100 for it, but my daddy didn't believe a guitar could be worth that much. And he didn't have much use for a guitar, so he left it under the tree for me that Christmas. Not too long after that he went to seek his fortune on the West Coast, but all he found was a bullet waitin' for him. Guess they didn't take to card cheats so well out there." He sat back down in his chair and turned to me.