The Rule of Threes Marcy Campbell (animal farm read .TXT) 📖

I pulled up the blanket, catching a whiff of something sour, which I also ignored, and fluffed the pillows, noticing the cases were getting a little threadbare. And don’t get me started on the comforter. Blue and orange roses? The whole room desperately needed a makeover. Maybe I could get my hands on it before Tony moved back in. I stopped making the bed for a moment, a pillow in my hands, when I realized I was actually picturing Tony in here, in a space that was all his. I thought that was pretty cool, but at the same time, I hated to send Grandma away.

I put the pillows in place and picked my phone up off the nightstand. I scrolled to the before picture I took of the whole room, with Mrs. Abbott standing behind her desk.

“Just look at how cramped everything was,” I said, holding the phone out to Grandma. “The secretary could hardly get around all the mismatched furniture.”

“What on God’s green earth are you talking about?” Grandma said. She sounded not just confused, but kind of angry.

I held the phone up closer to her. I knew she couldn’t see very clearly, even with her glasses. Mom said she hadn’t passed her last driving test, so they wouldn’t renew her license. Another reason why she couldn’t live alone.

“Remember? My design contest at school?” I asked, but I felt the urge to flee, like somewhere in the back of my brain, I must have known what was coming next.

“Who . . . are you?” Grandma asked.

“What . . . what do you mean?” I lowered my phone, felt the tears rushing to my eyes. “I’m Maggie,” I said. “I’m your granddaughter.” She didn’t respond. “You said we could look at my pictures later and . . . it’s later . . . and so . . .”

Grandma shook her head, as if to knock loose the right memory, but it didn’t work, and as Mom came into the room, Grandma was only able to say, “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry” to both of us.

What is happening? She was fine at dinner! I ran to my own room, really crying now, and lay down on my bed, right on top of all the magazines, some of them sliding down the ladder to the floor and making a pile just like they used to in Grandma’s basement. Would I ever go back there? Grandma wasn’t going back, not like this, and that meant Mom would sell the house. I wanted to pack my bags and go live there myself and keep everything as it always was.

Of course it was just then that Tony poked his head in. “What’s going on?” I waved him away. He had enough of his own problems. He didn’t need to hear mine, plus, as he’d pointed out to me once, she wasn’t his grandma.

I kept my head buried in my pillow until Dad came in and climbed up enough of my loft’s ladder steps so he could reach out and smooth my hair with his hand. He said softly, “Mags?”

My pillow was soaked through, and my eyes hurt, and my head. “Grandma didn’t know who I was,” I said. Saying it out loud made it seem too real, truer than true.

“I know,” he said. “If it makes you feel any better, she doesn’t always know who I am either anymore. I’m sure she’s hoping I’m just the dishwasher repairman.”

He laughed a little, but I didn’t. Sometimes, I wished he wouldn’t joke about stuff that wasn’t funny. I sat up and leaned against my wet pillow, feeling its chill on my back.

“Will she get any better?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Maybe sometimes.” Dad sighed. “But it won’t last long.” He climbed back down and started busying himself with the magazines that had fallen on the floor. “You should try and enjoy the good times, whenever they happen. Pretty good rule for life in general, when you think about it.” He put the magazines into neat stacks, even though he wasn’t usually one for neatness.

“It could be worse,” Dad continued. “She could be really upset about Tony, and making things hard for him, and for all of us.” He looked up at me and whispered, “Mom actually did tell her he’s an exchange student, just like I suggested. I’m not sure if she remembers that, though.”

“She does,” I said, “or at least she did, a few days ago. She mentioned it to me.” A few tears leaked out, and I wiped them with the back of my hand.

Dad said, “Hey, don’t worry. She’ll probably remember you tomorrow. It goes back and forth.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not that.”

“What is it? Is it Tony?”

“Yeah, no, it’s just, everything. I just miss the old us.” I lay back down in my loft so I couldn’t see Dad anymore. Unfortunately, sometimes, if you listen really hard, you can hear a person’s sadness even when they aren’t talking.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” Dad said eventually. “I’m trying to make it up to you and Mom, and Tony, too. You have to believe me.”

I sniffled. “I do.” I did. “Tony told me his mom wasn’t very helpful in bringing you guys together, so it wasn’t all your fault.”

“I can’t put this on her,” Dad said, but then he didn’t say anything for a while. I started to wonder if he’d snuck out of my room, but I didn’t want to sit up and look. Then he said softly, “There are a lot of things I would have done differently, and certainly if I’d known Tony’s mom was sick . . . but she wasn’t when I knew her. Her car accident happened later . . . and everything—”

“And maybe you wouldn’t have messed up in the first place, with her I mean, if you had to do it over again . . . ,” I said.

“Sure, yes, but it’s hard to think that now, isn’t it, when, well, Tony’s here, and . . . he’s a good kid.”

I lay still, for what felt like a long time. Then I whispered, “Am I a good kid?”

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re the