Still No Dog, but Almost a Chapter

“That sounds great, Mia,” Andy said. And it did. And for the rest of the evening, Andy felt optimistic, for the first time in a long time. Mia would save the day, find a project for him to do, provide him with all of the research and help him execute the invention itself. Dr. Gallagher loved Mia; she was the best student in the class. Maybe she could even go with him, wait outside the office for him, make him look good. He had thought about calling to ask her but decided against it. He could ask her on the way to school. It wasn’t like he was going to forget.

The next morning, when Andy woke up, he was still in a guardedly good mood. It was a warm day, a spring day, and he had a track meet after school. The only part of his day he was NOT looking forward to was his meeting with Dr. Gallagher. For once, he was showered, dressed and ready early enough to have actual breakfast, as opposed to grabbing a bagel thrust at him by one of his parents as he sprinted past them out the front door. When he entered the kitchen, however, he was taken aback when he realized that only his grandfather was seated at the table, the new table—high enough for the wheelchair to be pulled up to and then under it.

“Good morning, Andrew,” his grandfather said, in his new, shaky voice. Andy didn’t really remember his old voice, but his mother kept saying how different he sounded, how unlike how she remembered him, and Andy had started to think “new voice” every time his grandfather opened his mouth. As for the "Andrew," he didn’t take it personally. It wasn’t indicative of his grandfather’s formality, and he wasn’t trying to bug him. The truth was, Andy had realized pretty quickly, that his grandfather simply didn’t know that nobody else called him that. He hadn’t ever been around enough to find out.

Andy rummaged around in the cabinet until he found a box of cereal. Before junior high, he’d had cereal every morning. He and his dad, also a runner and an early riser who liked to jog at dawn when it was still cool, and the sidewalks clear, would sit together, as the sky lightened behind them in the kitchen window, and Andy’s mother slept.

“Hey,” he said, not rude, not friendly, just neutral. He’d decided that was going to be his tone with his grandfather. It was fitting, a reflection of how he actually felt about the man. To be totally honest, he didn’t even know him well enough to feel sorry for him. I mean, it was obvious that things weren’t good. Even if his mother hadn’t over-shared, he would have sensed this, caught a whiff of death as he passed what had been the den, would surely be the den again before too long. He had not actually seen his grandfather get out of the chair, although he knew that he could; his mother had told him so.

“School today?” his grandfather asked. Andy was surprised. Were they going to have an actual conversation? He sat across from his grandfather and stirred his cereal, drowning the dry pieces on top.

“Yup,” he answered. “Regular day.” Although of course it wasn’t. He hoped Mia had had one of her famous middle-of-the-night revelations; she kept a notebook by her bed solely for recording them. He could just see it: her sitting up in bed, reaching out for the notebook with a huge grin on her face, having just conceived of the best science project ever for him, possibly even better than his own. Well, he would know soon enough.

“Do you take the bus?” his grandfather asked, as though to a stranger, conversationally. Andy checked his watch.

“Nope. I walk. And my friend’s going to be here any second, so I’ve got to run.” He wolfed down the last few bites as his grandfather watched, in silence. He thought about picking up the bowl and slurping the rest of the milk, but thought better of it as his grandfather picked up his napkin and patted gently around his mouth. Andy noticed how thin the skin on his face was. You could almost see through it. Andy got up. “So I guess I’ll see you later,” he said, although he suspected he would not. His grandfather had requested dinner on a tray in his room the previous evening, which Andy had thought would please his mother—no change in routine—but instead had seemed to annoy her.