He’d denied what was right out in front of his face all along, for the love of father, for pride. Well, he wasn’t going to just sit around feeling sorry for everybody, least of all himself. Tomorrow he’d get the ball rolling, work day and night to get things right.
By 11:30 the next morning, they’d moved Aldo and his belongings over to Joey’s place in Ardmore. Hell, what were cousins for, anyway? Ann Marie called in a favor, and Dr. Silverstien pulled some fast strings, getting Aldo admitted to Dunwoody. Both Jordan and Ann Marie spent the weekend soothing their daughter, giving her extra attention, playing every board game in the house, giving her full charge of the TV. She woke up sad both mornings, clamming up, absolutely refusing to discuss it. Wasn’t hard to figure out. She had “Grandpa-hangover.” Made Jordan sick. They decided not to press charges. In a way, this made Jordan sicker, but he didn’t want to drag this thing out, especially for Jenna. Move on, no wallowing.
Aldo Colella died two weeks later in the rest home lunch center, face down into a plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes. At the service Jordan refused to give a eulogy and Jenna cried her eyes out, some sort of glorious release or something, yeah, Jordan was psychoanalyzing everything nowadays and he was considering some couch time of his own. Jenna started her sessions a week later and was reported by the analyst to be rather non-communicative. Jordan said who could blame her, and there was almost a scene right there in the lobby.
Jenna missed her grandpa.
And she was still waking up each morning in tears.
Jordan pulled out the video camera. Where was the fucking cord for this thing? Where was the carry case? Where did Ann Marie hide the tripod?
Dong Night, over at the Johnsons’. Great. Maybe it would cheer Jenna up, break her out of her funk. Lord knew the therapy didn’t do squat. Jordan turned the camera over, their Canon Digital palmcorder. He’d originally wanted to buy the Panasonic, but Ann Marie had convinced him it was too bulky. He flipped open the small screen tab and turned the power knob, hoping the thing still had a charge. The screen came on electric blue, and he hit “Play” to get a point of reference. Nothing. It was at the end of the tape.
Really? Jordan turned the camera around as if there was a button he’d missed. He sighed. They’d forgotten to monitor it last month after the dancing and had left it recording all night. He hit “Rewind” and watched the little white icons spin. After what seemed a logical amount of time, he hit “Play” and saw an image, slightly tilted, of the open bay closet he was currently standing in front of, the top shelf crammed with book bags, cases of Dr. Pepper, paper towels, and the beach coolers, the main area below occupied by the fall and winter coats, for all but about a foot and a half of empty space to the left.
He hit “Rewind” without hitting off “Play,” so he could see the closet go backward in time and catch the last moment of dancing.
Something moved. On the tape. A blur right in front of the camera, and then something in the closet. Jordan stopped the tape and hit “Play.” His spine went cold and beads of sweat burst out on his forehead.
The coats were now hanging to the left, with the one and a half feet of space to the right. There was no movement, no dancing shadows, just the dull illumination off-camera from the staircase light they always left on so Jenna could easily find her way to the bathroom upstairs. It was still the middle of the night.
Jordan gasped. There on the tape, the coats moved, all by themselves, from left to right, making the foot and a half of empty space switch places.
He hit “Rewind,” then “Stop,” and then played it again. No. There was no one in the closet hiding behind the coats playing a trick; the camera had a full view to the floor, and it would have shown his or her feet. He watched the coats start
By 11:30 the next morning, they’d moved Aldo and his belongings over to Joey’s place in Ardmore. Hell, what were cousins for, anyway? Ann Marie called in a favor, and Dr. Silverstien pulled some fast strings, getting Aldo admitted to Dunwoody. Both Jordan and Ann Marie spent the weekend soothing their daughter, giving her extra attention, playing every board game in the house, giving her full charge of the TV. She woke up sad both mornings, clamming up, absolutely refusing to discuss it. Wasn’t hard to figure out. She had “Grandpa-hangover.” Made Jordan sick. They decided not to press charges. In a way, this made Jordan sicker, but he didn’t want to drag this thing out, especially for Jenna. Move on, no wallowing.
Aldo Colella died two weeks later in the rest home lunch center, face down into a plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes. At the service Jordan refused to give a eulogy and Jenna cried her eyes out, some sort of glorious release or something, yeah, Jordan was psychoanalyzing everything nowadays and he was considering some couch time of his own. Jenna started her sessions a week later and was reported by the analyst to be rather non-communicative. Jordan said who could blame her, and there was almost a scene right there in the lobby.
Jenna missed her grandpa.
And she was still waking up each morning in tears.
Jordan pulled out the video camera. Where was the fucking cord for this thing? Where was the carry case? Where did Ann Marie hide the tripod?
Dong Night, over at the Johnsons’. Great. Maybe it would cheer Jenna up, break her out of her funk. Lord knew the therapy didn’t do squat. Jordan turned the camera over, their Canon Digital palmcorder. He’d originally wanted to buy the Panasonic, but Ann Marie had convinced him it was too bulky. He flipped open the small screen tab and turned the power knob, hoping the thing still had a charge. The screen came on electric blue, and he hit “Play” to get a point of reference. Nothing. It was at the end of the tape.
Really? Jordan turned the camera around as if there was a button he’d missed. He sighed. They’d forgotten to monitor it last month after the dancing and had left it recording all night. He hit “Rewind” and watched the little white icons spin. After what seemed a logical amount of time, he hit “Play” and saw an image, slightly tilted, of the open bay closet he was currently standing in front of, the top shelf crammed with book bags, cases of Dr. Pepper, paper towels, and the beach coolers, the main area below occupied by the fall and winter coats, for all but about a foot and a half of empty space to the left.
He hit “Rewind” without hitting off “Play,” so he could see the closet go backward in time and catch the last moment of dancing.
Something moved. On the tape. A blur right in front of the camera, and then something in the closet. Jordan stopped the tape and hit “Play.” His spine went cold and beads of sweat burst out on his forehead.
The coats were now hanging to the left, with the one and a half feet of space to the right. There was no movement, no dancing shadows, just the dull illumination off-camera from the staircase light they always left on so Jenna could easily find her way to the bathroom upstairs. It was still the middle of the night.
Jordan gasped. There on the tape, the coats moved, all by themselves, from left to right, making the foot and a half of empty space switch places.
He hit “Rewind,” then “Stop,” and then played it again. No. There was no one in the closet hiding behind the coats playing a trick; the camera had a full view to the floor, and it would have shown his or her feet. He watched the coats start
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