FOLLOWING GRANDPA JESS

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PRAISE FOR FOLLOWING GRANDPA JESS:

“A big part of the appeal of this book is its down-to-earth approach to family life. The writing is excellent and engaging without being sappy or over-the top. Each character is a piece of the familial puzzle which, even at best, may not fit together perfectly, but those whose greater purpose is brought into better focus with a lot of love, honesty, and introspection. I recommend this heartwarming, emotional story to everyone who wants a good, thoughtful read, one which also reminds us of the importance of family love.”

—LENA GREY, RAINBOW BOOK REVIEWS

“Not just a good gay love story, but also a wonderful tale about the bonds of family and the struggles that come with the aging and death of grandparents. Looking forward to more work by this very talented author.”

—Dovahkiin, AMAZON REVIEW

“While it’s a sweet and funny story, it’s also a mature story, with the characters learning and growing throughout the book. My description isn’t really doing the book justice, just buy it – it’s a wonderful read.

—DW, AMAZON REVIEW

“I really enjoyed this story. Funny, sad, sweet, a combination that works wonderfully. You just fall in love with the characters.
On my list as one of the best releases this year.”

​—FANIE, AMAZON REVIEW

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EXCERPT:

           Second grade, 1997. You know the scene: Tidy little room with ugly brown carpeting, miniature desks full of miniature people waving their arms in the air, pretty lady at the front of the room holding a piece of chalk and looking for someone to call on. Finally, she smiles and points to an undersized kid in the second row.
            Even at age seven and a half, it’s pretty easy to tell he’s headed for social ostracism and general mockery. His hair is dirty blond and kind of stringy, hanging down to his shoulders, and even through all that hair, his ears stick out like round little hills from the sides of his head. His front teeth are oversized and crooked, and although he’s not a bad looking little kid, there’s a delicate quality to his features that puts him more in the realm of “pretty” than “handsome.” Not that anybody can really be called handsome at age seven, but you get the idea. The deck is kind of stacked against the poor kid already, and when the teacher calls on him and he gets eagerly to his feet, it only gets worse.
            “When I grow up,” he says in a proud rush, reading the words off a piece of notebook paper he’s got clutched in both hands, “I want to be a mailman because I really like getting mail so I think it’d be fun to give mail to other people and be a mailman so that’s what I want to be.”
            Silence fills the room. Then, finally, there’s a giggle from one of the girls in the back, echoed by a few others, then a few more. The teacher gets things moving along before the full-out mockery can begin, thanking him for his answer and asking for another volunteer, but the damage is done, and the kid sits down looking hurt and kind of puzzled. As the rest of the class members come out with their occupational dreams, though—doctor, teacher, lawyer, scientist—he starts to get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the other kids were laughing because they thought his answer was dumb. It could just possibly be that they don’t think being a mailman is cool at all, and in fact, maybe they think it’s kind of a stupid thing to want to be.
            When he gets home that night he asks his grandmother, because she’s the only adult he knows who always tells him the truth, even when it makes him cry.
            “Grandma,” he says, tugging on her sleeve while she’s guessing at Jeopardy answers and thus not really in a mood to be bothered, “is it bad to be a mailman?”
            “Who is Mark Twain!” she barks at the TV. “Who is Mark Twain!“
            “Who is Theodore Roosevelt?” a tinny voice from the TV answers.
            He tries again. “Grandma.”
            She says a few words he’s not supposed to know, then finally turns to him when a shampoo commercial comes on. Her eyes focus on him with a bit of surprise, like she wasn’t sure up until now just who it was tugging on her lacy sleeve and calling her ‘Grandma.’ She gives him an indulgent—but rather dry—smile. “Oh, it’s you. What is it?”
            “Is it bad to be a mailman?”
            “What?”
            He rolls his eyes and explains quickly. “Today at school Miss Daniels made us write about what we want to be when we grow up and I said I want to be a mailman and everybody laughed and so I wondered if it’s bad to be a mailman. Is it?”
            She blinks at him for a second, then throws back her head and laughs. “Oh, darling, why would you want to be a mailman?”
            “Because I like getting letters and stuff, and so I thought—”
            “Precious, you wouldn’t be getting letters if you were a mailman. You would be giving them to other people.”
            “I know that,” he says impatiently, “but then I’d be making them happy like it makes me happy when I get mail.”
            “Oh, it’s different when you’re older,” she sighs, leaning back against the couch cushions with one veiny hand over her eyes. “Mail is all about bills and sales papers, and it brings joy to no one. Trust me, darling, pick a different career. One with a better uniform, preferably.”
            He goes away with his lower lip trembling and stomps upstairs, wanting to slam his bedroom door but knowing he’ll get in trouble if he does, as it’ll probably wake the baby. So he closes it quietly, then stomps around some more and finally throws himself onto his bed, where he proceeds to pummel his fists into the cheerful faces of all the stuffed animals lined up on his pillow. He ends up kicking them all onto the floor, then has to brush them off and kiss them and apologize a few minutes later when he starts feeling guilty for taking his mailman-related anger out on them.
            Finally, lying on his back with his arms folded behind his head, he stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and swears to himself that he will be a mailman, no matter what anybody else says. It’s his dream, and he knows he’ll be happy doing it, because what’s better than getting mail? Nothing, except maybe being the guy who brings that mail. Just thinking about riding around on his bike with a bag full of letters and packages makes him want to start bouncing up and down in excitement, and he knows that nothing else in the world could be better than that.
            He falls asleep with his arms crushed around as many of the stuffed animals as he can reach, still smiling at the bright visions of the future. It’s kind of like being Santa Claus, being a mailman, except you don’t have to be fat or live somewhere cold. Bringing people happiness… It’s perfect, and even though he knows now that it’ll have to be his own secret dream that he shares with no one, it’s still going to be his dream. He’s going to hold on to it forever and never, ever change his mind, and by the time he’s out of school, he’ll be a mailman. He’s sure of it.

*****
​
             “You really think she’ll go for this?”
            I turned to AJ, who was leaning against the car door, arms folded over his chest so his biceps looked all bulging and impressive. “No, not really,” I said. “She’ll probably start swearing and throw stuff at us.”
            Thomas, our perpetually scrawny sixteen-year-old brother, gave me an eager grin. “Want me to wait in the car with the motor running? You know, in case things get ugly and we have to make a break for it?”
            “Thanks,” I said dryly, “but I think we’ll manage. Besides—” I reached out and caught his skinny neck in a headlock. “—you’re coming in with us.”
            “I am?”
            “You’re our shield,” AJ said. “You know Grandma’d never throw anything at wittle Tommy.”
            Thomas gave a knowing nod—not so easy to do while still in a headlock, even a somewhat wussy one like mine. “Emotional manipulation. Got it.”
“Not just that,” I said, releasing him. “You’re the one she might actually be willing to listen to. You’ve got that whole underfed puppy look going on. Who could resist?”
            “Every girl in my school?”
            “Really? Girls don’t go for that?”
            “Oh, they think I’m cute,” Thomas rushed to assure me. “They just usually would rather feed me and tell me I’m adorable than actually go out with me.”
            “Damn. Well, if you ever need any tips…”
            AJ cleared his throat, lifting his chin a bit so his manly, chiseled profile was more visible.
            “Go to the old married man,” I said. “He was a man-slut in high school, and I’m sure he’d be glad to give you some lessons for a very reasonable price.”
            “Hey!” AJ protested, thudding his oversized fist–ow—into my shoulder. “I was popular. Not a man-slut. And what do you know about girls, anyway? You went on one date in high school, and Mom set it up.”
            I flinched, having a sudden, terrifying image of buck-toothed Sally Claremont as she stood, forever immortalized, in our Junior Prom photo: orange taffeta dress with the shoulder pads of a linebacker, blonde hair teased and blow-dried into an up-do a Chia Pet would’ve envied, one skeletal wrist weighed down by the corsage my mom had insisted I give her. And me, cringing beside Sally in my oversized blue tux, trying to lean as far away as possible from the choking odor of what was probably perfume but smelled more like bug spray.
            I shuddered and wrenched myself back to the present. “My dating record has got nothing to do with it. Yeah, maybe I never had a girlfriend, but I was friends with tons of girls. I learned a hell of a lot more from that than you did from four years of tongue-jousting behind the bleachers, little brother.”
            AJ loomed over me, his head blotting out the sunlight like a very manly, pissed off eclipse. “Who’s little?” he asked in a growl. “And the point, big brother, is that I went behind the bleachers with girls. If Thomas listens to you, he’ll probably end up braiding their hair and taking Cosmo quizzes with them instead of actually going out with them.”
            “Hey, I never braided anyone’s—” I began, but broke off as Thomas took hold of my arm.
            “Grandma,” he said.
            My brain, still caught up in the task of trading adolescent insults with AJ, spent a second pondering this alien word. “What?”
            “Grandma,” Thomas said again, and when I looked at him, I found his eyes fixed on something just beyond my left shoulder—and up.
            I spun around. The house looked the same as it always did, a stately old structure with faded blue paint and a slightly slanted roof hanging over the porch. Except now there was someone on that roof, crawling out backwards through a second floor window wearing a blue nightgown and bright red stockings.
            “Shit,” AJ said.
            “Shit,” I agreed.
            The three of us took off for the house, sneakers skidding on the gravel of the driveway. “AJ,” I called over my shoulder, “stay down here in case she falls and try to…I don’t know, catch her or something!”
            AJ nodded like this wasn’t a painfully stupid plan and took up a position near the porch. Just above him, Grandma was sliding the window closed and lowering herself creakily to a sitting position on the tiles.
            “Thomas, stay down here and try to talk to her!”
            Thomas gave me a quick thumbs-up and skidded to a halt near AJ. “Hey, Grandma,” he called up to her, “can you see the 7-Eleven from up there?”
            “Oh, Tommy, not now,” I heard Grandma reply impatiently, as I barged in through her front door. “I’m busy.”
            The inside of the house was its usual tidy self, at least, which meant less for me to trip over. Still, with my usual grace, I managed to catch my foot on the carpet, then on one of the stairs, and then crashed into the small table in the upstairs hall and knocked over a vase of flowers. As I was a little preoccupied with the whole Grandma On the Roof thing, though, I ignored the shattered porcelain and charged into Grandma’s bedroom, meeting a wave of dry, too-warm air as I opened the door.
            It was like a sudden descent into the Sahara; the heat must’ve been cranked up to at least a hundred degrees. Then again, Grandma’d never been happy unless it was warm enough to fry an egg on her dresser.
            Trying to ignore the way the air shimmered in front of me, I hurried inside and made my way over to the window. By that time, I could hear Grandma’s voice from outside, presumably talking to Thomas again.
            “–Yes, I can see the hardware store from here, now be quiet! This is very important! Oh, damn it all, now I’ve lost track of where I was…”
            Wrenching the window open ended up taking most of my arm strength—sadly, I had more in common with Thomas in the muscle department than AJ—but I finally managed it, and started to crawl carefully out onto the roof. Grandma heard the noise, of course, and turned around with an irritated look.
            “Oh, for God’s sake, Jessie; you, too? Is the whole family here? Shall I come downstairs and make a roast?”
            That last was sarcasm and not insanity, thankfully.
            “Grandma, what are you doing up here?”
            “Never mind what I’m doing up here; what are you doing up here? You’ll fall and kill yourself, and then what will your brothers do, hm? You should be more considerate.”
            “Grandma, come inside.” I fumbled mentally for some incentive. “Um…Jeopardy’s on?”
            “Don’t be silly. Jeopardy doesn’t come on until five-thirty. Now be quiet and go back inside. I’ve got work to do.”
            “What work? You’re sitting on the porch roof in your nightgown.”
            “I am concentrating,” she said scathingly. “The book said to get as comfortable as I could be, so I’m in my most comfortable ensemble. Stop bothering me. You’re just prolonging this, you know. If you hadn’t interrupted me, I’d be back inside by now.”
            “Or you’d be a Grandma pancake on the driveway. Please, just come inside. You’re, um…you’re really worrying Thomas.”
            Unfortunately, Thomas chose this moment to crawl out onto the roof through the bathroom window, smiling a little and not looking at all worried. And instead of staying by the relative safety of the window like a sane person—like I was doing—he went right out onto the slippery shingles and started making his way over to Grandma.
            I made a grab for his sleeve when he passed me but missed, and had to settle for hissing after him from my place at the window. “Thomas! Get back here!”
            He sent a quick don’t worry wave in my direction and settled down beside Grandma on the roof tiles, slinging one skinny arm over her shoulders as he sat down. I started inching out to follow him, but one glance at the fifteen foot drop and a rush of irresistible dizziness swept over me; I clung to the window frame and squeezed my eyes shut until it passed.
            Meanwhile, Thomas murmured something to Grandma that I couldn’t make out, then chuckled a little, and I heard Grandma say, “Yes, well, I’m sure he means well, but you’d think he could take a hint and leave me be when I ask.”
            More murmuring. I leaned forward as much as I dared, clinging to the windowsill with the tips of my fingers and keeping my eyes away from the drop, but still couldn’t pick up more than a word or two. Note to self: Get over crippling fear of heights so as to be more useful in situations of elderly relatives marooning themselves on porch roofs.
            “Oh, fine,” Grandma sighed, and as I watched in shock, she and Thomas got carefully to their feet and began to shuffle their way back to the window.
            The kid was a freaking Jedi or something; there was no other explanation.
            I barely had time to haul myself back inside before they reached me, and then Grandma was stepping regally in through the open window while Thomas kept a gentle hold on her arm. Once she was in, I got a good grip on Thomas’s T-shirt sleeve to prevent any last-minute disasters, and then finally we were all safely inside again.
            By the time I’d gotten the window shut and locked, AJ was standing in the doorway looking stern (and probably a little relieved that he hadn’t had to cushion anyone’s fall with his big muscly body), and Grandma had settled herself primly on the edge of her bed, hands folded neatly in her lap and legs crossed at the ankle. Despite the whole blue nightgown / red stockings thing, she looked like a queen about to receive requests and tribute from the humble villagers.
            Meanwhile, my heart was still pounding from the whole ordeal, and now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, I was receiving some pretty urgent messages from my feet, reminding me that I’d stubbed my toes approximately seven thousand times during my mad dash upstairs. Ow.
            Letting out a shaky, somewhat calming breath, I sat down on top of a nearby hope chest. “Grandma, what were you—”
            “That’s an antique,” Grandma said crisply.
            I stood up, trying to keep the weight off my big toes, and tried again. “What were you doing out there?”
            Grandma lifted her eyebrows regally and looked at the nearest wall. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, but I was attempting to commune with the spirits.”
            Ho-boy. “The spirits?”
            “Yes. More specifically, the spirit of your late grandfather. Not that I had any measure of success, seeing as the three of you insisted on interrupting me.”
            AJ, who was by the door doing his body-builder impersonation again, tilted his head a little and gave her a confused look. “But…why on the roof?”
            My question would’ve been, Why at ALL? but as AJ’s was slightly more tactful, I kept my mouth shut.
            “If you must know, I’ve been doing some reading on the subject, and the text’s suggestion was that in order to commune properly with the subject you’re attempting to reach, it’s best to be somewhere high and open to the sky.”
            “That makes sense,” Thomas said.
            “No, it doesn’t,” I told him in an irritated undertone. I turned back to Grandma. “Look, assuming that this book actually knows what it’s talking about, why the roof? Why not, I don’t know, go find a hill somewhere or something?”
            Grandma looked scandalized. “And sit on the filthy ground? You must be joking.”
            “Maybe if you had a lawn chair or something,” Thomas said.
            “Whatever the case, just please, please, don’t go out there again.”
            “I certainly won’t while the three of you are around,” Grandma muttered.
            “Don’t do it at all. Look, Grandma, the reason we’re here in the first place is because…” I glanced over at AJ for back-up, but found him staring intently at one of the paintings on Grandma’s wall, studying the artwork with the kind of intense interest that only emerges when the alternative is having a really uncomfortable conversation.
            “We’re here,” I went on, “because we’re all worried about you. Mom and Dad especially.”
            Grandma’s eyes narrowed. “Did they send you here? It won’t work, you know. I’ve told them I’m not leaving this house, and I meant it.”
            “They didn’t send us.” And then, because she’d always been honest with me, even when I’d kind of wished she hadn’t been, I said the rest. “But they’re serious about selling the house. They’ve met with real estate agents and everything. Mom wants you to move in with them, but if you keep refusing…they’re talking about assisted living.”
            “Assisted living?” She looked a little alarmed for the first time. “You’re joking.”
            “I’m not. They’re serious about it. They’re talking about getting things underway in the next couple of weeks if you don’t come around.”
            There was a moment of stunned silence. “This is ridiculous,” Grandma said at last, the words trembling just audibly. “I won’t be treated like this. I’m an adult.”
            “It’s a big house,” AJ said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You’ve been having knee trouble, and if you slip and fall…”
            “I’m not quite so graceless as that, thank you.”
            “But what if you do?” I persisted, and tried to ignore the fact that I felt like a complete asshole for doing this to her. “There’s no one here who could help you, and you could end up on crutches, or in a wheelchair… It’s dangerous to live alone.”
            “We’re not doing this to be mean,” Thomas said, sitting gingerly down beside her and leaning his head against her shoulder. “We’re all just worried about you. And we don’t want to see you end up in a home. Please, just come live with Mom and Dad and me. Please?”
            AJ and I stared at the two of them, me at least hardly daring to breathe. Thomas was unquestionably Grandma’s favorite, the one she spoiled and let get away with pretty much anything, but I still couldn’t quite see her agreeing to give up her house just because her little Tommy had said “please.”
            Grandma, meanwhile, didn’t say anything for a long time. She just sat there staring down at the carpet, her face proud and stern. But as the seconds ticked by, I noticed something soft and a little sad creeping into her expression, something I’d never really seen there before.
            “Yes,” she said at last, very quietly, “well. I’ll think about it.” She gave me an accusing stare. “You’ll all just keep pestering me until I do at least that, I suppose.”
            Which was probably true.
            “That’s what family’s for,” I said.