Free The Old House by Willo Davis Roberts Page B

said the tinny voice.
    Max returned with his supplies. “There’s not much tape, except the little strips.”
    â€œThose’ll do. Here, now that his stomach’s empty, hold his head up for me. He’s too drunk to do it on his own. Gus, make an effort, will you?”
    Buddy thought the most helpful thing she could do might be to get Grandpa out of the area. “I’ll give you another cup of cocoa and you can drink it in your room, all right, Grandpa?” she asked.
    â€œIs it still hot?” the old man asked, but he didn’t resist when she steered him toward his bedroom.
    It was more crowded than either the back bedroom upstairs or the sewing room. Buddy settled him into a platform rocker and placedthe steaming cup in his hands after looking in vain for a place to set it down.
    Beside his bed, there were tables and chests and shelves full of books he surely could not read any longer, and boxes and bundles of all kinds. There was hardly room to walk between them and the bed.
    â€œThis is not my room,” Grandpa said.
    Buddy didn’t know what to say to that.
    â€œMy room was always upstairs,” the old man told her. “Why did they make me move down here, Sister?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Buddy said.
    â€œI remember you,” he told her. “I just can’t remember your name.”
    â€œThey call me Buddy, but my real name’s Amy Kate.”
    â€œAmy Kate. That’s a pretty name. When you were a little girl you used to come to the store and eat my butterscotch drops, didn’t you?”
    â€œYes,” Buddy admitted, and then wondered if he was thinking of her or her mother. “My mom’s name was EllaBelle.”
    â€œOh, yes. EllaBelle. She ran away with Dan, and Sister cried. That’s right.”
    Because there was no one else around to hear, and she guessed Grandpa wouldn’t have any memory of this conversation, Buddy asked impulsively, “Which sister, Grandpa? Which one cried? And why?”
    Grandpa sipped from his cocoa. “Just the way I liked it. Almost too hot. You always did make good cocoa, Sister.”
    Buddy sighed. It was no use. Sometimes he would be perfectly sensible for a few minutes, and then his mind seemed to drift away to something else—another subject, another time.
    â€œCan I get you anything else before I go, Grandpa?” she asked.
    â€œNo, no. It’s not time for me to go to bed, is it?”
    â€œI don’t know what time you go to bed,” Buddy told him. “It’s only a little after ten.”
    â€œI haven’t seen the news, have I? The eleven o’clock news. Or does it come on at ten?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said again. “The Seattle stations mostly have news at eleven.”
    â€œI’ll drink my cocoa first. While it’s hot,” he decided, and rocked a little in his chair.
    Back in the kitchen, Buddy decided to reheatone cup of milk in the microwave and make herself a cup of cocoa. She didn’t know if any of the others would come back and want some or not.
    She heard Max on the stairs, and turned to see him scooping up the kitten that had been left behind when the others scattered. She was glad Grandpa had forgotten about him.
    â€œDid Blackie die a long time ago?” she asked.
    â€œBefore I ever came here to live. Probably twenty years ago. Grandpa gets all mixed up about when it is.” His mouth was tight and unpleasant, but he was stroking the kitten, so that Buddy could hear him purring.
    Buddy stirred the cocoa mix into her cup. “I’m . . . sorry about your dad. He’s not badly hurt, is he? Or should they call a doctor?”
    â€œNo doctor in Haysville.” Max sounded sullen, angry. And then he practically exploded, his face twisting as if in fury. “One of these days I hope he falls down drunk and breaks his neck!”
    She didn’t know if he meant it or not,