Help Wanted: Wednesdays Only. Peggy Dymond Leavey

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      Help Wanted:

       Wednesdays Only

      Help Wanted:

       Wednesdays Only

      by Peggy Dymond Leavey

      Copyright © 1994 Peggy Dymond Leavey

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.

      Cover illustration by Greg Ruhl

      Book design by Pamela Kinney

      Cover design by Pamela Kinney

      Published by Napoleon Publishing Inc.

      Toronto, Ontario, Canada

      05 04 03 02 01 00 99 98 5 4 3 2

      Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data

      Leavey, Peggy Dymond

      Help wanted : Wednesdays only

      ISBN 0-929141-23-7

      I. Title

      PS8573. E38H4 1994 jC813’ .54 C94-931073-5

      PZ7.L43He 1994

       Far Dad. H.G.P.D. 1906-1992

      CHAPTER 1

      “Whoa, Mark! Isn’t that your grandfather?” A black and white police cruiser was parked at the curb outside my building. Jason bent down for a closer look.

      At first, the glass in the window only reflected our two bewildered faces, pale and pinched from the bitter March wind. Then my heart sank. It was Grandpa. How could he do this to me? Again.

      “Mark Rogers?” One of the officers got out of the car onto the sidewalk.

      “Look, Mark,” gulped Jason, “I gotta go. Okay? I’ll call you later.” And he scurried away up the street.

      It wasn’t that Jason was a chicken or anything like that. He just knew how to stay out of unpleasant situations. I was glad it had only been Jason with me. He already knew about my grandfather. I was glad it hadn’t been Nicole or someone else I was trying to impress. Not that Nicole Somers would be walking home with a shrimpy kid like me anyway. But I sure didn’t want any of the kids at school to see my grandfather getting out of a police car. In his pyjamas.

      I could feel my face burning with shame as I led the officers up to our apartment.

      “Must’ve walked all the way over here from his place,” one of them said, waiting while I unlocked the door. “Found him wandering around about three blocks away.”

      “Have your mother call us,” the other officer directed, seeing us both safely inside.

      I closed the door and stood leaning against it, looking at my grandfather. I had never used to feel pity for this man who sat here now on the couch, his thin, brown hands resting on his knees. Once he had been my hero.

      I’ll look like that someday, I thought. Everyone said I took after Luigi Cecchini, except he had thick black hair and mine was red, like my father’s. Grandpa and I had the same wiry body, not very tall, but strong as an ox, they said. At least, he had been once. I’d seen him lift a crate of cabbages onto his shoulders as if they had been feathers.

      Mom had given him those pyjamas for Christmas. There was a little blue snowflake design on the white flannelette. Like a little kid’s.

      “How come you didn’t get dressed today, Grandpa?” I asked.

      “I get dressed, Frankie. I always get dressed.”

      “But where’s your coat? It’s freezing outside.”

      Frankie was my mother’s brother. He’d been killed in a motorcycle accident before I was even born.

      “Mom will be home at five,” I sighed. “You want to watch T.V.?”

      On the screen, some talk show host was raving at his studio audience, and Grandpa, although he never moved back from the edge of the couch, looked as though he might watch it for a few minutes. You could never be sure. He was pretty restless these days.

      I went into the kitchen to see what I could find to eat. I was 13 at the time, old enough to know what was happening to my grandfather, but I still didn’t really understand it.

      That was Wednesday. On Thursday, Mrs. Fuller, the woman who looked after Grandpa during the day, (when he wasn’t escaping), dropped by to talk to Mom.

      Jason and I were spread out on the floor of the living room, trying to think up something to do for our science project. So far, all we had was a big sheet of white poster board, as blank as our brains.

      Jason Thomas and I were pretty close. The third one in our little group of friends who hung around together was Travis Devries. He had to do his science project with another partner this time. Only two could work together, the teacher had said.

      Travis had gotten teamed up with Nicole and he didn’t mind a bit. He’d probably get straight ‘A’s’. I wouldn’t have minded working with Nicole either. Except I didn’t want her to find out that science was far from my best subject.

      “I think it has reached a point where your father should not be alone at night anymore, Giovanna,” Mrs Fuller was saying. An island counter was all that divided the kitchen from the living room in our apartment, so no conversation was ever private.

      Mom hacked at the hamburger in the frying pan. “I’m at my wits’ end about this,” she said. “I can’t afford to have anyone stay with him nights. And there’s no room for him here. You can see the size of this place.”

      I picked up the felt marker and wrote, “Science Project. Jason Thomas and Mark Rogers,” along a line I’d drawn at the top of the poster.

      “Now what?” asked Jason, pushing his glasses back up the ridge of his nose and squinting at me expectantly. “Everyone else will have the same old rock collection or models of the solar system. Can’t we come up with something different?”

      “I’ve given it a lot of thought since we talked to the doctor the last time,” we heard Mom saying, “and I think the only solution is for us to move in with him.”

      My mouth and Jason’s fell open at the same instant. Except mine was making a sound like choking. The marker dropped onto the paper, leaving a black splotch in the middle of the poster. I scrambled to my feet.

      “I haven’t had a minute yet to discuss this with my son,” my mother admitted to Mrs. Fuller.

      “Mark!” hissed Jason, yanking on the leg of my jeans. “Is it true?”

      “No way,” I growled. Mom was holding the door open for her visitor and she put up her hand to warn me to back off.

      “We’ll discuss it later, Mark. Okay?” she said. I could hardly believe what I’d heard. She had to be kidding!

      “I’d better be going too,” said Jason, abandoning the project on the floor and coming around to the door. “I’ll see you later, Mark.”

      “Chili, Jason. Remember?” said Mom.

      “That’s okay, Mrs. Rogers.” Jason grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. “I gotta check in at home. Besides,” he shot me a quick look, “you guys probably want to talk.”

      “I can tell the idea upsets you, Mark,” said Mom, when the door had shut on the back of my fleeing friend.

      “Well, good. Because I know I didn’t hear you right. You’re not really thinking of moving to Grandpa’s?”

      She