I sat staring down at the floor, trying to figure out what I should do next, when suddenly I felt I was being watched, When I looked up I nearly screamed. There was Augustus standing at our patio door looking in at me. His hair was as disheveled as ever, but for once he was wearing a plain black, shortsleeve shirt and sneakers. He didn't knock. He just stared in and stood there.
"What are you doing?" I asked, opening the door. "You frightenedme."
He didn't look as if he had heard a word. His expression or lack of one didn't change. I wasn't even sure he was seeing me, his eyes were that glassy.
"Augustus?"
He turned slowly to me. "Mrs. Dorahush is in the hospital," he said.
"Your grandmother? Why? What happened?"
"Angina pectoris."
"What's that mean?"
"That is a disease marked by brief paroxysmal attacks of chest pain precipitated by deficient oxygenation of the heart muscles." he recited. He kept his gaze stoic, his eyes unmoving. "In layman's terms, she is on the threshold of a heart attack."
"Oh. Augustus. I'm so sorry. Will she be all right?"
"I don't know." he said.
How small and trivial my problems with Phoebe now seemed. "Have you eaten? Do you want something to eat or to drink?" He shrugged.
"Came on in. My mother left me too much lasagna. You like that? She makes it delicious."
He stepped into the condo and let me sit him at the table. "Let me just throw it into the microwave." I told him.
I brought him a setting, silverware, and a napkin.
"You have to be brave for her. Augustus. I bet she's worried more about you right now than she is about herself."
He nodded. "I'm sure that's true. She was the only one who encouraged me." he said. "When I was little I frightened my parents."
"Frightened? Why?"
"They were unable to deal with a three-year-old who could read and write, and when I performed higher math at the age of seven they thought I was some sort of freak. Other children my age were afraid to be with me, and older children were embarrassed by the way I showed them up. It made it harder for my parents to keep their friends.
"In junior high the other students would pull as many pranks on me as they could. They stole my books and my notebooks in the hopes I would fail my tests. but I didn't need any of it. and that got them frustrated and even more angry. Finally, the guidance counselor told my parents I belonged in a special environment. That's a euphemistic way of telling them to get me out of there. They couldn't deal with me. MIS. Dorahush found the program for me, you know,"
"Why do you insist on calling her that? Just call her your grandmother."
"She's disappearing." he explained. "Like my parents. I'd rather she d
isappeared as Mrs. Dorahush."
I stared at him, understanding that this was his way of keeping himself emotionally protected. The formality was his cocoon.
The bell went off on the microwave, and I went for his food. Once he tasted it, he ate with enthusiasm,
"This is good." He paused and looked around as if just realizing we were alone. "Where's your mother?"
"At work." I explained where she worked and the how and why.
"Your mother is heroic," he declared.
"Why?" I asked. smiling. I liked to think that, but how did he come to such a conclusion?
"She has suffered a great tragedy, and she continues to move forward, to say yes to life and all the responsibilities. She doesn't wallow in her misfortune, and she doesn't let it shape or remake her.