Return to Sender: Parts 3–4

The moon is on the wane, but it’s still a pie with half its pieces left, so there is enough light to watch her by.

Her voice is coming from one of a warren of little rooms that form the upstairs part of the house, which she hardly ever uses anymore.

The stairs have gotten to be too much for her arthritis. In fact, Grandma has moved her bedroom downstairs to what used to be the sewing room, so it’s surprising that she has ventured upstairs.

But Grandma said that with her shaky hands she was liable to cut off a finger carving a grin in one of those small pumpkins.

On top are trinkets that Tyler recognizes as belonging to Gramps. Several of his grandfather’s favorite fishing lures are lined up by his John Deere cap, as well as his army medal and a pipe he stopped smoking but would still stick in his mouth from time to time.

In the middle of this array, sitting on the big family Bible, is the framed picture of Gramps taken only last year, when he turned seventy-six.

Tyler feels a flush of gratitude but also shame, thinking about his own behavior toward them.

Grandma suddenly looks bereft, like she might be losing Gramps all over again.

Tyler can’t help feeling remorse. He has been avoiding Grandma’s house so as not to bump into the Mexicans.

But every clear night, I continue to go out, and though the shooting stars have diminished, you always send down one or two to let me know you are still watching over us.

As for Ofie, willful as she is, she has a tender heart.

As for Ofie, willful as she is, she has a tender heart.

As for us, no matter how much we explained the American tradition, my sisters and I were not permitted to go around begging for treats. “That is a lack of respect,” Mamá explained. “With so many beggars who really need alms!”

By now, Luby was sobbing hysterically, so Tío Felipe carried her to our back bedroom, where she would not be heard.

“And thank you, dear Lord, for all the many blessings you have bestowed upon us,” Grandma prays before the Thanksgiving meal.

This is going to be the first Thanksgiving without Gramps, so they’re all poised for a lot of tears.

According to Aunt Jeanne, the family should intervene and insist that Grandma either come live with one of them or go into an assisted-living facility.

Dad is unsure, worried about his mother but inclined to agree with his brother that if something ain’t broke, you don’t fix it.

One thing Tyler knows for sure: if giving up the family farm would’ve killed his dad, moving Grandma out of her beloved homestead will kill her even quicker, sad and old as she is.

Tyler heads for the front room, where Ben and his dad and uncle and boy cousins are all watching the football game. During a lull, Uncle Larry starts telling Dad how a pal in the sheriff’s department dropped by to let him know that things are heating up for Mexicans in the area.

“You and Larry, two peas in a pod,” Aunt Vicky likes to say. Turns out Uncle Larry reads his weekly Valley Voice down to the classifieds. Every time Aunt Vicky says so, Uncle Byron’s distinguished-professor eyebrows arch ever so slightly at the comparison.

He’s hoping that if there has been a vote, two sons and daughters-in-law can prevail against Aunt Jeanne.

“I think that maybe it’s our mother,” she says haltingly.

Tyler notices just the teensiest hesitation—unlike her instant vehement assertion in the loft a few months back—before she replies, “Yes, our mother is alive.”

The two little Marías are jumping up and down ecstatically.

In fact, all three Marías have the same stricken look on their faces, as if they have just heard that their mother has vanished without a trace.

“He is not culpable,” my father tells Mrs. Paquette. Who can blame a young man for wanting a little fun?

And then she looked over our shoulders and saw the blankets strewn all around the living room floor. “What’s going on? Are you having a slumber party?”

“I’m going to miss you girls so much!” Grandma said fervently.

They walked all around, calling and calling “Ma! Ma!” just like the baby calves do when they are weaned from their mothers. It made me sad because I understood what it felt like to be missing your mother.