Retro Road Trip Read online

"No, it's a painting technique that means crackled paint with another color showing through the cracks," I said.

  "Back to the list," Amie said. "Let's get this done before Mom forces me to go back and wrap up some breakables or something."

  We came up with fifteen things to look for.

  Something with patina

  Craquelure

  Creepiest eyes

  Abe Lincoln thing

  Weirdest children's toy

  Something from 1925

  Fiestaware pitcher

  Something with John F. Kennedy on it

  Something with a palm tree on it

  Craziest retro ashtray

  Picture of a person who looks like one of us

  Something with your name on it

  Scariest Santa

  Ugliest lamp

  Something with a secret hiding place

  "Good. Now we have something to do while we’re here,” Amie said.

  "Instead of taking a picture of each thing you find, just make a video showing you found it and text the video to the rest of us," Dylan said.

  It sounded like he was going to do the scavenger hunt with us after all.

  "Okay, fine," Amie said. Then she took a picture of the list and texted the picture to Dylan and me.

  "You know, I can never actually find my name at any souvenir shop, ever, because my name is spelled weird," Amie said. “But maybe that'll be a good thing if I'm famous someday. I can just go by Amie," she said.

  "Or Lamie," Dylan said.

  She made a face at him. I ignored him.

  "Well, maybe you can look for your middle name at least," I said.

  Amie looked at the list. "Now let's go and see how many of these things we can find," she said.

  "Sounds good," I said.

  Dylan and I exchanged phone numbers so we could do a group text for the scavenger hunt.

  "Okay, see ya," he said. He walked off while Amie and I were still standing there.

  "Are you and your mom going to that antique show in Springfield next week?" Amie said.

  "No," I said. "I'm going to my grandfather’s lake house on Monday for a month. My cousin is going to pick me up and drive me to the lake.”

  "Lucky," she said. "I was thinking we could keep doing the scavenger hunt every weekend if we’re at the same fairs."

  "Maybe we still can if we text pictures of the stuff to each other even when we're not all at the same place," I said. "That would actually be kind of fun. I can probably find some old stuff at the lake house that might work. I could look in the attic.”

  Amie and I started walking in the same direction even though I guess we were supposed to split up. She had one earbud in and the other one hanging down. She started singing along with her music. She's not self-conscious at all.

  "I want to try out for show choir when I'm in high school," Amie said. "My friend Morgan’s sister is in show choir. Dylan liked her freshman year but she told him she just wanted to be friends."

  I could see that Amie couldn't be trusted to keep secrets, which might make her a good source of information.

  "Morgan would be my archrival if she wasn't my best friend," Amie said. "She'll probably make show choir over me. We have to be really good at dance. I'm gonna take a jazz and hip-hop class so I can get better."

  I cannot relate to anyone who wants to dance in front of an audience. I felt self-conscious just walking across the stage at my eighth-grade graduation. When I have to give a speech in class I get nervous for a week.

  "That sounds like fun," I said for some reason.

  "Dylan calls me Napoleon when I'm practicing my dances," she said. "He's so annoying.”

  We got to the end of a row of booths. We both stood there looking around, deciding which direction to go next. I got a whiff of cedar wood and mothballs.

  Amie looked down at her phone.

  "I guess Dylan wants to show you something," Amie said.

  She held her phone up to me so I could read his text:

  "Found something to show Robin. I'm by the popcorn stand. Can you guys come now?"

  "Okay," I shrugged.

  We headed toward the popcorn stand. As soon as we walked up to Dylan, Amie looked at her phone and said, "Oh. Mom just texted me. She's getting busy now. I gotta go help her with customers."

  She took off and I was standing there with Dylan. I guess his mom didn't need him.

  "Umm, did you want to show me something?" I ended my question with one of those raised-eyebrow squints to show how clueless I was. And awkward.

  He seemed to be one of those people who thinks before he talks. I mean he stood there looking at me blankly for a few very long seconds before snapping out of it and saying, "Actually, yeah. I found something you might like. Come on."

  "Really? Okay," I said.

  We started walking. I wasn't used to having anyone to hang out with. I followed him, avoiding a couple who were carrying huge empty picture frames hanging over their arms like handbags. Some people just stop suddenly when they want to look at a booth, or they change direction when they see some adorable glass milk bottle, and they can whack you in the elbow with some charming piece of junk and not even realize it.

  It takes a lot of weaving through the crowds if you want to move quickly. I almost lost him a couple of times. It was getting really crowded and people don't ever look up when they're on the hunt.

  Dylan looked to his left, then right, and then turned around, realizing that I wasn't right next to him anymore. When he saw me about eight people back, I gave an awkward little wave. I caught up to him.

  "Sorry," he said. "It's right over here."

  He led me around some propped-up framed paintings and mirrors in a very packed booth.

  "This is it," he said.

  I looked where he was gesturing. On top of a dresser with a cloudy mirror, I saw a wooden box about the size of a small suitcase or a large, thick briefcase.

  I took a step closer and saw the words "Creative Artist" printed on the edge below the metal latch. On the top there was a hand-painted picture of a bird's nest with three blue eggs in it, and a robin sitting on the edge. I touched the image of the robin. I could feel the texture of the paint beneath the coats of yellowed varnish that covered it.

  "It's a robin, get it?" He said.

  "Yes, I get it!" I laughed.

  "I think that counts as being something with your name on it for the scavenger hunt," he said.

  “Well, it’s just a drawing, not my actual name so it probably doesn’t really count.” I said. "This is really cool."

  I looked down at it again and I realized that the decoration painted on the wooden case looked almost exactly like the bird's nest we have painted on the trailer.

  "It’s an artist’s case. Look inside," Dylan said.

  I wondered if there were any decent brushes or old paints in it. I unlatched the lock and lifted the lid of the box. When I opened it up the smell of oil paints was really strong and it made me feel dizzy for a second.

  Tucked inside the lid of the case there was a paint palette covered with smudges of color. I wondered how many years these paints have been in here. I saw some tubes of oil paint, a palette knife, watercolors, and a few paintbrushes and charcoal pencils.

  "Oh wow, I love this," I said.

  I lifted out the tray and checked underneath. I noticed a small sheet of paper with a pencil sketch of a bird’s nest. It must have been the original drawing for the bird's nest that was painted on the lid of the case. There was a small stack of notepaper, mostly blank. A few pieces had pencil sketches of tigers. I flipped them over. No signature.

  I guess someone stuck their drawings back in the case and forgot about them. I know how it is to think you'll get right back to a project and finish it, but something else gets in the way.

  I needed to find out the price. The dealer wore a tool belt and had a cabinet door in his hand. He walked over to us. I knew I should probably try to bargain with him.

 
"Ah, someone who appreciates the artist’s case!" he said.

  "How much is it?" I said.

  "It's eighty, and that's an absolutely firm price. It's worth more than that," he said.

  I closed the lid and latched it shut. I touched the robin's nest painting on the lid again.

  "I'll take it," I said.

  So much for bargaining. I gave the man my cash. Then I realized that I had totally forgotten to go back and get the quilt with Grandy's name on it. Maybe I could find something else for Grandy later.

  This art case seemed like something a real artist would have. I could imagine working in my own art studio someday, maybe in New York or Paris. Yeah, definitely Paris, in an upstairs apartment with lots of natural light and windows with those shutters that open up with no screens. I'd eat croissants and paint the sunsets that I'd see out the window. It would be amazing. Maybe there would be a gallery downstairs. And a bakery next door that sells French bread. And maybe cookies. I can almost smell them already.

  "Thanks for finding this!" I said to Dylan as I took a picture of the art case.

  Just then I got a text from my mom: "Can you come back right now?"

  Chapter 6

  I was so mad I could have screamed. My mom got a call from my Aunt Linda. I couldn't believe it. I couldn’t go to the lake house after all. Lauren was going to take me there but she suddenly got some stupid internship with some government agency and she has to go back to DC this weekend and move into her friend's apartment.

  Going to the lake with Lauren was the only thing I was looking forward to. She was going to pick me up and take me to Grandy’s, and now she’s not going at all, and my mom can’t take me because she’s going to a bunch of other antique fairs after this one. Lauren can't say no to this internship, and if they want her to start right away, I know she has to do it.

  I didn't want to start crying in front of customers, so I just took off. Lauren texted me, "Don't hate me. I'm sorry."

  I didn't even feel like answering her yet, because I don't want to be mean to her.

  "I don't hate you. I just might strangle you though," I texted back. "Or at least I might not tip my ice cream at you anymore."

  I walked past rows of antique booths, trying to get away from people. My eyes were stinging. Now I was going to be stuck going to more of these antique fairs. No more boating, swimming, tubing, getting ice cream at Corky's, playing Scrabble, or getting hamburgers at The Water's Edge restaurant, where we could eat outside and toss fries to the ducks until Grandy made us stop. Then I thought about the woodpeckers. Crap, they're gonna take over.

  Just when I was picturing Grandy all alone up there, I got a text from him, asking if I found any fleas today. I guess he forgot that he already asked me that this morning. I decided not to mention to him that I wasn’t coming, since I didn’t know if he had heard yet.

  I sent him a picture of the artist's case that Dylan found and I wrote: "No fleas, but this is nice, huh? It has old paints in it."

  He texted back. "My sister had a case like that. She loved to draw."

  What? His sister had one like that? I didn't even know he had a sister.

  Why doesn't anybody ever tell me anything? Why didn't I ever see a picture of her? What else don't I know about him? These are things I should know about my own grandfather.

  What other relatives do we have floating around? How could I have spent so much time with him my entire life and never heard this?

  I went up to my mom and stood there with one hand on my hip and said, "Why didn't I know that Grandy had a sister?"

  "What? Is he here?" she said.

  She started looking around. Her hair was half falling out of her bun.

  "No, but he just told me when I texted him a picture of this art case I just got," I said.

  She sighed. Someone walked up to the booth holding a doll bed. My mom smiled at her and asked, "Can I help you with anything?"

  "No, just looking, thanks," the woman said.

  "Let me know if you have any questions," my mom said to her.

  “I have questions!” I said.

  She turned back to me.

  "Okay. The reason he's never talked about it is because it's kind of a sensitive topic for him," she said.

  “What do you mean it's sensitive?" I said.

  “Just a minute,” she said as another customer held up something she wanted to buy.

  I texted Lauren. “Did you know Grandy had a sister?”

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” I wrote.

  I saw the three dots that said she was answering me. Then all I got was a shrugging gif. She was being absolutely no help at all.

  My mom turned back to me.

  "Okay, I guess I never wanted to make Grandy feel sad by bringing it up or by you bringing it up when you were younger. Beverly was a lot older than him and she took care of him all the time because his parents were always working at their store," my mom said. "When he was about five years old, Beverly had gotten engaged and then her fiancé broke up with her. She disappeared. Then some hikers found her body."

  "Excuse me? Found her body? We have a story like that in our family and no one ever told me? What else don't I know about this family?" I said. "Do you know what happened? And how do we not suspect the boyfriend right away?"

  "It looked like she fell, or might have, well, possibly jumped off a cliff near a hiking trail," she said. “There’s no way to know for sure.”

  “What? How can you just accept not knowing?” I asked.

  I kept picturing Grandy as a little five-year-old. Did his sister actually jump on purpose because some jerk broke up with her? I felt terrible for her. And for Grandy. Then I felt guilty that I completely forgot about buying him that quilt. After all the times Grandy would slip me a five-dollar bill when no one was watching. He would wink at me and say, "Shhhh." It was our little secret.

  "I might as well tell you this, too," she said. "He might have mentioned his sister now because he's kind of losing his filter on what he talks about. His memory seems to be going, and sometimes he also comes out with things he wouldn't normally talk about.”

  "Aunt Linda said Grandy told her he has gotten lost a few times lately, and he’s forgetting words, and he’s repeating himself a lot, so she wants to get him evaluated by a doctor to see if it might be Alzheimer's Disease or another type of dementia," my mom said.

  "Okay, what? Dementia? Doesn't that mean crazy?" I said. "Like demented?"

  "No, it just means his brain isn't working as well as it used to, and it will probably keep deteriorating over the years," my mom said. "But his long-term memories will stay intact for a lot longer than the more recent stuff. It’s a long, slow progression. It’s possible that he might someday have to move to an assisted living place. Or maybe even move in with us eventually.”

  “What? Move in with us?” I said. “First of all, I’m not sharing a bathroom with him. And anyway, he can’t give up the lake house!”

  “He’s still fine for the most part. His doctor can help us figure out what he needs,” she said.

  “He just needs us,” I said.

  “You know, I was thinking that since Lauren can’t take you that maybe your dad could drive you to Grandy’s as long as he can come pick you up,” she said.

  “Dad’s on a cruise,” I said.

  She looked shocked.

  “But he hates cruises,” she said.

  She turned back to her table and started moving teapots around for no apparent reason. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the cruise. It’s hard to predict what will bother her. My dad has a girlfriend who works at a salon. Once he dropped me off at the salon to hang out with her for a while on a Saturday. I came home with a manicure and when my mom saw my blue nails she walked into the other room and blew her nose.

  I sat down in the folding chair and heaved a big sigh. Grandy did forget things once in a while, but I never thought it was that bad. Last summer he
was looking for his boat keys all morning when we were up at the lake house. After lunch I went to get an ice cream sandwich out of the freezer and I found his keys in there. I made sure no one was watching when I handed the keys back to him.

  I just thought he'd be embarrassed if anyone knew he had put the keys in the freezer, so I didn't tell anyone. Maybe I should have. I kind of wished no one had told me any of this today.

  I used to always find stuff for him when I was little. And when we were on his boat, I was in charge of looking around the lake to make sure no water skiers or other boats were coming our way. He used to say I was his second set of eyes. He sometimes needed me to take splinters out of his hand because he couldn't see that well. I do that for my mom, too. I guess I'm the only one in the family who has decent vision.

  This really sucks. If Grandy’s long-term memories are still there, maybe that's why he remembered his sister's art case. It's weird that he's never mentioned Beverly to me before. I'm glad he can still remember her, I guess, but it's sad that suddenly when his mind is going, he is still remembering this horrible loss in his life. How could you heal from that?

  I wondered what Beverly must have been like. Why was she so devastated about getting dumped by her fiancé? I'm sure there were plenty of other guys out there who she could have ended up with, even in the olden days. Why would she leave Grandy like that? It didn't make any sense to me.

  I just had a corazonada that maybe there was more to the story about his sister. Too bad there was no way to find out.

  Chapter 7

  After being so irritated with Lauren for not being able to go to the lake house with me, now I felt mad at Beverly for somehow dying when Grandy needed her around.

  I told my mom I was going to walk around for a while. I wished I could do something for Grandy. If I weren’t so selfish I could have spent my money on that quilt for him, instead of blowing it off and buying myself the art case. Maybe I could paint something for him. Maybe a picture of him as a kid. I’d need a photo but I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of him when he was little. He probably wouldn’t have been smiling for any picture after Beverly died.