I started back toward the house. She followed with her arms folded under her breasts, her head down. She looked very nervous, even a little afraid. It occurred to me that Aunt Zipporah might have rushed to move away for the very reasons I had. Her sense of guilt for contributing to what finally happened with my mother and its impact on her parents left her forever scarred and ashamed. Once, when I asked her why she had done it, why she had kept such a secret from her own parents, she thought a moment and said, "Misplaced loyalties. I should have had more faith in my parents."
I never forgot that, and now, recalling it again, it seemed even more appropriate that I should be with her, the two of us away from the people we loved the most and could hurt the most, both she and I now emotional refugees fleeing our own self-made wars.
Grandma had a nice lunch set out for us. All the ingredients and condiments for a variety of sandwiches were placed on the kitchen counter. I saw my grandfather chafing at the bit.
"I'm starving," he cried. "Where were you two? C'mon."
We all fixed our platters, then went into the dining room. I decided to let everyone get into their food first, and then, just before my grandmother started to talk about dessert, I folded my hands in front of me and said, "I would like to discuss something."
My grandparents looked at each other and then at Aunt Zipporah, who shifted her eyes quickly in a vain attempt to look completely innocent.
"What is it, Alice?" my grandfather asked.
"I'd like to move to New Paltz and live with Aunt Zipporah and Uncle Tyler for my last high school year," I said. "I'll help out in the cafe as much as they want me to help."
"You mean move out of our house
completely?" my grandmother asked.
"For the year," I said, nodding. I paused a moment, then added, "Maybe I'll go to college there, too."
The silence that fell around and about us was more like a rainfall of ashes from a great fire. It was the sort of silence and experience that steals away your heart for a moment and leaves you speechless.
"You want to leave us then?" my grandmother finally asked.
"Not you. I
'm not going to be happy at my school here, Grandma. Grandpa knows that. He wouldn't have worked so hard to get me out of having to attend the last few weeks, and he made it possible for me to take my exams separately. Nothing is going to change dramatically over the summer."
She looked at my grandfather. He nodded slowly, then turned to Aunt Zipporah and did exactly what I told her he would.
"Are you for this, Zipporah?"
"If you two are. I have no problem with it. Neither will Tyler, I'm sure."
"You realize it means you'll have to take on the guardian responsibilities?"
"Yes, Dad. That doesn't worry me, won't worry us, but you two have to be in full agreement, otherwise--"
"Are you sure your heart is set on this, Alice?" my grandmother asked me. "Set on moving out?"
"I don't want to leave you two. I want to leave this town, this community. I'd like to have a fresh start."
"We did the best we could for you. We've always loved you as much as any parent could love his or her child," she said:
"I'm not saying no. Please understand, Grandma. There are too many ghosts in this town now," I added. Fier eyes widened.
"Why don't you just do what you planned to do," my grandfather said in his calm, reasonable manner, "and if toward the end of the summer you're still of the same mind, Zipporah will register you at the high school and we'll bring up whatever else you want from the house. How's that?"
"It's just putting off the inevitable," I said with cold firmness.
My grandfather stared a moment, and then he smiled.
"She'S your granddaughter all right, Elaine. No sugarcoating permitted."
"Whatever," my grandmother said, rising. I wasn't sure if she was simply angry or simply too exhausted to argue or care. "Anyone want a piece of apple pie? I have vanilla ice cream, too."
"I would," I said.