When Did We Lose Harriet? Read Online Free Page A

clinging like she’d never let go.
    I nearly melted in a puddle of tears right then and there. Since Mama and Daddy died, nobody but Jake and Glenna calls me “Clah-ra”—which was all Jake could make of “MacLaren” when he was a baby.
    “How is he?” I asked. I couldn’t catch a breath while I waited for her answer. So much could have happened in those hours I’d been on the plane.
    She averted her head. “Not good, honey.” Her voice trembled. “The doctor says he needs bypass surgery, but Jake won’t agree. I hope you can persuade him.”
    I gave my nose a hearty blow. “Durn tootin’.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. I saw I was not only going to have to make Jake get his surgery, I was going to have to prop up Glenna at the same time.
    “Can I see him tonight?” I asked.
    She checked her watch. “It’s way past the last visitation, but I told them you were coming and they said they’ll let you in for a minute—if you aren’t too tired.”
    “I’m a walking zombie, but I won’t sleep until I’ve seen him. Let’s stop by to say hello, then go on home.”
    As we left the fresh cool air of the airport, I knew I was in Alabama. The night was so hot and thick I could have shaped it in my hands like cotton candy.
    Glenna pulled into the hospital parking lot and turned deftly into a waiting space. One of her many grace gifts is that she always gets a convenient parking placewhen she needs one. In emergencies, I have even gotten a couple myself by chanting, “I am Glenna Crane, I am Glenna Crane.”
    In the cardiac intensive care unit Jake was pale, with tubes everywhere and more monitors than NASA. I saw at once why Glenna looked the way she did. The spunk had gone out of old Jake. What little hair he had left was lifeless and dry, his skin was a peculiar ashy gray, and even his voice was a wisp of its usual boom. “Well, Clara, how’s this for a way to get you to visit?”
    I had to clear my throat before I could answer. I even almost said something polite before I caught myself. If I talked nice, Jake would think he was dying. “Effective, Bubba, but not one I’d recommend. How do you feel?”
    “Like an old tire retread. How do you feel?”
    “Like somebody who’s been on planes all day because her baby brother’s being ornery.” I sat down beside him and took his hand. “Glenna says you need a bypass.”
    He chuckled weakly. “Not wasting any time, are you?”
    “Nope. Why are you?”
    “Fundamental chickenism. Besides, I’m not sure that’s what I ought to do. I’ve lived a good life…” He had to stop to cough. His monitors jumped around like crazy.
    I wasn’t about to stay and upset him right then. “We’ll talk some more tomorrow. I’m too tired to argue right now.”
    “How long you gonna be here?”
    “Until you get your bypass and get back home.”
    “I’ll think about it.”
    “You’d better,” I warned, in the tone I used when he was four and I was allowed to switch him if he disobeyed. “Now get yourself a good night’s sleep. I’ll get you straightened out tomorrow.”
    Glenna, who had waited by the door, tiptoed in and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be back after I get Clara settled.”
    He shook his head. “You don’t need to come back, honey. I’ll be fine.”
    “I’m not coming just for you, Jake. I’m coming for me. I’ll rest better knowing I’m here.” She straightened his covers and touched his shoulder in farewell, then motioned me to follow her out.
    One of the very few things Jake and Glenna don’t agree on is automobiles. To Glenna, a car is transportation. Once she gets one she likes, she hangs onto it for years and gives it just enough maintenance to keep it running. Her current blue Ford was rump sprung and dented, and my suitcases shared the trunk with two bags of clothes she was taking to a homeless shelter and three bags of sanitized cow manure she’d bought for her flowers.
    Jake, on the other hand, has