The Truth Against the World (4 page)

6

Henaint ni ddaw ei hunan.

Old age does not
come by itself.

Welsh proverb

Born to Wyn, May 17th, 10:15 a.m.

I had the dream again last night. The very same one.
I am officially weirded out.

I shivered and set my laptop on the coffee table, wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt. Why did I wait until I was alone in the house to think about these things? Right—Mom worried the blog was a waste of my time, so I saved it for when she wasn't watching.

I didn't mean to be secretive. But I didn't want to get that raised-eyebrow look every time I wrote a blog post, either. My mom was a talker, in the courtroom
and
at home, so she didn't understand why I'd rather work it out in writing than spill my guts out loud. It seemed like every ten minutes she was asking if I wanted to talk about what was happening with Gee Gee.

More things I didn't want to think about. Too many things. Clenching my jaw, I got up and started pacing restlessly, wandering into the kitchen and then the living room again, and then back into the kitchen. But it didn't help. Desperately, I recited words into the empty room.

“
Mam-gu
.” Grandmother.

“
Cymru
.” Wales.

“
Breuddwyd
.” Dream. My voice trembled slightly, echoing off the walls of the spotless kitchen.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of the microwave door. My face was drawn, my eyes tired. It was the waiting that drove me crazy every time they took Gee Gee to an appointment. I went back to the living room and sat on the couch, determined not to cave in and call Rae again. I pulled my computer back onto my lap.

As I typed, I felt my muscles tense again.

I don't know if I'm having the dream more because of my great-grandmother Rhiannon. Because of the cancer. I wake up at night and I turn on my computer. I learn words like “cyfrifiadur” and “
merlyn” and “gwyntog.” But it doesn't help, because the only words in my head are “sick” and “sad” and “not enough time.”

A horrible image formed in my mind: Gee Gee looking sicker, thinner, like the gaunt, sparse-haired cancer patients on TV. For a moment I squeezed my eyes shut.

My email account, open in another window, dinged quietly. New message. Probably nothing, but I checked anyway.

“Your blog,” said the subject line, from someone named Gareth Lewis. Could be spam. I didn't recognize the name, and anyway, who was reading my blog? Curious, I opened it. As I scanned it, something in the message caught my eye.

A single word—possibly the only one that would get me to read some random stranger's email—and that word was “Wales.”

Hello Wyn,

My name is Gareth Lewis. I live in London. I don't know quite how to put this without sounding cheesy, but in a way I feel like I already know you. See, I sort of used to know an Olwen Nia Evans, back in Wales. It's a long story, but I was researching family history online for a school project and I found your website. We're not related, are we? Haha! Anyway, I thought you sounded interesting so I decided to write you. I enjoy writing, too, but just in a journal. Nothing exciting. What else? I'm 15 too. I spend a lot of time on the computer; I'm doing an IT course at school. Well, write me back if you feel like it.

—Regards, Gareth.

Related? Was this for real?

I knew it had to be a joke, but I couldn't help thinking about it. Wales. It couldn't really be possible, could it? I did still have some distant family there, but … I sat frozen for several minutes. Had I missed something, during my conversations with Gee Gee over the years? What if I'd missed some random tidbit about long-lost cousin Gareth?

Guilt came rushing in a moment later, because it was kind of late for what-ifs. What if I'd been home more? What if we had more time? There was no more time.

I closed the browser window and put my head down on my knees.

After a moment, I heard the front door open. Dad boomed out “Wyn, we're home!” in the fake cheerful voice I was growing to dread. I looked up. Mom walked in briskly with a large overnight bag, and Gee Gee followed.

I rushed to Gee Gee and hugged her, cautiously, like I couldn't help doing now. Afraid I'd be too exuberant and hurt her; afraid to be too tentative and seem like I was pulling away. I tried to hide my indecision by going back over to the couch and patting the cushion next to me.

“
Croeso
!” I said, managing a smile.
Welcome
.

Gee Gee's eyes crinkled as she smiled broadly in reply. “
Diolch yn fawr
! Don't mind if I do.” Tiredly, she navigated around the coffee table and sat down next to me. My dad put her bag in the office and returned with a huge throw pillow for her back, strangely awkward in his movements as he settled her against it.

She'd lost a lot of the plumpness that I recalled from childhood, and even since she'd moved in. A blurry memory drifted through my mind of being very small, sitting on Gee Gee's lap. I'd reached up toward the dimples in her smiling face, which was framed with soft, wavy gray hair that tickled my hands.
Her face had gotten so much thinner now that the dimples were all but gone, but her warm smile was the same, her strong features, and her bright, sharp eyes. Eyes that made me feel a bit awed under their powerful gaze.

“Gran, can I get you anything else? Do you need a blanket?” Dad rested his hands on the back of the couch for a moment, looking more exhausted than I'd seen him in ages.

“No, thank you, Rhys dear.” She smiled up at him. “We're both fine.”

Dad left to join Mom in the kitchen. In a moment I heard clinking noises, and the sound of water filling the electric teakettle.

“How was the hospital?” I asked, and then felt like cringing. What a stupid question.

“Oh, I detest those places.” Gee Gee waved off the question, then reached over and tucked a lock of my hair back behind my ear.

Another image flashed through my mind, an old picture from Dad's family photo album: Gee Gee with long, straight dark hair similar to mine, standing proudly next to my great-grandpa.
Rhiannon and John
said the handwritten note on the back. Great-Grandpa John had died suddenly of a stroke eight years ago, but Gee Gee might suffer for weeks, even months.

I clenched my hands in my lap, bunching up my skirt into a crinkly wad. “Me too. I'm glad you're back,” I said, my voice almost a whisper.

“I'm glad to be back, too,” she answered, her mouth curving up into a gentle smile.

I tried to smile in response, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. My breath hitched in my chest for a moment. I looked at my hands in my lap, the vase of slightly wilted lilies on the end table, the prints on the walls; everywhere except at Gee Gee. Why was talking so hard all of a sudden?

I glanced at my laptop. “Gee Gee, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,
cariad
.” Her face was serene, and I wished I had even an ounce of that serenity.

“Are we … are we related to anyone whose last name is Lewis?”

Gee Gee raised her eyebrows and I rushed to explain.

“The thing is, I got a random email from this guy named Gareth Lewis who was reading my blog. And he's from the UK and recognized my name and thought, wouldn't that be funny if we were related somehow.” I trailed off, realizing how ridiculous it all sounded. I wished I'd thought of something else, anything else, to talk about.

I could have tried practicing my Welsh. Too late.

Gee Gee was looking back at me, keenly. “Well, as you know, Rhiannon Davies is my maiden name. There were plenty of us Davies in our village. All of us related somehow, it seemed at the time.” The ghost of a smile passed across her face, then disappeared. “The war killed one of my brothers, the Second World War. The ones left, my younger brothers—we weren't close. And on your great-granddad's side, they were all named Evans, you know.”

“Nobody named Lewis married in later? Maybe Gareth is related to some random cousin.” I realized that deep down, I was hoping for a connection. Another small part of Gee Gee that would still be alive even after she was gone.

“Heavens, love, I can't speak for everyone in the extended family.” Gee Gee leaned back onto the overstuffed pillows and yawned. “But that's about the sum of it. Davies and Evans,” she said, the conversation obviously closed.

It felt kind of strange, because normally Gee Gee was happy to tell me about Wales. I didn't even have to press her. We'd had a ton of conversations about what it would be like this summer, how it would be different from here: Accents. Driving. Village life. How it would be the same: Gray skies. Ocean. Rolling hills.

“I wonder what happened to that tea?” Gee Gee mused. It almost sounded like she was trying to distract me.

I frowned, but I let it go. She was probably just tired. “I'm on it.” I got up, wanting to ask more but not knowing exactly what I wanted to ask about.

As I walked toward the kitchen, she said, “Oh, Olwen
fach
. My lovey.” Her voice was like a sigh, apologetic. “We could read the Olwen story again tonight if you like. Or do you remember how much you loved
Peter Pan
when you were a little one? Maybe you don't recall, but you always wanted to be Wendy, soaring through the starry sky. Too old for that, now, I expect,” she finished. My heart constricted.

“I do remember,” I said, my voice breaking. “I never want to forget those moments.”

“No, we mustn't forget,” Gee Gee said softly, but her eyes weren't meeting mine now. They looked elsewhere, somewhere above my left shoulder, or inward, to something still unsaid.

It seemed to take a monumental effort to pick up the phone, even though I had Rae on speed dial. I felt awkward. It was Sunday night, and she still hadn't called even though she'd said she would.

She picked up after one ring and started talking. “Wyn, ohmigod, did you finish the Chem homework?”

“The molar equations? Yeah, I finished it yesterday. Are you still not done?”

“No! Crap. I'm so screwed.” I could tell she was flitting around, doing stuff; I heard papers rustling in the background. “I've been so busy. There was a tennis tournament last night, and we had to hold the ASL meeting at my house today so I spent all week trying to get everything cleaned up and my brother's crap out of the way. You know.”

I didn't know. “You should have called me,” I said pointedly. “I would have helped.”

“But I didn't want to bother you! I figured you'd want to spend time with, you know, your family and all.” I could picture her flapping her hands, all flustered, but the mental image didn't make me giggle like it normally did. She still should have called me. What if I
wanted
her to bother me?

“Or you were ‘too busy' to call,” I muttered. “Or text.”

“Look, I'm sorry. I—things are just crazy. Is everything going okay? Did you have a chance to talk to your Gee Gee? Or someone?” Rae's voice was solicitous, but I felt cranky now. Like things weren't crazy for me, too? I decided that if she wasn't going to keep me posted, I wasn't going to talk, even if that was petty.

“Everything's fine,” I said, trying to sound blasé. “I'm fine. We're dealing with it.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.” Rae sounded disconcerted, and I was perversely glad, even though it really wasn't
her
I was upset at. Not entirely.

I hung up the phone, flopped back on the bed, and turned out the light. The three weeks left until the end of the school year felt like an eternity—slogging through final projects and essays I couldn't bring myself to care about, waiting in the wings for Rae. Watching Gee Gee get sicker.

At least someone was reading my blog now. I'd have to decide whether to answer his email or not.

I'd only been lying on the bed for a minute when raised voices started filtering through my open door. I lifted my head. Mom and Dad were having what they called a “reasoned debate” in the kitchen. Dad sounded annoyed. I got up and crept to the door. Their voices got quieter, rising and falling, until I heard Dad say something like, “If that's where she wants to stay, we'll find a way! We have to. It's what Dad and Granddad would have wanted.”

“I know it's no question for
you
,” Mom said, “but you've got
us
to think about. And your mother, too. She always had a good relationship with Rhiannon before your father passed.” There was a tense silence. “Anyway, she's going on that Alaskan cruise and the timing couldn't be worse. I just wish we were … ” Their voices dwindled to a murmur again.

I sighed. Even the littlest things were a big deal now—what we ate for breakfast, the type of pillows on Gee Gee's bed. The amount of time I was spending on the computer, which my mother blamed for my lack of sleep.

I returned to bed and twisted onto my right side, then my left, trying to get comfortable. I was
not
going to give in and turn on the light tonight. Instead, I composed sentences in my head using my limited vocabulary. Maybe this Gareth character spoke Welsh. I could try to email him in Welsh tomorrow and see what happened. For instance, I could say:

Mae Cymru yn hyfryd.
Wales is lovely.

Mae'r tywydd yn braf heddiw
. The weather is fine today.

Dw i'n hoffi te.
I like tea.

I must have been dozing. My mind went fuzzy for a while, free-associating, and then I heard a voice, singing: