“What difference does that make?” I snapped back at her.
She bit her upper lip as if to keep herself from saying another word.
“No. He didn’t speak to anyone. He was in something they called a semicoma. He looked awake, but he also looked like he didn’t see or hear a thing.”
“Who poisoned him?”
“I don’t care!” I got up and went to the window to look down at people coming and going. “My brother is dead,” I said. As I looked down at the wide driveway and the area for cars to park, I could envision Willie down there trying so hard to master riding his bike. He had wanted to feel older and independent. He had wanted to be able to ride his bike to the convenience store, buy something, and come back. And he had wanted to go on longer rides with me as soon as Grandpa decided he was good enough.
“Everyone in our class is calling me to ask if they should come over to see you. Some said they’ll come over with their parents today,” Lila said. “Whoever can will come to the funeral.”
When I didn’t speak or turn from the window, she continued, “Everyone really likes you, Clara Sue. We know Aaron Podwell really does,” she added, hoping to somehow slip back into one of our secret talks about the boys we thought were good-looking. No matter what homework we were doing together, our attention always rushed to the subject of boys now, boys in the twelfth grade, too, and the dreams we had about them. We hadn’t been friends that long, but we were growing increasingly comfortable talking about our own sexual fantasies.
Lila was a little more physically mature than I was, with bigger breasts and a more dramatic rear end. She had started getting her period just after she was eleven. I didn’t get mine until I was almost thirteen. For her, all this interest in sex and boys was much easier. She still had a mother who would talk to her about these things and an older sister, now a freshman in college. I really had only Myra, who, even though I loved her like a grandmother, was someone I felt embarrassed talking to about such things. She had described her own mother as “queen of the prudes.” She said she wouldn’t be caught dead buying herself sanitary pads. Myra’s older sister, Kate, had to take care of it. I certainly wouldn’t run to Myra with questions about boys and how far you should go or, more important, how you could stop.
“Aaron?” I said now. The moment I uttered his name, I felt guilty about even thinking of him. How could I care about anything as unimportant as good-looking boys? Tomorrow was my brother’s funeral. Again, it irked me that if I felt this way, how could Grandpa be spending so much time on a stranger right now?
“Yes, he called me asking about you,” Lila said, eager to get me on the topic. I couldn’t blame her.
“That’s nice, but I can’t think about him. I should be talking to my grandfather about Willie’s funeral,” I said. “He probably is wondering why I’m not.”
“Oh.”
“Let’s go back down. I can’t run away from anything, even though I want to so much that it makes my head spin.”
“I’m so sorry, Clara Sue. I’ll be right beside you all the time. I told my parents I would stay home from school if you needed me the rest of the week.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She rose, and we hugged. Then I took her hand, and we returned to the living room, where people had gathered. Grandpa was sitting in his favorite chair and talking softly with some people. Uncle Bobby saw us and immediately crossed the room.
“Your other grandmother is arriving in an hour. I’m going to pick her and her sister up at the airport. Do you want to go along?” He looked at Lila. “Your friend could come with us if she would like.”
I glanced at Lila. We were good friends now, but I could see that this was going to be a little too much sharing, asking her to be there to greet another grieving grandparent.
“That’s all right,” I replied for her. “Lila will come back later or see us tomorrow. Her parents are coming to the funeral.”
“Oh, yes, for sure,” she said eagerly.
“Has Grandpa given you any details about . . . ?” I asked Uncle Bobby. I couldn’t finish the question, but it was obvious what it was.
“He said he would talk to us after I bring—”
“My other grandmother back, I know,” I said, and he finally did smile. I turned to Lila. “Her name is Patricia Sanders, and her older sister’s name is Sally. My grandfather likes to call them two peas in a pod.”
Lila nodded. She still had both sets of grandparents. Her Thanksgivings and Christmases and birthdays would always be better than mine. A family was like a fortress, I thought. When one important member died, there was a big hole through which everything bad could have an easier time getting to you.
“Okay, let’s go,” Uncle Bobby said. “You want a ride home?” he asked Lila.
She looked at me. “No, I . . . rode my bike here,” she said, as if riding a bike was forbidden not only to do but also to mention since Willie’s accident.
“Okay. Clara Sue?”
I looked toward Grandpa to see if I should let him know I was going with Uncle Bobby, but he was too involved in a conversation to notice anyway. We all walked out together. Lila got onto her bike and started away. Uncle Bobby and I got into Grandpa’s car, and we started for the airport.
“I guess there is one thing I should tell you, Clara Sue. My father just told me. Maybe it will make you feel better.”
“What?” I asked, like anything could possibly make me feel better. The only thing would be his saying it was all a mistake. They were looking at the wrong boy in the hospital. Willie was fine.