A Warmth in Winter (2 page)

He would have brought her the world if she'd asked for it.

But what he said was, “If Miss Birdie has molasses cookies, I'll bring 'em.”

Chapter Two

B
obby waited until the sound of the grandfather's heavy steps faded into the howling of the wind, then he ran to the door and cracked it. The grandfather's long, dark figure was moving steadily down the graveled path, walking toward the town where they'd been told they must never, ever go.

He closed the door, fastened the latch, then turned to his sister and grinned. “He's gone.”

“TV time,” Brittany sang out, reaching to turn on the set. The small television received only one channel and all its pictures came in black and white, but Bobby didn't mind. Watching the tiny ghostly images on the screen was something to do, at least. The grandfather didn't want them to watch too much TV, but what else could they do in this place?

At first he'd been excited at the thought of living in a lighthouse, but after the first day it became obvious that the lighthouse hadn't been built with children in mind. The steep iron staircase circling the tall tower was hard to climb, and wide open spaces separated each step. Though the grandfather climbed the stairs easily, Bobby couldn't help but look at the gap between the stairsteps and notice the long way down. What if he slipped and somehow fell forward between the steps? He was a lot smaller than the grandfather, so he would slip through quick as a flash. There'd be nothing to stop him, either, except the cold stone floor.

The grandfather had warned them not to play on the stairs—not that Bobby wanted to. But it would have been nice to have some place to play.

The grandfather's home had no toys. The circular room had a sink, a stove, and a tiny refrigerator facing a wooden table and chairs. A doorway between the fridge and the fireplace and woodstove led to the unheated bathroom, where the toilet seat always felt like ice. On the day he first showed them around, the grandfather had seemed particularly proud of the fact that he had an indoor toilet.

“I remember the day they dug the water and sewer lines,” he told them as he flipped a switch and flooded the tiny bathroom with light. “Electricity and running water— don't ever take them for granted, kids.”

Bobby couldn't imagine a house without electricity and water. After all, every apartment they'd shared with their dad had those things. They didn't always have a lot of furniture or food in the kitchen, but Bobby thought everybody had water and light switches. He thought everybody had roaches and rats, too, until the grandfather took them to his house.

Their dad had one thing the grandfather didn't—cable TV. He and Brittany spent hours sitting in front of the set, watching television families with daddies and mommies who went to work, tucked the kids in at night, and slept in the same bed. Those families did a lot of sitting in the living room and talking. Though Daddy never talked much, Bobby figured other daddies did.

He learned his ABCs from watching
Sesame Street,
while
Reading Rainbow
taught him about the beauty of books. His daddy never took him to the library, but when they moved into their last apartment, he'd found a set of old blue books on a shelf in the corner of the living room. When TV got boring, he pored over the books, looking at pictures and sounding out new words.

Slowly, over time, Bobby realized something important— he and Brittany and Daddy weren't like the television families. They had no mommy who went to work, and no butler or nanny or grandfather to pop in and tell stories. Nobody in their house ever sat in the living room telling jokes. Daddy was the only grown-up in the house, and he usually slept in the daytime and went out at night after Bobby and Brittany had fallen asleep on the couch. Some mornings Daddy came home with money; sometimes he came home broke. Sometimes he came home stinky, with stains on his shirt, and sometimes he didn't come home until the next afternoon, when he'd stumble in with a few dollars and a bag of groceries.

When Daddy came home with the smell of beer on him, Bobby would help him to bed, then he'd reach under the sink and pull out a rusty can of Lysol he'd found there. From a TV commercial he knew what Lysol did—it cleaned, killed germs, and disinfected, whatever that meant. Bobby had discovered that no matter what else it did, the stuff was great at making stinky things smell better. To help his dad, Bobby cleaned and made sandwiches (when he could find bread and peanut butter) and took out the trash.

After watching
Andy Griffith
reruns, Bobby realized there was a word for his daddy's condition: drunk. When Otis got drunk, Andy and Barney let him sleep it off, and sometimes they laughed about it. Bobby tried to let Daddy sleep it off, too, but he never laughed when Daddy came home that way. Daddy got mean when he drank, and Bobby and Brittany had learned it was better to stay out of his way.

But Daddy wasn't always drunk. Sometimes he managed to clean up real nice. Once or twice a month he would take a shower, comb his hair, and put on a clean shirt and pants. Sometimes he'd read the paper and put big red circles around boxes, then tuck the paper under his arm and practice smiling in the bathroom mirror. On these days, he always pulled Bobby aside before going out the door. “I'm leaving you in charge, Bobby-my-man,” he'd say, his blue eyes gleaming. “You take care of your sister and behave yourself. Keep your fingers crossed for me.”

When Daddy had gone, Bobby and Brittany would sit in front of the TV with their fingers and legs and toes crossed though they weren't quite sure what sort of wish they were supposed to make.

And then, three months ago, on a cool day in September, Daddy had gone out in a clean shirt and left them alone. As
Sesame Street
was ending, someone knocked on the door. Thinking Daddy had forgotten his keys again, Bobby sprang up.

The man standing in the hall was a Stranger. He was tall like Daddy, and thin, with gray hair and a short gray beard and a gray jacket. Bobby had never seen the man before, but something in his blue eyes seemed familiar.

“Hello there, young fella,” the man said, twisting the hat in his hand. “I'm looking for Patrick Gribbon.”

Bobby ducked behind the door. He'd been told not to talk to strangers, and he'd get a thrashing for sure if Daddy knew he'd opened the door.

“Are you Bobby?” The tall man stepped forward into the doorway. “I won't hurt you,” he said softly, the tips of his fingertips curling around the edge of the door. “I'm your grandfather.”

Bobby's mouth opened. He had a grandfather?

He took a step back. The grownups on
Sesame Street
were always warning him not to let strangers in the house, but this man was a grandfather.

Bobby squinted, trying to see him better.

The man came in, closed the door, then bent down and placed his hands on his knees. “You must be what, almost seven years old now?” His voice sounded thick.

Uncertain, Bobby nodded.

“And you have a sister?”

Bobby pointed toward the living room. “In there.”

“Will you take me to her?” The man's wide hand reached for his, and Bobby hesitated only a minute before taking it. A grandfather! He smiled as a feeling of happiness bubbled up in his chest. Grandparents were nice; they told stories, they took kids to the zoo, and when kids went to their house, they always got Werther's Originals.

He glanced at the pockets of the man's jeans to see if he could spot a telltale candy bulge. Nothing there, but that was okay. The girl in the commercial didn't get candy from her grandparents until she went to their house.

Brittany looked away from the TV, then her mouth dropped open at the sight of a Stranger holding Bobby's hand.

“Hello there, young lady,” the grandfather said, nodding. “You must be Brittany.”

Britt glanced at Bobby.

“He's my grandfather,” Bobby explained.

“I'm her grandfather, too.” Still holding Bobby's hand, the tall man knelt on the rug, lowering himself to Brittany's eye level. “Are you okay, honey?”

Britt glanced at Bobby again, who nodded. Slowly, she mimicked his nod, then put her thumb into her mouth.

The man said nothing, but his free hand reached out and gently lifted Britt's elbow. Bobby tilted his head, watching as the man's big thumb gently traced the bruises on his sister's arm. The grandfather didn't say anything for a moment but made strange noises in his throat.

“Listen.” The grandfather turned to Bobby. “I want you and your sister to go into your rooms and pick out your favorite thing. Then put on your jackets, hats, anything you have that's warm. We're going to take a little trip in my boat.”

Bobby blinked. “Are we going to your house?”

The grandfather nodded. “What a bright boy you are. Yes, we're going to take my boat, and you're going to live with me until your father gets the help he needs. You don't have to worry about your dad, because I'm going to write a note and tell him you're with me.”

He dropped Bobby's hand. “Okay? You two get ready while I look for paper and a pen.”

Without speaking, Bobby led his sister into the tiny bedroom they shared. Brittany paused by the mattress on the floor.

“Who is he?” she whispered, her eyes as shiny as an empty pie pan.

Bobby reached for his jacket. “He's our grandfather.”

“What if we don't want to go?”

“It'll be nice, I promise.” Bobby picked up Britt's dusty pink sweater from the closet floor. “Grandfathers have candy, remember? Werther's Originals. And they take kids to McDonald's and to the zoo.”

Brittany took her sweater, but from the expression on her face Bobby didn't think he'd convinced her. Still, she'd go. She always did whatever he told her to.

They slipped on their shoes, then Bobby helped his sister with her sweater buttons. And that's when he heard it— a slam. The grandfather was still in the living room, but he had just pounded the wall.

Bobby froze, his heart jumping in his chest. None of the grandfathers on TV pounded on the walls. His heart did another jump when he heard another strange sound.

None of the TV grandfathers cried, either.

He peeked through the bedroom doorway. Now the grandfather was sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his face. His shoulders were hunched like Daddy's when he came home with bad news.

Bobby was about to pull back and hide, but then the grandfather lifted his head and caught Bobby's eye.

“Are you ready, then?” he asked, his voice rough. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, then clasped his hands. “What favorite thing are you bringing, Bob?”

Nobody called him Bob. The name sounded different and grown up. Maybe that was a special thing for grandfathers. “Bob,” Bobby whispered, tasting the sound. He liked it.

The grandfather stood. “What's your favorite toy?”

Bobby's gaze darted toward the dusty volumes on the corner bookshelves. The books had been in the apartment when they moved in, and the landlady said they were fit for nothing but the trash. Still, Bobby liked them.

He pointed toward the shelves. “I want to take a book.”

The grandfather peered toward the dusty volumes. “You want to take an encyclopedia?”

Bobby nodded.

“'Tis an awfully big book, don't you think?”

Bobby lifted his chin. “I read them.”

“All right, then.” Something like a smile flitted in and out of the grandfather's speckled gray beard. “Pick your favorite.”

And so Bobby had plucked the
A
volume from the shelf—the one with see-through pictures of human anatomy—while his sister emerged from the bedroom carrying Miranda, the nearly bald doll she slept with every night. Miranda had been in a Christmas basket some church people once brought to one of their other apartments, one a little like this one but bigger and cleaner . . .

Now Bobby looked around his grandfather's lighthouse. The space inside wasn't much bigger than the last apartment they'd shared with Daddy, but it was clean and tidy and warm, especially when the grandfather stoked the woodstove. There'd been no Werther's Originals in his house, but twice a week the grandfather brought them fresh milk, good food, and molasses cookies from the bakery. He also brought them books, so Bobby had new things to read.

And the lighthouse part was pretty cool, Bobby had to admit. The light was automatic, the grandfather had explained, but he still had to keep the lantern glass clean and the generator tuned up. When dark fell over the island, the generator automatically clanked on and started humming, then the brilliant light at the top of the tower began to circle, sending a steady creaking sound spiraling down to those below. And though most of the light beamed out toward the ocean, some of it leaked down into the tower, so the grandfather's house was never completely dark, even in the deepest night.

Britt walked over to the grandfather's narrow rope bed and stretched out on the blanket. Propping her head on her hands, she looked at Bobby. “Do you think we'll ever go back to see Daddy? Or will we live here forever?”

Bobby dropped to his beanbag chair and propped his chin in his hands. The grandfather was an odd man, not at all like Daddy and not like the TV grandfathers, either. But he didn't hit and he didn't yell and he never, ever came home stinking of anything worse than fish.

“I don't know, Britt.” He watched the people on the TV, a pair of weathermen who were talking about Portland. “The grandfather said we'd stay until Daddy gets help.”

“Who's helping Daddy?” Her voice trembled. “Who's taking care of him?”

Bobby blinked as he considered the question. He'd spent all his life taking care of his father and sister. Until now, he'd never realized that maybe Daddy couldn't get help because there was no one to clean up his messes and help him to bed . . .