Timmy pedaled towards her before acknowledging her cries.
"I'm here, Mom."
Elizabeth Graco spun around, and Timmy was surprised to see that she was crying. Black mascara ran down her cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her expression was frantic and worried.
"Timmy, where were you? We've been looking all over!" His spirits sank. He was in trouble now. It appeared that his grandfather had been unsuccessful in convincing his father to let Timmy have the day off.
"II was just…"
"Come home, now. Your father's on his way to the Hanover Hospital."
Timmy's pulse accelerated. "The hospital? What happened? Is he okay?"
"It's your grandfather." She took a deep breath. "He… he had a heart attack."
"Grandpa?"
Sobbing, his mother nodded.
"What's wrong with Grandpa?"
"The paramedics think it was a heart attack," she repeated.
"Is he going to be okay?"
She began sobbing again.
"Mom? Is he all right?"
"No… He's gone, Timmy. He passed away."
Chapter Three
Dane Graco had suffered a massive heart attack just after Timmy and Doug left the house. He was dead before the paramedics arrived. Timmy' s mother had found him slumped over on the couch when she came into the living room to tell Timmy to go help his father in the garden.
Although the next morning was Sunday, the Graco's didn't go to church, the first time since winter of the previous year when they' d all had the flu. Elizabeth went to church every Sunday because she believed. Her belief was sincere. Randy went out of deferment to his wife. His belief was one of convenience. Timmy went because he wasn 't offered a choice. He didn't know what he believed yet.
For the next few days, they moped around the tooquiet house. It seemed empty without Dane Graco' s lively presence. Randy and Timmy were too stunned to do more than stare at the walls. Both cried off and on, and Elizabeth did her best to console them, trying to stay strong for her husband and son. It wasn't enough. Randy took a few days off work from the paper mill, contacted his father's friends and distant relatives, he made the funeral preparations and tried to keep busy. It wasn' t enough. Timmy stayed in his bedroom a lot, consoling himself with comic books, trying to escape his grief by escaping into stories of men in brightly colored costumes so that he wouldn ' t have to think about his own reality. It wasn 't enough.
The funeral was held the following Tuesday at the Golgotha Lutheran Church. The weather was chilly for summer. The sky was gray and overcast, and a cold light drizzle fell all morning long. It suited Timmy's mood. When he walked inside the church for the viewing, Timmy heard muted voices.
He followed his parents through the vestibule doors and into the church itself, and stopped in the doorway. He was stunned by the turnout, and for a few moments, the crowd's size took his mind off the fact that his grandfather was lying in a casket at the front of the church. Everybody was there. Barry and his parents. Clark Smeltzer appeared sober and sincere, and offered his condolences to the Gracos, shaking Timmy's hand as if nothing had happened between them the Saturday before. Timmy noticed that in addition to his new gold watch, Barry's father was also sporting an antiquelooking solid gold tie clip. Doug and his mother, Carol, who wore a skirt several inches too short and dark sunglasses to hide what were no doubt even darker circles beneath her eyes, were there, as were Bill and Kathryn Wahl, the elderly couple who lived next door to the Smeltzers. There were several distant relatives of his grandfather whom Timmy had either never met or barely recalled. He hadn 't even known his grandfather had cousins until nowhis grandfather had never mentioned them. Others in attendance included Luke Jones, who owned the farm bordering the cemetery and the Dugout, and some fellow Freemasons from his grandfather's lodge. Dane had achieved the rank of a fourthdegree mark master in life. There were friends of his grandfather 's from within the community, church members, and the LeHorn family, who attended the Brethren church in Seven Valleys. Mr. LeHorn' s father had been a good friend of Dane Graco's. Even Mr. Messinger, who ran the newsstand in town and sold the boys their comic books and cards, was on hand, looking both solemn and uncomfortable in his suit and tie. Reverend Moore was there, too, along with his wife, Sylvia, and their youngest daughter, Katie. She looked pretty. She always did in Timmy's eyes. Her flowing brown hair was hanging down over the back of her long black dress, not what she normally wore to school, or even to church. Katie was one year younger than the boys, and though she didn 't hang out with them, Timmy had started to notice her more and more often, and found himself thinking about her when she wasn' t around. Surprisingly, he also found himself attending more and more youth group functions lately, just so he could spend time with her. Timmy didn ' t see Karen, the Moore 's older daughter (whom he, Doug, and Barry had spied on from the bushes with Doug' s binoculars last summer while she was sunbathing topless). The Moores seemed sad not just solemn, but genuinely depressed, as if affected by something more than just one of their parishioner's death. Katie caught his stare, smiled, and quickly looked away. Her cheeks turned red. Timmy blushed and felt his ears begin to burn.
Spotting Timmy when he entered with his parents, Barry and Doug walked over to him, and the three boys moved to the rear corner of the church. They made small talk, each uncomfortable with mentioning why they were there.
Curious, Timmy asked them about Karen Moore 's whereabouts.
"You didn't hear?" Barry sounded surprised.
"No. What?"
"She skipped town with Pat Kemp. Nobody's seen them since Friday night. Took off together in his Nova. People are saying maybe they eloped."
"No way. Seriously?"
Doug nodded. "Reverend Moore called the cops and everything." Timmy was mildly surprised, but not shocked. Pat Kemp was about the coolest older kid they knew, and Karen had a wild reputation as the stereotypical preacher's daughter. He could easily see the two of them running off together.
"Where did they go?" he asked.
"Nobody knows for sure," Doug whispered. "California, maybe?" Timmy wondered if his friend was basing that on something he'd heard, or on his own wish fulfillment regarding his father.
Somebody sobbed loudly near the front of the church. The boys fell quiet.
"Sorry about your grandpa, man," Barry finally said, staring at the floor. Doug nodded. "Me, too. He was cool."
Timmy mumbled his thanks, and then glanced around the church for his parents. They were near the front, shaking hands with mourners. His father was dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. As he watched, the crowd parted, and Timmy got his first real glimpse of his grandfather's casket. He bit his lip, drawing blood, and his hands clenched into fists. The thing inside the coffin didn't look like the man he remembered. That man had been full of life, even in old age. He' d been funny, always smiling or telling jokes. The pale, waxy figure lying in the coffin wasn't smiling. It looked like a department store mannequin. Even his grandfather's hair was combed differently. His Freemason' s ring adorned his hand, the stone glinting under the lights. He was dressed in a suit. When had his grandfather ever worn a suit? Never, at least as far as Timmy could remember. He wore slacks and buttoned shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Even when he went to church, his grandfather had preferred sweaters to suits.
Doug sensed his friend's discomfort. "You gonna go up there? Your dad looks really upset."
"I don't want to. Guess I should, though."
His mother caught his eye and smiled sadly. Her expression alone beckoned him, a unique form of telepathy shared only by parents and their children. Reluctantly obeying the command, Timmy stood up.