Free The Way to Schenectady by Richard Scrimger Page B

what?”
    “For giving me … courage. Now I know I am doing the right thing. It’s what Mom would have done.”
    “But,” she pointed at him, “he’s a disgrace, a vagrant, a street person, a … Marty!”
    I thought hard. I wanted to put this the right way. “Think of all the Martys without homes to go to,” I said. “We can’t help them, but we can help this one Marty. Look, Grandma. You’re the one who talks about how lonely you are, how you don’t matter to anyone. How no one cares what you think. Well, here’s an opportunity for you. We need you. Marty needs you. Come on, Grandma. Help us get Marty home.”
    She didn’t speak for a while. I wasn’t looking at her, so I don’t know if she was frowning or blushing or gnashing her teeth or what. “Is the family expecting you at the service?” she asked Marty.
    I was encouraged. She was speaking directly to him.
    “No,” he said. “They don’t care about me. Why should they?”
    “Yes, they do,” I said. “They wrote about you in the paper.” I reached into yesterday’s pocket for the tattered clipping. “So, Grandma, are you going to help us?”
    “I haven’t decided,” she said.
    Marty spoke to her for the first time. “Forget it, Grandma,” he said. “Forget about Marty Oberdorf. Help that is not freely given is a chain upon the heart. I would not forge such a chain.” He swayed, and almost fell. He looked about as dangerous as a piece of chewed string. “I’ll be on my way. Thanks, Jane.”
    I didn’t say anything. He staggered off.
    “Wait.” A cross-grained person, my grandmother.
    Now that he wanted to leave, she told him to stay. He turned. “You called me Grandma. I’m not old enough to be your grandma,” she said. He kept going.
    “My name is Helen,” she said.
    Now he turned, with the smile I remembered from yesterday. The good smile. Grandma didn’t swoon or anything, but she softened, the way ice cream will soften in sunshine.
    “Jane, let me read that newspaper piece.”
    In giving the clipping to Grandma, I somehow felt as if the great burden of responsibility for Marty was being spread between us. We were together in this now. Me and Grandma, who’d have thought it? And I was happy to have her.
    “Awooo! Awooo! Jane, Jane! Where are you?” Bill’s voice.
    Grandma moved calmly, pushing Marty into the van, putting her suitcase on top of him. “Sh,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. We closed the rear door together.
    “Grandma’s coming!” cried Bill, “And she’s.…”
    He saw us, and stopped.
    “She’s already here,” said Grandma. “The van’s all packed. Where’s your father?”
    “Upstairs, with Bernie.”
    “Good. Run up and tell him everything’s ready to go. Jane and I will be along in a moment to take a last look around the room.”
    He opened his mouth to say, “Yes, boss lady,” thought better of it, turned and ran off.
    “Thanks, Grandma,” I whispered.
    “Uh huh.”
    “You know, I don’t like lying to Dad,” I said.
    She smiled so widely, I saw silver at the back of her mouth. I didn’t know it was there.
    “Are you going to tell Dad?” I asked.
    “Shell, no,” she said.
    I nodded. It was a complicated path I’d chosen, but at least I wasn’t alone on it anymore. “And do you think we can get to Schenectady in time for the service?”
    “You’re the one with the map, missy. You tell me.”
    Bill had a Danish in his mouth when we got back upstairs. There was one more left on the plate. “Would you like it?” I asked Grandma.
    “Why, thank you, Jane. I believe I would.” She took the last one.
Shoot.
I’d been hoping to eat it myself.

11

Gesundheit
    “I think I’ll sit in the backseat today,” said Grandma, climbing into the van.
    “Are you sure, Mother-in-law? You don’t have to.”
    “I want to.”
    Bill stared at her and then at me. “But …” he said.
    “It’s okay,” I whispered. “She knows. She’s on our side.”
    He frowned.