Broken Flower (Early Spring 1)

"Did it ever occur to you that your constant needling might be destroying all of us!" she screamed.

I had never seen Grandmother Emma back away from an argument with Mama as quickly, but this time she just calmly set down her napkin and rose.

"I will not take my dinner with such insolence and primitive behavior," she said, turned, and started out.

Nancy had just entered with the platter of sliced filet mignon.

"Bring my dinner to my office. I have lost my appetite in here," Grandmother Emma told her, and continued to walk out of the dining room.

Nancy stood there gaping at us.

Mama looked stunned herself at what she had accomplished: driven Grandmother Emma out of her own dining room.

"I guess I'll never hear the end of this one," Mama muttered. She looked at Nancy. "Well, you can serve us here, Nancy. I haven't lost my appetite."

Just as Nancy brought the platter to the table. Ian entered, oblivious to everything as usual. However, he immediately noticed Grandmother Emma was not with us.

"What, she sick?" he asked, nodding at the empty chair and sitting.

Mama sucked in her breath and brought her hands to her head, resting her elbows on the table.

Ian looked at me for an answer. I didn't know what to say or how to begin to describe what had just happened.

"Just eat your dinner, Ian," Mama finally said, lifting her face away from her hands.

Ian shrugged and began to serve himself. Mania looked at me and I started to eat as well. We said little to each other. It was as though Grandmother Emma was still sitting there glaring at us. I saw that Ian suspected Grandmother Emma had found out about me. He gave me some quizzical looks and then waited patiently for his opportunity to talk to me after dinner.

Mama went right up to her room, first telling us not to make any noise or touch anything forbidden. "I don't want any more trouble with your grandmother tonight," she said.

After she started up the stairs. Ian suggested we go outside. "I want to talk to you," he told me. He looked around and added, "It's safer outside. C'mon, Jordan."

I followed him out. We continued down the steps. I gazed down the driveway at the street, anticipating the possibility of Daddy's arrival, but the street was quiet with barely any traffic.

All the time we had been living at Grandmother Emma's house, Ian and I rarely took walks together. Ian was too interested in making discoveries in nature and if I tagged along, it would be as if I were walking alone anyway. He wouldn't say much to me and I could stay interested just so long in his lectures about a stick of weed or a new species of bug. We were always warned about leaving any toys around the grounds or disturbing the flower beds, bushes, or lawn furniture. We never had any friends over to play with us here either. My mother had been considering having my seventh year birthday party outside by the pool, but it wa

s only five days away now and she had done nothing about invitations or planning.

"With all that's happening." she told me, "I just can't concentrate on it. We'll have our own little birthday party for you, Jordan.'

I hadn't had a birthday party with school friends or preschool friends since I was four anyway, but I had been invited to many parties--in fact, to Missy Littleton's just two weeks ago--and even at this young age. I felt a sense of obligation to return the invitation to those who had invited me, I was very disappointed. Grandmother Emma wasn't, I was sure.

"Did Mother tell Grandmother Emma about you?" he asked immediately. "Or did Father tell her?"

"No," I said. "They argued about Daddy's not coming home and then Mama banged the table and yelled at her and she wouldn't stay at the dinner table. She went to her office to eat."

"Banged the table and yelled at her? Holy schmoly. Sorry I missed it," he said. He wasn't even interested in the details of their argument. His mind was already traveling on another highway. "Anyway," he said, "I thought I should help you understand more about precocious puberty."

Ian had more of his computer-printer printouts with him in his back pocket when we walked out of the house. It was still light outside, the final minutes of twilight making it seem like the sun was hanging on for dear life before sinking below the horigon. Stars were just showing, popping out of the darkening blue like bubbles rising to the surface. This year spring was much warmer than it had been last year and I thought the birds especially were a lot happier about it. There seemed to be more of them and they were charting louder and more frequently.

"How do the birds know when to return?" I asked Ian once, and it was like the best question I had ever asked him. I could see the respect and

appreciation in his face for asking a question he didn't consider childish.

"Lower animals and birds have something called instinct," he told me. "It works better than clocks. It doesn't stop until they die."

"Can you see it?"

"No, no. Look, can you see your hearing, your tasting, your smelling? We know about the world around us from our five senses, but the animals and birds have a sixth sense, their instinct. It just clicks in their bodies and they know nature has told them it's time to return. When you're older. I'll help you understand it better," he promised.