Trip & Stumble

{ CHAPTERS 1 - 8 }

Sundays were different. Grams stopped getting up for church soon after losing Pops. In fact, it was rare for Grams to wake herself on Sunday mornings at all. Trip would use Grams' recipes and Pops' old flipping techniques for making blueberry-chocolate chip pancakes, sometimes with scrambled eggs, sometimes with bacon. Grams cooked the rest of the week so Trip always believed it was the least he could do for her. He would serve her in bed and sit beside her until they were both finished. It was usually a silent meal but this Sunday was different.

2

Grams wiped her mouth with the napkin from her lap extra carefully. Her voice was unsure of itself, "I wanted to tell you something about my Byron, Trip." Her eyes melted a little as her lips began to quiver. She leaned over the blanket and reached a wrinkled hand under the next pillow down. She lifted out a small-sized, tan leather notebook bound by tattered bailing twine. "This was your grandfather's." She pressed her fingers along the curves by the spine. "Did you know he loved to write? He spent most of his later nights glued to the pages of this book."

"What did he write in it?" Trip interjected.

"I don't know. I never opened it."

"Why not? Give it here, I'll do it."

"Trip! Listen to me. My Byron asked me never to read it. It's the only secret he's ever kept from me and I promised him I'd never," Grams held a hand to her heart, "That I'd never break that promise."

"Should I..."

"Not now." Grams smeared a tear away from the corner of her eye with her shoulder. "Here, I can't sleep next to it another night." She set the notebook next to Trip and turned to look out the window. "I want you to take care of that notebook, Trip. Keep it and learn from it and remember him as I will never be able to. I'll clean the dishes today. Please go now."

Trip didn't say anything else. He just scooped up the notebook with both hands and walked to the door. Grams said one last thing, "Whatever you find in that notebook, child, it's not for me to see." Trip glanced back at Grams, sitting perfectly still, breathing short breaths. He pursed his lips a little and headed down the hallway then across the living room and over to the front door. Grams turned her head to the empty doorway and whispered aloud to nobody in particular, "...not for me to see."

3

Trip pushed his way through the antique screen door and stomped down the porch steps onto the dirt sidewalk. He rubbed an end of the twine between his thumb and index finger, held it taut then threatened to pull the knot apart. The sound of approaching tractors puttered in the distance and Trip shot down the driveway to investigate. "Yes, two of them headed this way..." Trip narrated, "probably one of the hands coming to pick up a late paycheck". He wedged the notebook between his belt and his jeans and un-tucked his shirt to conceal it from whoever the visitors turned out to be.

It was Mr. Nether with his four sons: Jack, Jimmy, Jake and Justin. He and the elder three came four days of the week to milk the cows, bail the hay and do other reparations around the farm that neither Grams nor Trip could do by themselves. Justin was Trip's age. They knew each other from school. Well... their paths had crossed more than once at school. Justin wasn't as similarly geared towards books and staying out of trouble as Trip was. To put it simply, they did not get along.

"Howdy there." Mr. Nether tipped his hat as he strode past Trip, "The usual spot?"

"Yep, the roll-top by the furnace." Trip directed Mr. Nether to his weekly payment. The older boys stayed with the tractors but Justin hopped off and strutted up to Trip with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.