Dovetail(4)

Three weeks later, the birth certificate had arrived. When she opened the envelope, she regarded it with amazement. Her grandson, Joseph Allan Arneson, son of her son, William John Arneson. She counted backward; the current year, 1983, minus Joe’s birthdate meant he was twenty-two, nearly twenty-three. For more than two decades, he’d been alive and she’d never set eyes on him. Well, that was about to change. After being disconnected from family for so long, it was good to have confirmation that she really did have people. Right in her hand, she held the legal documents that proved the generational flow, mother to son, and then from that son to his son, her grandson. The fact that she’d never met Joe was beside the point. He was blood, and she needed him. Selfish? Maybe a little, but she was too old and too tired to dwell on such thoughts. If the boy didn’t want to go with her, that would be her answer, and a disappointing answer it would be too, but she had to try. She’d had no luck with his father; perhaps the son would be more open.

When Joe walked confidently into the lobby, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, it all came together. Her plan was working, everything falling into place. She grinned at the sight of him, not even caring if she looked like a dotty old lady, leaning forward on her walker. She hadn’t been prepared for him to look like such an adult. He could have passed for much older than his age. He was a handsome man, reminiscent in appearance of both her husband and her uncles on her mother’s side. Something else was familiar about him too, the way he walked, the half smile he gave her in return to her own, like he wasn’t sure what game was being played but he was happy to go along with it. He didn’t look like he belonged in a mental hospital, that was for sure.

Dr. Jensen spoke first. “Joe, I was explaining to your grandmother that this is an inopportune time for you to be leaving treatment. I feel—and I think you do too—that we are on the cusp of a breakthrough. If you can assure your grandmother that you’re fine, perhaps she can come back tomorrow during visiting hours. That will give us all time to think this through.”

Pearl moved the walker aside and took a step forward. “Come here, you,” she said to Joe, her arms extended. “Give your old granny a hug.” He walked into her arms and leaned in for an embrace. She whispered, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” When they pulled apart, he nodded in agreement.

“The risk of leaving now,” Dr. Jensen said, appealing to Howard, as if he had any say in the matter, “is that all of Joe’s progress could become undone. It would be a shame for that to happen, after all the hard work he’s done in therapy.” His tone was sincere, but Pearl wasn’t having any of it. From the looks of the boy, he wasn’t buying it either.

Howard, always agreeable, nodded gravely, the wobbly skin below his chin betraying his age. Most of the time, Howard looked the same as he ever did to Pearl. It was only when going through old photos that Pearl was forced to admit that time had done a number on both of them. Sometimes she couldn’t believe how the years had ravaged her. She stared in the mirror in the morning, wondering how in the world she’d gotten so old. Luckily, nature had chipped away at her eyesight while simultaneously stealing her former beauty, the only blessing in the whole process.

Pearl cleared her throat and said, “I think that’s a risk Joe is willing to take. Am I right?”

“Absolutely. I’ve been wanting to leave for weeks.” Joe boosted the duffel bag higher over his shoulder. A sign of readiness. She was glad to hear that his voice was strong. No hesitation, no reluctance to go against the wishes of the so-called professional. His father had always been a bit weak, too worried about what other people thought. She could tell already that Joe was able to make a stand.

“I think it’s a mistake,” Dr. Jensen said, his voice louder, “and I know the boy’s parents would agree.”

“Not a boy,” Joe said, objecting. “I’m legally an adult. So it’s not up to them.”

“Do you have everything?” Pearl asked her grandson. The duffel bag hardly looked sufficient, but what did she know? She was an old lady who’d acquired a lifetime of things. Young people just starting out hadn’t yet gotten a chance to be burdened with so much stuff, most of it not necessary, and some of it painful reminders of the past.

He nodded.

“Well, then, there’s no need to tarry. Let’s go.” This last bit was directed at Howard, who was shaking the doctor’s hand as if this were a social call and not a rescue mission. “Howard!” It came out like a reprimand, but Howard was so used to her ways, he didn’t mind. He was a good egg.

When they got to the double front doors, the woman at the desk called out, “Goodbye, Joe. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t look back. The sound of a buzzer accompanied the release of the front doors. Howard, always the gentleman, held the door for her, then Joe did the same for Howard, deferring to the older man’s age and the use of his cane. Her grandson had manners, then, always a good thing.

As they walked to the parking lot, Joe let out an audible sigh. They were almost to the car when he stopped and held up a hand. “I’m sorry to tell you this,” he said, “but I think there’s been some mistake.” A lone unseen bird chirped off in the distance.

“Oh?” Pearl leaned against the car, her bulky purse hanging from the crook of her arm. “Did you forget something?”