Read Online Sea Glass Summer by Dorothy Cannell - Free Book Online Page B

there in one of the pews, not minding the slightest who had on their Sunday best and who didn’t. Oliver thought now, God sure hasn’t been sitting next to me. Then he felt disloyal to Twyla, like he didn’t believe her. And he did; at least he thought he did.
    His spirits sank even lower as he stripped the sheets and pillow cases from his bed so Twyla wouldn’t have to do it. He wondered if she would make blueberry pancakes or waffles for breakfast because they were among his very best favorites. He was sure he wouldn’t feel like eating anything, but he would have to try, to please her and Grandpa. Sometimes Grandpa wasn’t able to get out of bed and onto the StairMaster to join them at the kitchen table for breakfast, even with Twyla’s help. But as often as he could he managed to be there in his wheelchair. Grandpa had claimed to be very excited when the StairMaster was installed, saying it was going to be so much fun whizzing up and down on it and that he was going to charge Oliver a quarter a ride. Actually it went very slowly, but Twyla made a joke about wishing there was room for one on the other side so they could have races.
    Oliver knew Grandpa would get down for breakfast that morning if he possibly could. It hurt to hear him trying to say the blessing clearly and to see how badly his hands shook as he tried to get the food into his mouth and sip a drink through a straw without Twyla helping him. Grandpa’s
trembles
were really called Parkinson’s. Twyla said Parkinson’s wasn’t something children got and one day there would be a cure, but Oliver didn’t care about what might happen
one day
.
    All those prayers every night before falling asleep that Grandpa would get well; instead he’d only got worse. Hah! Twyla said the pastor at the church she’d gone to in Virginia had talked very loud to God. Not in an impolite way, but because praising the Lord made him jump up and down and shout out for joy fit to take off the roof. Or did he do it, Oliver wondered as he tied his sneakers, to make sure God would hear him over all the thousands, millions of people around the world trying to get his attention all at the same time? And then there were those bands of angels up in heaven adding to the noise. Oliver always pictured rock bands, with guitars and drums in addition to the harps and big, big singing voices. But maybe not rappers. Somehow Oliver just couldn’t imagine God sitting on clouds listening to rap. It had to be OK for Twyla’s pastor to get excited when praying, but Oliver knew the rules for children were often different from the ones for adults. He prayed quietly so there was no chance of his sounding rude. But maybe he had still gone wrong somehow and that was why God hadn’t answered. Surely getting rid of Grandpa’s Parkinson’s should be a snap compared to making the entire world in less than a week.
    Grandpa must have known for a long time now that he would have to go into a nursing home. It was obvious he needed more than Twyla could single-handedly provide. There had been that frightening time when he had gotten out of bed while she was on the phone and his legs had locked in the hallway as he tried to get to the bathroom. He’d fallen before she could get to him. ‘Impatient old fool!’ Grandpa had said quite clearly from the floor. Twyla had phoned for assistance, and two nice medics had arrived to get Grandpa back to bed. One of them gave Oliver a sucker. Grandpa had said with a wink: ‘I’m the sucker.’ Oliver had tried to smile back to show he thought it a good joke, but it had hit him like a punch in the face that one day in the future – perhaps very soon – the vehicle that pulled into the driveway would be an ambulance and Grandpa would be taken out to it on a stretcher never to return.
    â€˜It’s a cruel thing being forced to depend for your every, most personal need, on