Winter White (3 page)

As Izzie left the pool, her eyes darted to the clock on the wall and she frowned. It was 6:30 pm. She should have been home by now, which was her first problem. Her second was still Barbara Sanchez. Her social worker didn’t make social calls, which meant if she was coming by the house to see Izzie, the news couldn’t be good.

Two

When Grams had a good memory day—as opposed to a “Who are you? I don’t have a granddaughter!” day—she liked to talk about Harborside, the early years. Grams’s version of Harborside in the year Izzie was born sounded like it was plucked from a Hallmark movie (considering Grams’s memory these days, she might have confused the two): neighbors bringing neighbors homemade apple pie, block parties, softball teams for grown men, and streets so safe that no one locked their doors. Harborside today was very different. The cereal factory shut down ten years ago, tanking the real estate market and causing foreclosure signs to pop up like weeds, and Harborside suffered a quick but brutal downward spiral.

This was the Harborside Izzie knew well, and while she was used to it, she was still smart about how she navigated her hometown. Take her bike ride home, for example. Leaving the community center, Izzie knew that if she cut through sketchy Shore Park, she’d be home in seven minutes. But she also knew that biking through the park was asking for trouble. Besides, the town padlocked it shut at six thirty. Option B was to take Second Avenue. The route was longer and safer, even with the guys hanging out in front of the convenience stores, check-cashing shops, bars, and small fruit stands who leered at her when she rode past.
Option B it is
, Izzie thought. She put her right foot back on the pedal and pushed forward, making sure she pedaled as slowly as she could without falling off.

Before long, Izzie was heading toward Hancock Street and then making a right turn onto her block. She wove around a few broken beer bottles and waved to the five-year-old McGraw twins, who were playing in their overgrown front yard. She avoided eye contact when she passed a group of boys who looked like they had nothing to do.

Izzie could see Barbara’s red Taurus parked in front of her house. She pushed open the broken front gate and wheeled her bike around back to lock it in the shed, trying to see 22 Hancock the way Barbara probably did. The lawn needed a good—okay, major—mow. There was graffiti on the fence and there was a crack in the bathroom window on the second floor, most likely made by a BB gun. (A group of kids had been targeting windows and parked cars all summer like they were hunting deer.) Izzie took the porch steps two at a time, making sure to miss the one that was broken in half, and walked slowly to the front door. Taking a deep breath, she put her key in the lock and walked inside.

“I’m home!” she announced with as much fake enthusiasm as she could muster. Izzie had learned long ago how to play things with her social worker: Think of Barbara like a friend, even if she wasn’t one. The more upbeat Izzie made life sound, the quicker Barbara got off her case.

Barbara was sitting at the cherry wood dining table, which had been in the Scott family for more than a hundred years. From the looks of it, the floral wallpaper had been around just as long. The only thing that didn’t need replacing was the hardwood floor. Whenever Grams had people over—or, at least, when she used to have people over—someone would inevitably comment on how beautiful the floor was. Grams would smile proudly and say something like “Us oldies hold up nicely. No one is trading me or this floor in anytime soon.” It was hard to believe that the frail woman staring out the dining room window was the same one who’d raised her only grandchild by herself when her own daughter and husband died within a year of each other. Izzie was around ten at the time.

Izzie planted a kiss on her grandmother’s head. “Hey, Grams, how was your day?” Her thinning hair was combed back so far it made her forehead look huge, and her blue eyes were like cloudy marbles. Her grandmother didn’t respond. She stared out the window like she hadn’t heard her.

Izzie looked at Barbara and smiled forcefully. “Hi, Barbara,” she said with added enthusiasm. Barbara had been her social worker for the last year. Of all the social workers she’d had since they’d started coming about three years ago, when Grams’s decline started, Barbara was Izzie’s favorite.
If
you could call any social worker who came to check out your living conditions a favorite.

Barbara glanced at her wrist, sliding back the sleeve of her navy button-down shirt to look at her Timex. Her sleek black hair had gotten so long it hung over the blue leather notebook she carried for appointments. “I was starting to get worried, Izzie,” Barbara said by way of greeting. “We agreed to meet at six thirty.”

Izzie made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time talking to Coach Bing.” She looked at her grandmother, who had barely moved her fingers since Izzie walked in. “He says hi, Grams. He sent a lasagna for dinner. His wife made it.” Izzie nodded to Barbara and placed the tray on the dining room table. “People send us meals at least three times a week. Our friends are so generous.”

Barbara’s brown eyes bore into Izzie’s skull. “That they are.” She tapped her pen.

Izzie noticed the move right away. Barbara was nervous. Izzie could read people well, and she had spent enough time with Barbara to know what kind of mood she was in. Tonight, she was uncomfortable, and that made Izzie uncomfortable, so she just kept talking. “Yeah, it is nice, isn’t it? That’s what I love about Harborside. We take care of each other. Coach Bing gives Grams and me these incredible meals, and I’m teaching swim lessons for free at the community center.” Izzie pointed to a gold medal hanging on the mirror in the dining room. “First place in the last meet. Grams was cheering me on, right, Grams?”
Cheering
was a stretch, but Grams was there. Their neighbor brought her. His daughter was on the swim team, too.

Barbara’s face was unreadable as she said, “You told me, Izzie. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks!” Izzie squeaked.
Ugh.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the sickeningly sweet cheerleader act. It was giving her a headache. “It’s been a great season for us this summer. So has work. Lifeguarding is amazing, and I’m making almost eight dollars an hour. I’m one of the youngest lifeguards they’ve ever had, but Brian says he hired me because I’m so determined and focused.” God, did she really just pat herself on the back?

“Izzie,” Barbara interrupted, “you can drop the cheerleader routine. It’s not you.”

Izzie fiddled with the tiny silver band she wore on her middle finger. “I know.” She sighed. “I thought it might lighten the mood.”

Barbara smiled. “Thanks for trying.” She pulled out a heavy dining room chair next to her. “Why don’t you sit down so we can talk?”

Izzie grabbed the back of Grams’s chair and hung on. “I think I’d rather stand.”

“You might want to sit,” Barbara said gently.

“Listen, if this is about Grams’s care, she’s doing amazing on this new medicine Dr. Finniman gave her. He said her hip looks stronger than ever and she might not need a second replacement. She may even be able to lose the cane.”

“That’s great, but—” Barbara looked at the cuckoo clock ticking on the wall.

The silence in the room was so complete, the pendulum sounded like a marching band. Izzie quickly moved to the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. She pointed desperately to the fridge, where a dry-erase board was marked with different colors. “I charted all her pills, and they’re labeled in containers on the counter. Most days her nurse is here and helps her take them, but sometimes her friend Ida stops by. We put the paperwork in to Medicare to get her a full-time aide and—”

“She’s not getting a full-time aide, Izzie,” Barbara said, cutting her off. “I spoke to Medicare, and they denied the claim. They feel she’d be better suited for a nursing home that has physical therapy on-site.” She kept talking to keep Izzie from interrupting. “We knew this day was coming. Your grandmother and I have been preparing for this. You’ve been doing a great job taking care of things, but that’s not your job. Your job is to be a kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Izzie said sharply. The time to act sweet was over. “I’m fifteen.”

“You’re still a minor, and someone should be taking care of you, not the other way around.” Barbara stared sadly at Izzie. “Your grandmother and I have had a solution to this problem in place for months, but we’ve been waiting for the details to be finalized. I think once you’ve had time to process what I’m going to tell you, you’ll be very happy, Izzie.”

“What do you mean, you and my grandmother?” Izzie glanced in Grams’s direction. “She doesn’t know what day it is. How can she make a decision about her care or mine?”

“Last winter, she called me and said she had found some papers about your family history,” Barbara explained. “She was very lucid. She said she’d found an uncle of yours on her side who has a wife and three kids and lives only twenty minutes away. She was very excited.”

Izzie shifted back and forth. Her flip-flops suddenly felt very heavy. “Grams called you?” Why would Grams tell Barbara about an uncle Grams never knew before she told her own granddaughter? Grams and Izzie confided in each other about everything. At least, they used to. “She was insistent that I call your uncle,” Barbara explained. “She had already spoken to him herself and they met, and”—Barbara’s pen started tapping crazily—“he wants you to live with them.” Izzie’s jaw dropped. “Your grandmother wanted you to go. She drew up papers for the transfer of guardianship so that when this day came, we’d be ready.”

The cuckoo bird popped out of the clock with a loud chirp, startling them both as the clock chimed seven. The bird made seven chirps while Barbara and Izzie stared intently at each other.

Izzie shook her head, feeling a lot like that bird—trapped. “No,” she said, wondering if she’d heard Barbara wrong and hoping that she had. “Grams wouldn’t do that.”

“She wanted you well taken care of, Izzie.” Barbara stood up. “She knew she wasn’t up to the task anymore, and she wanted to put things in order.”

“
No
,” Izzie said more urgently, and took two steps back, stumbling slightly. Barbara reached out to steady her, but Izzie pushed her away and glanced at Grams. Her grandmother barely flinched. “We’re a team. She always said that. I’m not leaving her just because she’s having a little setback.”

“This isn’t a setback, Izzie,” Barbara said bluntly. “The woman you know is gone. She saw that coming, and she found a way for you to avoid foster care. This is what she wanted.”

Izzie felt her breathing become rapid. She looked around wildly, wondering what she should do. She wanted to run—far. But where was she going to go?

“Your uncle’s name is Bill Monroe,” Barbara told her, as if the name should have had some sort of meaning. It didn’t. “He’s a state senator, and they live in Emerald Cove. You’re going to attend private school and get opportunities you’ve never had. Most people would kill for a chance like this.”

Izzie looked at the floor. It felt like it was moving. “I’m happy here.”

“You’ll still be able to see Grams,” Barbara continued like she didn’t hear her. “Your uncle made sure Grams will have the best care at the nursing home, and on Fridays they even…”

Izzie felt a ringing in her ears, and Barbara’s voice began drifting away. The room felt like it was closing in on her. She ran to her grandmother and shook her shoulders. “Grams! Say something! Tell Barbara not to do this.”

Her grandmother’s blue eyes lit up with recognition, and Izzie felt a sense of relief. Grams could fix things before they spun out of control. She’d kept them together this long. But Izzie’s momentary relief vanished when her grandmother started talking.

“Chloe, when did you get here?” Grams asked. “I was hoping you’d stop by before you went to New York.” She wagged a finger at Izzie. “I still don’t think you should be going. That town is trouble, I’m telling you.”

Izzie froze. She could feel Barbara’s eyes on her. Chloe was Izzie’s mom. “Grams, it’s me,” she said quietly. “Your granddaughter, Isabelle.”

Grams obviously didn’t hear her. “Chloe, it’s drafty in here. Can you go get my shawl?”

Grams’s shawl was already around her shoulders. “Okay, Grams,” Izzie said, and pretended to put the shawl on her. She blinked rapidly to hold back tears. She was not going to let Barbara see her cry.

“Izzie, she knew what was happening to her,” Barbara said softly. “She was so happy when she found family for you. She wanted to make sure you had what you needed in life.”

“I need her,” Izzie said desperately, pleading with Barbara now. “If you just give us some time, I’m sure this new medicine will kick in and Grams will be back to her old self and…”

The doorbell rang. Barbara didn’t flinch, but Izzie did. She looked out the dining room window and saw a white van that had
Coastal Assisted Living Center
on it. A man and a woman with ID tags around their necks walked up the path. Izzie’s heart started to beat rapidly again.

“The nursing home is here to help gather some of your grandmother’s things for her move,” Barbara said quietly. “The rest you can sort through before the house is sold, and the lawyer your grandmother hired will help with the house and the furnishings and…”