Dearly Departing

Ray staggered outside and sat heavily onto a bench planted between cement pillars in front of the resort. Much better, he thought. There were a few people milling around, waiting for buses and hailing taxis, but it was nothing like the bar. He breathed in the cool evening air and closed his eyes. His head started to spin, and Ray waited patiently for the feeling to subside.
He heard a jet plane somewhere above in the dark. Arriving or departing, he didn’t know which. It reminded him again of another jet from his past.
Ray leaned back against the bench and remembered.

 
 
 
 
Chapter 2
 
1980
Raymond lay back on the grass and tossed his toy up into the air.  He watched it waft back down. The little man’s parachute deployed efficiently enough, as it had on the last six throws, and the toy returned to Raymond’s waiting hands. He studied the three-inch-tall soldier between his fingers and untangled the pieces of thread glued to its shoulders. Raymond folded the tissue-thin paper of the parachute the strings were attached to—just as the instructions had said—and tossed the toy back into the sky.
Raymond was ten years old, but he was wise enough to appreciate the ingenuity of such a simple thing. A bit of string, paper, and plastic went together making one of the coolest toys he’d ever played with. Why the chute was bright yellow and the soldier pink instead of green didn’t bother him much. He was having the time of his young life, and that’s all that really mattered.
His grandmother called from the house. Supper was ready. Raymond folded the soldier’s chute back together and tucked him away in the front pocket of his jeans. He looked back up at the blue sky one more time and smiled. It was the middle of summer—plenty more time to play outside when supper was done. He started for the back door but decided to check the front street before heading in. Raymond’s parents would be picking him and his sister up soon. He had hoped they would’ve left the farm and been in town already.
Raymond loved his grandmother, technically, meaning all kids had to love their family members, no matter how they made you feel. Gramma Minnie was older than just about everyone in Rokerton, and she was still living all on her own at the age of eighty-five. Grampa Ned had died before Raymond was even born. He would’ve been almost ninety by now. As much as old people creeped Raymond out, he sometimes wished his grandfather was still alive. It might have given these forced stays with their grandmother a little more variety.
He looked up and down the street. No sign of mom and dad. A dog barked from across the street and lifted its leg to squirt against a car tire. Raymond sighed and jogged for the front door resignedly. Now they would have to listen to the fear talk. His Gramma had already started with Raymond’s little sister. Five-year-old Alicia was sitting in her chair at the kitchen table on Gramma Minnie’s left side. The little girl’s eyes were wide open and unblinking, staring up at the old woman as if she’d just encountered some form of carnivorous animal.
“I worry about your parents, dear. They had you and your brother too late in life. I warned your mother. Forty is too far along for more babies.” She glanced at the clock over the stove. “Oh my, it’s already past five. I hope they haven’t had a car accident on the way to town.”
The children stared up at the imposing figure of their grandmother. She was tall for an old lady, even while sitting. The big black-rimmed glasses sitting on her hawkish nose magnified her old grey eyes and the nest of wrinkles all around. Her curly hair was a little blue where it wasn’t white, making her look like a scary clown that had retired about a thousand years ago. There wasn’t much funny about her, though. Gramma Minnie was too serious. She looked after her grandchildren when she had to, but there was nothing fun about the visits.
“They ain’t been in no car accident, Gramma,” Raymond said as he took his place across from his sister at the supper table.
“They haven’t been, not ain’t been, ignorant boy,” his grandmother snapped. “Go wash your hands.”
Raymond rolled his eyes and did as he was told. The house was small, so he left the bathroom door open and listened to her continue with the fear talk. “Your father isn’t a young man anymore. He works hard and doesn’t eat properly. His heart could give out at any moment... I wouldn’t even want to imagine what would happen if he had some sort of attack behind the wheel.”
That’s probably all she ever imagined, Raymond thought. He wiped his hands against his tee-shirt and hurried back to the table. “Dad’s as strong as bull, Gramma. He ain’t going to have a heart attack.”
“Isn’t,” Minnie corrected him again. “Quit saying ain’t. And too much strength can do an older heart in. Your father is fifty-five... hardly a spring chicken.”
Alicia scowled. “Daddy ain’t a chicken.”
Minnie Wallace smacked the girl across the back of her hand with fingers resembling stringy white prunes. “Is not!”
Alicia started to whimper. Raymond crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue while the old woman’s attention was still drawn on his sister. Alicia giggled. He loved his little sister—a lot more than he loved Gramma Minnie. He couldn’t stand to see her upset. Raymond was always there, sticking up for her when his older brothers ganged up on her. He couldn’t kick at his grandmother’s legs like Bruce and David, but he could make his sister smile.
He tried changing the subject. “Mom said she was going to pick raspberries while Dad was finishing up in the field. There’s lots