He was very quiet after that. I could see that he was in deep thought. I imagined it was because of the truck accident, but later I would find out that it wasn’t, and I wouldn’t be happy about it.
By the time he took me home, before he went on to his company, Myra had come out of her room and was having coffee with My Faith. They hadn’t heard about the truck accident. I sat with them, had a cup of cocoa, and described the poisoned boy and how I was unable to make any difference.
“It was stupid for me to go. The nurse even asked me to leave his room.”
“Why?” Myra asked.
“I guess I got a little impatient and annoyed and raised my voice.”
“Oh. Well, let’s give it time,” she said.
“I don’t want to give it time. No one’s giving Willie any more time,” I snapped back. I immediately felt bad about yelling at Myra. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s all right, love. It’s very hard right now,” she said, and then told us about a little boy who had been hit by a lorry on her street in London when she was fifteen. I knew from some of her other stories that a lorry was a truck. She said she used to babysit for him and that it was like losing a little brother. “Those parents were devastated and were never the same. Surely this little boy’s parents are desperate to know about him,” she added.
My Faith agreed. “Children are a blessing and a gift from the Lord,” she said. In my way of thinking, someone was returning the gift or trying to. “Your grandfather will get it solved,” My Faith said.
Afterward, I went up to my room. Some of my friends had big brothers or big sisters. Some had both. I wished right now that I had one. I wished Uncle Bobby had stayed longer. Despite Myra and My Faith, I hadn’t felt this alone since my parents died and then even more when Grandma Arnold died. Grandpa Arnold was just too busy to keep me company, and now it looked like whatever spare time he had he was devoting to this boy wilting like an undernourished flower.
I couldn’t deny that he had a nearly perfect doll-like face with hair more golden than that of any blond boy or girl
I knew. Again, I wondered how anyone could want to hurt someone like that or not care about him. He looked huggable and precious and now so helpless. When I was calmed a bit—even though I refused to acknowledge it—it wasn’t hard to believe that someone, my grandfather, would want to help him.
Don’t think about it anymore, I told myself. Grandpa would pay for the doctors, and then they’d send him somewhere to get therapy and recuperate. If his parents never appeared, someone would surely adopt him, and that would be that.
I began to think about Monday and returning to school. My teachers would all feel sorry for me, but I didn’t want to linger in sorrow at school. I couldn’t help Willie anymore, and it certainly wasn’t going to do me any good. The truth was, I had to stop feeling guilty for being alive. It seemed so cruel to even think it, but what else could I do?
I sat at the desk and began another letter to Willie.
Dear Willie,
I made Grandpa happy tonight by going with him to the hospital to see that poisoned boy I described to you. It was a worthless visit. I couldn’t help him. All I could do was think of how lucky he was to have our grandfather care about him and how ungrateful he was.
I suppose that was unfair. Something is seriously wrong with him, and maybe he can’t help being ungrateful. I’m going to tell Grandpa I don’t mind him helping the boy and paying for him to go to some institution or something. Then I’ll put him out of my mind.
I have to return to school on Monday. I know how hard it’s going to be. I’ll keep looking for you, keep wishing that all this is a nightmare and that it will be over soon.
Sometimes I think you’re the lucky one. You’re back in our parents’ arms. I know everyone would be angry with me for thinking that, so I’ll never say it aloud.
I’ll go to sleep thinking about you and push all thoughts about that boy out of my mind. I promise.
I’m still planning on riding my bike to the cemetery. I’ll visit you as much as I can, forever.
Clara Sue
I put the letter in another envelope and put that in the same drawer. I was thinking about doing some more of the homework Lila had brought me, but I heard footsteps in the hallway and peeked out. It was Grandpa. He was back from the office. He was standing outside of Willie’s room and thinking so deeply that, as Grandma Arnold used to say, “you’d need a microscope to see his thoughts.”
As quietly as I could, I stepped out of my room and walked up to him, expecting to see tears streaming down his face, just like mine every time I looked in on Willie’s room. I even had seen Uncle Bobby do that and wipe away tears. But Grandpa was firm and dry-eyed. Uncle Bobby was right about him. He cried only on the inside. I didn’t think he realized I was there, but he surprised me. He did.
He started to speak without turning to me. “I think I’ll leave everything as it is, Clara Sue,” he began. “What little boy wouldn’t want all that your brother had?”
My heart stopped, and my blood froze. “What do you mean, Grandpa? Leave what as it is?”
“The room,” he said, nodding.
“Little boy? You don’t mean the poisoned boy? You don’t mean you’re bringing him here?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” he said, still staring into the room.