What I Came to Tell You (31 page)

“We aren’t?”

“Never will be.”

“No?”

“We’re
good
friends. And no matter what happens …” She glanced toward their parents. “… we’ll stay that way.”

“Are you going to marry Leila?” Sudie asked, carrying the wreath.

Their father laughed.

It was Christmas Eve afternoon, a clear but warm December day. Their father and Sudie had bought a wreath with a red bow on it at the grocery store, and on their way over to Riverside Cemetery had stopped by and gotten Grover, who had been working in the Bamboo Forest.

“No, sweetheart,” their father said, pulling her against him.

“You’re not?” Sudie said.

“You sound a little disappointed,” he said.

“I like Leila,” Sudie said. “I like her a lot.”

“What about you, Grover?” their father asked. “Do you like Leila?”

Grover shrugged.

As they walked out of the Bamboo Forest they passed by the big wooden sign the city workmen had installed where the For Sale signs had stood. The sign read

Lunsford Park
A Childlife Refuge

Biscuit walked over to the sign, sniffed around it for a minute, then lifted his leg and peed.

They walked through Riverside and when they reached their mother’s grave, Grover moved aside what was left of his old weavings, and then Sudie leaned the wreath against the headstone.

“Why aren’t you and Leila getting married?” Sudie asked.

“We’re just getting to know each other.”

“Did you and Mommy have to get to know each other?” Sudie asked.

Grover rolled his eyes.

“Yes, we did.”

“How long did that take?” Sudie asked.

“A couple of years,” their father said, looking at the gravestone, his face emptying out.

“A couple of years? Oh, that’s forever.”

Then their father said, “I want you and Grover to know that if I ever do want to marry someone I would never do it without y’all’s permission.”

“
Our
permission!” Sudie smiled like she thought this was silly. “Parents are the ones who give permission.”

“Not in this case,” said their father.

“Would you need us to sign a permission slip?” Sudie grinned.

Grover hadn’t been surprised that Sudie had asked if they might get married. Leila and their father had been going for walks every evening after supper, and a couple of times they’d gone out to supper alone. It all made Grover feel pretty
unsettled, but he had to admit that his father had seemed happier and more like his old self. Grover kind of understood what his father was feeling. At night whenever Grover went out to the kitchen for a glass of milk and some Oreos or a late-night bowl of cereal, he’d stop by the front window to see the lights on in the Roundtrees’ house. Just knowing they were over there made him sleep better.

“Guess we better get back,” their father said, glancing at his watch. “I told Jessie we’d come over at six.” They were having Christmas Eve dinner at Jessie’s, and the Roundtrees were coming too, along with Mrs. Sparks, who’d come down from Bakersville and was spending Christmas with them.

Grover turned to their father, wanting to offer him something. “I’m glad the Roundtrees moved back,” he said.

Their father put his hand on Grover’s shoulder.

They started to leave but Sudie ran back, leaned down and kissed their mother’s headstone. “Merry Christmas, Mama.” She squatted there for a minute, but her eyes didn’t redden and her lips didn’t tremble. Biscuit came up beside her and sat.

“You know that dream I used to have?” Sudie said, standing back up.

“The one where Mama gets in the car with us?” Grover asked.

“Yeah,” Sudie said. “I don’t have that dream anymore.”

“You don’t?” Grover asked.

“I didn’t know you’d been having a dream about your mother,” their father said.

“Just about every night since she died,” Sudie said.

“Well, where have I been?”

“Away,” Sudie said. “You’ve been away.” She looked at the headstone for a second. “But it’s all right,” she said, taking Grover’s hand. “My brother’s been here the whole time.”

I
am deeply indebted to Abigail DeWitt, a fine writer and critic, who read several drafts and who believed in Grover as his story emerged. Sam Hodges, who has been a dear friend and writer colleague since our freshman year at Furman University, gave crucial suggestions as I revised. And Kathy Sheldon, with her heat-seeking literary vision, helped me see the book it could become.

I knew I was onto something when my agent, Neeti Madan at Sterling Lord Literistic, told me she missed her subway stop while reading the manuscript, and I’m forever grateful that she found Grover such a wonderful home. My editor, Regina Griffin, has been nothing but a joy to work with, and I cannot thank her and the attentive staff at Egmont USA enough for insisting
What I Came to Tell You
become its own best self.