The Kissing Diary (7 page)

“Can I wash my hair first?” Rosie asked, and her mother agreed. Sometimes Robbie and his friends hung around with their bicycles outside Sal's Pizzeria. Bumping into him with dirty hair wouldn't do. She was drying her hair with her head upside down when Grandpa called in to her, “I'm going for a short walk around the block! I'll come back and get you.”

“I'm almost done!” she called back to him, swinging her head upright so fast it made her lightheaded. She heard the door slam.

Ten minutes later, Grandpa wasn't back. Rosie stood outside and waited ten more, and then another ten before she started worrying. Should she call her mother and get yelled at when he might turn up at any moment? Rosie decided against it. She grabbed her jean jacket, dabbed some lip gloss on her mouth, and set off into town.

It was a ten-block stretch into the main part of town. Rosie peered down each intersection, looking for Grandpa. She passed Mr. Kerry, stooped but sturdy, who walked his dog several times a day. “Have you seen an old man?”

Mr. Kerry bristled. “What kind of old man? Is he fifty? Eighty? Be specific.”

“Seventy,” she told him.

“Young,” said Mr. Kerry. “What was he wearing?”

“I'm not sure,” Rosie said uncertainly.

“I haven't seen anyone matching that wonderful description.”

Now,
that
was sarcastic, Rosie thought, walking off quickly.

She was getting tired and frightened. Was he lost, or worse, had he been hit by a car? She looked inside every store along the way, the bakery where her mother bought carrot muffins, the post office, the pharmacy, Sal's Pizzeria. No glimpse of Grandpa, no Robbie and his friends, just strangers going about their business.

“Rosie!”

It was a young male voice. Rosie looked around. Where was it coming from? Across the street and up the road, a boy darted into traffic, skirting cars and bounding toward her with a familiar gait. It was Billy Jones. His face was flushed, and he was breathing hard by the time he reached her.

“Come with me,” he said, pulling her by the hand into oncoming traffic, weaving his way back to the bench where her grandfather sat.

“Here she is, sir,” said Billy, and Grandpa's face lit up and a tear slid down his cheek.

“It's you!” said Grandpa, holding out a trembling hand. “I thought I'd lost you.”

Rosie sat down next to him and cradled his hand in hers. “I'm here,” she said. “It's okay, Grandpa.”

Billy said, in a low voice, “I found him standing here, looking kind of confused, you know? At first, I thought he was drunk or something, he looked so out of it.”

“He's not drunk!” Rosie said defensively.

“I know, I know! That's what I'm saying! I got him to sit down, and we started talking, and he says, ‘I took a walk and I got lost and I'm looking for my little rosebush.' So I'm thinking, okay, he lives in a house with roses around it, but it's too early for the roses to be out yet, you know? Then I remember Mrs. Petrie has that rosebush that twines all over the picket fence, around the corner from the school, and he gets agitated, and he's shaking his head, and he says, ‘
No! No!
My little rosebush, I need my little rosebush,' and he's looking around, and his face lights up, and he says,
‘There she is!'
And it was you.”

Rosie couldn't speak.

Billy rushed on, saying, “So I said, you mean her? Rosie? Is that your little Rosebush? And he said yes.”

“He called me that when I was a little girl.”

“I wondered.” Billy paused, and turned toward Grandpa. He spoke clearly in his ear. “So you've found your granddaughter, sir!”

“Yes,” said Grandpa, squeezing Rosie's hand.

“Do you want to come home with me?” Rosie said.

“I'll walk you there,” said Billy. He stood up, and Rosie recognized the familiar Billy smell that cried out for a shower. Today, it was cologne, it was perfume, it was Mrs. Petrie's roses at their very best, because Billy was her knight in shining armor. They walked, the three of them, Grandpa in the middle, until they reached Rosie's house.

Her mother's car was in the driveway. Billy helped her grandfather up the stairs. His steps were slow and labored, as if each one cost him a year or two.

“Thank you so much,” Rosie whispered to Billy, thinking his blue eyes were so kind that they made her want to cry.

“You're late!” said her mother, fussing around them, looking quizzically at Billy.

“He got lost,” Rosie told her, gesturing toward Grandpa, watching her mother's face turn grave. “Billy found him.”

Mrs. Goldglitt started grilling them as if she were a police detective. After a few minutes, Billy said that his mother must be wondering what had happened to him. “I was supposed to bring back milk for her coffee!” he said.

Rosie's mother thanked him with tears in her eyes. Billy shifted from foot to foot, saying, “It's okay. It's really okay.”

Rosie walked him to the door. “Do you want some milk?” she said, feeling awkward.

“I'm not thirsty,” he said, turning the doorknob.

Rosie couldn't help laughing. “For your mother!”

“Oh!” Billy hit the side of his head. “No, that's okay, I'll go buy a quart,” he called over his shoulder.

“What a good boy,” Mrs. Goldglitt said when Rosie joined her.

“He makes me laugh,” said Rosie.

*   *   *

For the rest of the visit, they never left Grandpa alone, and there was very little laughter. Mrs. Goldglitt took Grandpa to the doctor for tests, and he told her that Grandpa would not be getting better and shouldn't be left alone.

Mr. Goldglitt arrived to help take Grandpa to the nursing home. They sat around the table until it was time to go.

“You got along with Grandpa, didn't you, Dad?” Rosie asked.

“He was good to me. He treated me like a son.” His eyes darted sideways toward Rosie's mother as if she might make a comment. “Even after we told him we were getting divorced.”

“He loved you,” said Mrs. Goldglitt grimly. “Thank goodness I put him on the list for the nursing home. How could I ever take care of him?”

But Rosie saw a look in her mother's eyes, the look of guilt and pain that said: A good daughter would take him. A good daughter wouldn't make him live with strangers for the rest of his life.

“He doesn't know us anymore,” said Rosie, defending her. “He's there but he's not.”

Rosie's mother sipped the last of her coffee. “I wish I could do it,” she said quietly. “I'm an orphan now.”

“You have us,” said Jimmy.

Rosie looked at her mother, wrinkles fanning out from her dark-shadowed eyes. Her father looked older, running his hand through hair that used to be thicker. Rosie didn't want to be an orphan any time soon.

“We should go,” said her father, walking into the living room to help Grandpa off the couch. “Let me carry your bag, Pop,” he said, gently prying the satchel away from the old man.

“Where am I going?”

Nobody answered, and Grandpa didn't ask again. Perhaps he had forgotten the question. Mr. Goldglitt handed Rosie the satchel and helped Grandpa up with two hands. It was as if Grandpa had forgotten how to bend his legs, how to sit down, how to talk, and, especially for Rosie, how to listen.

Rosie went to bed early that evening. The Kissing Diary seemed a little silly, next to death and dying. It made Rosie wonder if she really wanted to get old, with all the sorrow that led up to it. She read the last entry before Grandpa's arrival, so light and breezy, so full of hope!

But the clean blank page beckoned Rosie to fill it, and she wrote:

Sunday evening

I miss Grandpa already.

I am yours,

Rosie Gold-sadder

… and … sadder … and … sadder

8

Rosie's Mind over What-Mary-Says-Doesn't-Matter

As soon as she saw Billy running up the steps to school on Monday morning, Rosie knew she had to help him. “Billy!” she called.

He continued bounding down the hallway.

“Billy!” she cried. He kept on walking. “BILLY!” she screamed so loudly that everyone stared at her.
That's my last time,
she said to herself, feeling ridiculous. He stopped.

Rosie ran to meet him and put a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Turn around.”

“What is it?” Billy did as he was told.

Rosie peeled a pair of pink thong underwear off the back of his sweatshirt. “You didn't mean to wear these, did you?” she whispered, handing them to him.

“Oh, man!” Billy rolled them into a ball and stuck them deep in his book bag. His face turned beet red, and he mumbled, “Sometimes the dryer does that, you know? Static electricity. They're my sister's!”

“I didn't think they were yours,” said Rosie.

“Thanks,” said Billy. “I owe you one. I'll see you later in history class.”

She headed in the opposite direction, and someone called out, “Nice save, Rosie!”

Teresa was grinning widely at her. “He's not the pink thong type, is he?”

“Not really!” said Rosie.

“He'd be cute if he wore some deodorant!” said Teresa, jingling cheerfully as she walked.

Rosie agreed. “Wouldn't you think his friends would say something?”

“Half his friends don't shower!” said Teresa, and they walked into homeroom laughing.

In Mrs. Geller's class, Rosie sat down at her desk, watching her teacher's butt shake as she wrote on the blackboard. Someone should show her a video of her backside in jiggly motion. Maybe that was why her mother used the elliptical trainer so religiously.

“Hello,” said Robbie, clearly, audibly, directed at her. She nearly fell off her chair.

“Hi,” she answered, searching for something clever to say.

“How was your weekend?”

“Good. We put my grandfather in a nursing home.”

“That's good?”

“No,” said Rosie hastily, “that's bad. We had to do it. He got lost in town.”

“You put him in a nursing home for getting lost in town?” Robbie whistled.

“
No!
It's not like that!” Rosie spoke rapidly. “When my grandmother died, he was on the waiting list at the home, but Mom didn't want him to go, and Uncle Moe took him in, but then he started going downhill and he got lost in town. That's when we knew for sure that he was sick.”
Too much information,
Rosie said to herself.
Muzzle! Muzzle!

Robbie didn't seem to care. “Hey, my mom's always losing things,” he said. “I found her checkbook in the freezer last night when I was getting some ice cream.”

Rosie giggled. What should she say next?
Think cute! Think CUTE!

Before she could respond, Robbie said, “So, have you tried the new ice cream place next to Sal's?”

Her heart did a flip-flop. Was he going to ask her to try it with him? “Not yet,” said Rosie, thinking she should have said, “Want to go sometime?”

“Open up your textbooks to page 278,” Mrs. Geller interrupted, and their conversation was over. Rosie wanted to banish her teacher to the underworld, but less than an hour later, she sailed out of the classroom in a buzz of happiness.

After school, Lauren was excited as well. “Tommy Stone poked me in the ribs today twice! On the way into class, and on the way out.”

“Great!” said Rosie. “Robbie might have been asking me to go for ice cream!”

“Might have?” Lauren said, widening her eyes.

“Might have,” said Rosie, and they burst into laughter. “We're pathetic, aren't we?”

“We are!” said Lauren. “I'll call you when I get back from the orthodontist's.”

“What's for dinner?” Rosie called after her.
“Ribs?”
She could hear Lauren cackling as she walked down the street.

*   *   *

When Rosie got home, her mother was folding laundry and watching a talk show on TV. She gestured with her chin at the television screen. “Look at Faith Hill. She sings. She's gorgeous. Great skin and hair, a romantic husband. They don't even have a nanny, can you believe that? And she cooks, too! What is she, superwoman?”

Rosie sat next to her. “Maybe she looks normal when she's not on television. Maybe she yells. Maybe she has a cleaning woman. Or dimples on her thighs.”

Her mother sighed. “She feels blessed when she wakes up in the morning, Rosie. When I wake up, I just feel tired.” She pulled some clothes out of the laundry basket. “How are you, honey?”

Rosie said, “Actually, I'm great! Robbie and I had a conversation today. Can you believe it?”

“It's a miracle,” said Mrs. Goldglitt, putting the socks in a pile.

“Don't be mean,” Rosie said.

“I meant to be funny.” She pointed to the pile of clothes in the basket. “Help me.”

Rosie folded a pair of jeans. “It's the first time he's really spoken to me since he said I was cute!”

“You are cute. And smart. No one needs to tell you that. You should know. Did Mrs. Geller grade our castle yet?”

“We got a B,” said Rosie, holding up a pair of trousers. “Are these Jimmy's?”

“Yes. The Jimmy pile is on the coffee table. It's very small, because most of his dirty clothes are in his room, on the floor.”

“He's a slob,” said Rosie, reaching for a shirt that she knew was hers.

“And your room is better?” Her mother raised an eyebrow.

Rosie ignored her and said, “So he asked me if I'd tried the new ice cream shop in town.”

“Really!” Mrs. Goldglitt lined up one sock with another and rolled them into a ball. “So I may be right, Miss Rosie. He likes you.”