Chapter Twenty-Six
I see my grandpa as soon as I enter the garden. It is a small area, sheltered by trees on one side and open to the grass and flowers on the other three. Under the shade of one of the trees, my grandpa sits calmly on a wooden bench. Letting go of Tanner completely, I walk over to the bench and take the seat next to him. Tanner steps back, giving us our privacy and waiting with Father Margulies.
“Did you get a little sleep?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa, I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. I should have been helping you. I’ve just been so tired since all of this started.” Maybe at least after I am dead I might get a little rest.
Wrapping his weathered arm around me, he pulls me close to his chest. “No, it’s good you got some rest. You may need it before the end.”
“Grandpa, there’s nothing left. I know you want to believe you can change what will happen, but you just can’t,” I say. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What, Arra?”
“Promise that won’t let dad store my memory away like I never existed like he did with Katie. Not for me, but for him. Keeping Katie’s death so close to his heart is tearing him up. I don’t want him to hurt himself like that,” I ask.
“I’ll make sure you are remembered, my sweet girl,” he says with tears in his eyes. He strokes my hair for a few seconds before asking, “Did you tell your parents where you were going this morning?”
“I left a note,” I say quietly. “I told them I was going over to your house and that we were going to visit a friend of yours. It’s not much of a goodbye, is it?”
“I still have hope that goodbye won’t be necessary.”
“I almost stayed,” I say, “I wanted to have a few more hours with them, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to put them through that, watching me die, especially not Dad. I can’t do that to him.” I look at my grandpa with guilt in my eyes. I’ve thought so much about protecting my dad from all of this, he seems to need it so badly, but how much have I thought of my grandpa? “I don’t want to do this to you either, Grandpa. You’ve already lost so much. I feel so selfish expecting you to go through it all again. I just don’t think I can do it alone.”
He dries my tears with his fingers, brushing them away as fast as they can fall.
“Did you really have some kind of plan?” I ask.
His shoulders sag. He shakes his head slowly. “I’m still trying to come up with one, honey, but promise I won’t leave you alone for a minute. I have had more than twenty years to figure out what to do. I won’t lie and say I’ve figured everything out, but I’m not going into this blindly either. Just don’t let go,” he says, grasping my hand tightly.
His tone is so calm and sure. He admits he doesn’t have a plan, but there is something he hasn’t told me. I wonder what he is still holding back. “How did you know what ceremony to ask Mr. Gadner about?” I ask.
His face and voice are calm, but he grips my hand so tightly it starts to hurt. “I went through all of this after Katie died. I knew then that the stories were real. I went to South America for a few weeks to see some of my family, others who knew the curse was real. I needed to hear the stories from someone closer to the source. Women are usually the story keepers in families, but not ours.
“My great uncle was bedridden from illness and age, but when he heard why I was there, he summoned me to his sick bed. He told me a secret he had never told another soul, not even his wife. When his daughter died, like Katie and Maera did, he was right next to her. They were tending their goats together out in the fields when she suddenly started screaming. He said she leapt up and ran as fast as she could. He barely caught up to her before it happened.
“He grabbed her arm to stop her, and suddenly they weren’t in the fields anymore. They stood, both of them, on top of an ancient temple.” My grandpa struggles to control his emotions. “He was taken with her, but he couldn’t do anything to save her. They held him and forced him to watch his own daughter die. After that, he knew every detail of the ceremony. It wasn’t hard for him to find his answers then.
“He was so stunned. He had no idea how to help his daughter. Like me he didn’t believe the stories until it was too late. I don’t know that I can be any more successful than my great uncle was, but I will try. I have spent so many years searching for answers. They won’t take you from me, Arra, I promise,” he says, his calmness returned. He smiles down at me. “Just don’t let go of my hand.”
“I won’t, Grandpa,” I say, my eyes closing. He is scared, I know that, but I have a plan even if he doesn’t. This isn’t just about me anymore.
I know my grandpa still harbors the idea of something working. He might have some inklings of a plan, but I know why he won’t tell me what it is. He’s afraid it won’t work. I tell myself it’s okay, though, because every minute convinces me more than I am right. I hugg my grandpa even more tightly, thankful he is willing to stick by me.
Sitting quietly on the bench, we watch the flowers blow in the breeze, neither of us speaking. Tanner and Father Margulies stand watch as well. Tanner’s looks ready to run to my side, but Father Margulies holds him by the arm. I guess that might have something to do with the story my grandpa just told me.
The four of us wait together for what we know must come. The morning breeze stirs the leaves above our heads. The sun inches its way up the sky. We hardly breathe. I know it is insane to simply sit and wait for my death-bringers to arrive, but I can’t bring myself to move from my grandpa’s side. Ice cream truck music drifts through the air, drawing my attention to the nearby road.
Expecting brightly arrayed colors plastered on the side of a truck, my eyes widen as I see a dark skinned trio of men slowly marching toward me. My body stiffens. Clutching my grandpa, I cry out. Tanner struggles against Father Margulies, but the priest holds him tight.
“Arra, what do you see?” My grandpa’s voice trembles. He pulls me closer to his chest. “Who’s coming?”
“Three men,” I say breathlessly. “They’re dressed like the men in the dream. What do we do, Grandpa? They’re coming closer.”
“I…I don’t know. Running won’t do any good.”
Our eyes meet, both wild with terror. My face hardens and my shaking stills. “Well, I’m not just going to sit here and waited for them to come get me. Get up,” I say. Eyes on the approaching men, we stand together. I want to bolt into the trees, but I force myself to stand my ground.
“Arra, you can’t run from them. You’ll only waste your strength, something I don’t think you should do,” he says firmly. His grip tightens on my hand, keeping me in place, though he doesn’t need to.
“I’m not going to run. I just want to meet them face to face before they take me.” My calm visage threatens to collapse as they move closer. Shivers ripple through my body. My knees are on the verge of buckling and Tanner is trying to tear himself away from the priest. “They’re almost here,” I whisper.
“Be strong, Arra. We’ll get through this. Trust me,” he pleads. His gaze trying to be calm and sure, but he is not quite successful. I doubt he will come up with some other solution to save me, but the strength in his eyes holds me and comforts me in a way I didn’t expect.
“I’m ready,” I squeak, steeling myself.
Suddenly, and without warning, the men are in front of me and my grandpa. Their speedy approach doesn’t so much as stir the air. Still unable to see the men, my grandpa seems to be able to feel their presence. The air feels as though it thickens around us, noises ceased. I have the impression I have been wrapped in a bubble and suspended in time.
The man leading the group leans close to me, but does not touch my body. Piercing eyes gaze into me, seeing through my outward appearance. He seems to take pleasure in assessing his prey. An appreciative look settles on his features.
I pull closer to my grandpa. What is this man doing? I wonder why he doesn’t just take me wherever we need to go.
The
man glances at his companions. Each nods in agreement. The leader extends his hand, waiting for me to accept it.
Looking at my grandpa, I see his bewildered expression and remember that he can see nothing of what is happening. I don’t want to take the man’s hand, but I know I must. This is at least more bearable than screaming through the streets in terror. Slowly, my own hand extends. The tips of my fingers brush the smooth skin of the Aztec warrior’s hand, and the world slides away.