Flyers (9781481414449) (23 page)

“He's your
grandfather!”
Pop said as if that explained it all, and maybe it did. “So you'll have to put your personal plans on hold for a few hours. After he's gone, I'll bring you back here and if you still have it in your head that you want to do away with yourself, I won't stop you. You have my word.”

Andy thought about that. “How do I know you're telling the truth?”

Pop took a couple of steps closer. “Now, son, I've done a lot of things in my life, and many of them not so good. But one thing I've
never
been guilty of is looking someone straight in the eye and telling a lie.” He waved his hand and seemed to think for a few seconds. “I will, however, admit to trotting out a few
spectacular
ones with averted eyes.”

It was that little follow-up that did it, I think—the kind Pop was so good at and I'd seen him use so many times in court to bring a smile not only to the jury and the gallery, but to the judge as well. Andy lowered the gun, and before it even reached his lap, Pop had it in one hand and had his other hand on Andy's shoulder.

Andy stood up and Ethan and I followed the two of them out the door.

Our ride to
the hospital was an experience in itself. Pop was doing a superb juggling act, sending a steady stream of conversation Andy's way to get him settled down while at the same time making better time on the road than I ever hope to make again.

He started in on Andy before we'd even made it to the end of Mr. Lindstrom's driveway. “I don't know how much you know about your grandfather, but before you see him I think there's a few things, at least, you ought to know.”

Andy sneered. “Now you're gonna tell me how great he is—or
was.
Save your breath. I know as much about him as I wanna know.”

Pop whipped the car onto the road and after straightening it out looked at him. “I was planning nothing of the sort. Whenever anybody describes someone as being
great,
you can bet there's a fair amount of fiction mixed in with the facts. The same is true on the other side, I expect. I'll start with something you probably already know. Your grandfather could be a
son
of a gun, and, God willing, he still is. And
pigheaded?
In that category he simply has no equal, as I'm sure a few of the nurses at the hospital would be more than willing to testify. He could be, without a doubt, the most ornery, crotchety person you'd ever want to—”

“I get the idea,” Andy said, cutting him off. “God, you go on about things.”

“Yes . . . ,” Pop said thoughtfully as we screeched onto the main road. “Someone once told me that, I think . . . can't remember who right now.” He paused a few seconds as if he were trying to come up with a name, which was pure theatrics because he knew perfectly well it could have been any judge who'd ever heard one of his cases and half of all the people he'd ever talked to. “Anyway,” he said, seeming to snap out of it, “your grandfather,
great?
I don't know about that. But he was a good man.
Yes,
he was,” he said, as if expecting an argument. “For whatever flaws he had, he was a decent man and one who loved—loves—his kids. For crying out loud, he even loves
my
kids.”

“Yeah, right. And that's why my mother's suing his ass.”

Pop nodded. “Suing his ass because he paddled hers, as I understand it. Would that be a fair summation?”

“She told me he never had a kind word for her in her whole life.”

“A kind word, did you say? Is
that
what she wanted? Well, yes, she was barking up the wrong tree if she expected that. Kind words aren't John Lindstrom's stock-in-trade. No, sir. But after she left, I saw him poring over catalogs, driving to Albany, Saratoga, Glens Falls . . . searching for that perfect Christmas gift, birthday gift, whatever—the thing he hoped might make her happy—and then he'd wrap it with those big clumsy hands of his and send it on to her. This is when he still knew where she was. And he never did find out about you. To this day he doesn't know you exist.”

“I tried to say something to him,” Andy said. “He saw me and started going crazy.”

“He thought it was his
son,”
I said from the back
in case Pop hadn't put that together yet.

Pop nodded and looked at Andy. “I thought as much. You're the spittin' image of your uncle Andy; you may already know that. When your grandfather spotted you, he must have thought for sure he was seeing things.”

The amazing thing was, while Pop was carrying on this whole conversation, he was doing some truly spectacular driving. In fact, in the end I was never sure if it was Pop's gift for gab that began to turn Andy around or if it was his driving, which could have functioned as a kind of shock therapy. I couldn't believe it myself. Pop's always been superb at driving home a point, but I'd never known he had any special talents behind the wheel. I'd heard a few stories over the years from people who knew Pop way back when about what a live wire he'd been, but that was a Pop from the past and not one I ever expected to come face-to-face with. Ethan and I sat in the backseat with our jaws hanging down, and if we hadn't been strapped in, we'd've slid from one side of the car to the other three or four different times.

“Hold on to your hats for this one, boys,” Pop instructed before going into one hard corner. “We're flying on a wing and a prayer.”

Ethan was the only one wearing a hat, but he didn't take Pop's advice literally any more than I did. We both grabbed the back of the front seats. Andy grabbed his armrest and the console. We didn't need to worry. Pop sailed through the corner as if he'd spent his whole life on the NASCAR circuit.

Halfway to Cambridge, we noticed flashing lights coming up in back of us, and Pop reluctantly pulled off to the side. The flashing lights whipped in behind us.

“It's a state boy, Pop,” I said after making out the blue-and-gold Chevy in our taillights. The trooper climbed out slowly and approached our car cautiously, his hand feeling for his gun, expecting, probably, to find a bunch of kids joyriding in a stolen Mercedes. I'm sure his eyes must have gone wide when Pop's gray-haired head poked out from the driver's-side window.

“Stevie,” Pop rasped out, “I'm glad it's you. We have to get this boy to the hospital right away!” Luckily Pop knew most of these guys from the courthouse.

“My God,” the trooper said. “I
thought
it looked like your car, Mr. Riley, but . . .” Then he snapped out of his daze. He probably figured if Pop was driving like
that,
somebody in the car must be dying. “Follow me,” he said, tightening his hat on his head and trotting back to his car.

Following the trooper, even with his flashing lights, actually had the effect of slowing us down. “Don't be timid, Stevie,” Pop instructed through the windshield as he bore down on the troop car's bumper. “I'm with you.” We kept up with this reverse chase scene all the way to the hospital, the trooper electing to pick up speed rather than risk getting nudged by Pop's bumper. After we'd climbed the winding hill up to the hospital, we split off from him as he raced for the emergency room and we raced for the main entrance. I turned and saw his brake lights and then his backup lights as he realized he'd lost us. I can only guess what his reaction was when he saw all four of us get out of the car and tear into the hospital under our own steam.

After the elevator door closed behind us, I told Pop how impressed I was with his driving.

“Aaaah,” he said, waving off the compliment.
Then as an afterthought, “Those Germans can still build a car, now can't they?” He roared out his trademark laugh and threw his arm over my shoulders.

•   •   •

Mr. Lindstrom was a couple of shades paler than the last time I'd seen him and, as far as I could tell at first, not even conscious. But when Pop took a seat next to his bed and picked up his hand, asking if he could hear him, I saw Mr. Lindstrom's hand give Pop's a feeble squeeze.

“I've brought you something, John,” Pop said, patting his hand gently, “and you'd better brace yourself for this one.” He got up and led Andy over to the bed. “John, meet your grandson, Andy.”

I don't know if Mr. Lindstrom caught the “grandson” part or not. But I do know that when he opened his eyes and saw Andy looking down at him, a definite change came over him. It must have been all in his eyes because the rest of his face, his whole face now and not just one side, was as unchanging as a mask. “Eeen,” was all he could say, but I knew what it meant. His eyes watered a little as Pop guided Andy into the chair by the bed.

“Andy, this is your grandpa,” Pop told him.

Andy didn't say a word. He just sat there and stared down at his grandfather.

•   •   •

It was three hours later before anything happened. Earlier, after Pop had explained to Trooper Stevie what the deal was and Stevie had gone back to his appointed rounds, I'd gone out and moved the car from the main entrance to the parking lot. A couple of times Ethan and I had gone out for hot chocolate and to get coffee for Pop and a soda for Andy. Andy hadn't
budged from the bedside. Pop hadn't either, except for stepping out to have that short meeting with the trooper. He'd pulled up a chair next to Andy's and there they sat, hour after hour. Mr. Lindstrom had drifted off to sleep after the first hour as near as I could tell, and most of the time the only sound in the room was his deep, labored breathing. About an hour after midnight, we noticed a change. Each breath now seemed like a struggle, and for a while I thought each one might be his last. This went on for what seemed like forever but was probably only about forty-five minutes. Then all of a sudden I sat up, aware of a strange silence in the room. I was pretty sure what that meant.

Mr. Lindstrom lay there completely still on the bed. Except for the silence and stillness of his chest, he looked the same as he'd looked all along. His face was still a mask. His eyes were closed.

I looked over at Ethan, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, and wondered how he was taking all of this. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling right above Mr. Lindstrom. At first I thought he was deliberately looking away, and I couldn't blame him. This was the first time either of us had ever been around anybody who was dying and it was a little eerie, especially, I figured, for a kid his age. But he didn't appear scared, or even as if he were about to cry, so I thought maybe he'd managed to drift off into his own little world of Superman and magical powers and people who could fly. My eyes went over to Pop, who had reached out and was now holding Mr. Lindstrom's hand. Andy had his arms folded across his chest and was leaning over the bed, almost doubled over as if he had a wicked stomachache. You could tell he was about to cry and didn't want to. I looked back at Ethan again. His eyes
were still on the ceiling, but different from before. This time he was more alert, and his eyes were wide and focused. I looked where he was looking but couldn't see anything, which was par for the course. My eyes had just gone back to Ethan when I saw something that sent a tingle up my spine. With his gaze still fixed up there, his face gradually broke into a shy smile. Then he gave his little wave—his aloha wave.

Suddenly it hit me. I looked up again and tried my best to see what Ethan saw. I couldn't, but it didn't matter. I knew what he'd seen. I'd believed it when I read about it, but not the way I believed it at that moment. I felt a kind of exhilaration sweep over me as I thought about Mr. Lindstrom up there, feeling lighter and freer and happier than he'd ever felt in his whole life.

The other part is harder to describe, and I can't swear it wasn't caused by my own thoughts at the time or maybe because I was so tired. All I know is that the experience was real. The tingle I'd felt travel up my spine continued to grow. It spread out across my head until my whole scalp was tingling, and then spread through my face and neck and into my chest. At that moment I felt an almost indescribable peace coming over me. It seemed to be pouring
into
my heart and spreading
out
from my heart at the same time. I touched my arm and felt a delicious tickling sensation, as if my skin was experiencing a joy of its own and sending the good word out to the rest of me. I never knew I could feel so good, let alone at the deathbed of someone who'd been nothing but kind to me my entire life, not to mention this being right on the heels of one of the scariest experiences of my entire life. The whole thing was surreal.

I looked down at Mr. Lindstrom lying on the bed.
Somewhere along the line a nurse had entered the room and was using a stethoscope to check for a heartbeat. “I think it's over,” she said softly to Pop.

Pop, still holding Mr. Lindstrom's hand and suddenly looking extremely tired, nodded. Then he folded Mr. Lindstrom's hand gently over the one resting on his chest and gave both hands a final squeeze. “God be with you, John,” he said. He reached over and set his hand on Andy's knee. “Would you like a few moments alone, son?”

Andy nodded slowly, and as he did a single tear rolled down his cheek. Pop stood and, wrapping his hand around Andy's neck, pulled Andy's head into him and ruffled his hair. Then gathering Ethan under one arm and me under the other, he led us out of the room.

Katie and her
friend Heather were hanging around the hallway outside the auditorium when I left school Monday afternoon. I think they'd been there for a while because it had been close to a half hour since they'd left the gymnasium, which is where most of our final exams were given. Luckily I hadn't known that Katie was in the gymnasium taking her own test, a few rows over and about ten rows back, until she was handing in her paper, or it would have been a real distraction for me. I had my hands full with the biology Regents as it was.