It had been an ordinary day, that is, until I got off the school bus. I made my usual beeline, across Mrs. Nash’s lawn, to my house.  I couldn’t wait to sneak a piece of the pie that Mom baked yesterday. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, I found chaos in the living room.  The couch cushions were scattered on the floor, books were piled high like skyscrapers in stacks throughout the room instead of being lined up on the bookshelf, and the kitchen chairs were upside down on the tabletop.  

 

At first, I thought we had been robbed.  My heart pounded inside my chest, but then Grandpa called out from the dining room.  

 

“In here, Shaun.”  He was sitting in his usual place, keeping company with a tall glass of milk, while twisting Oreo cookies apart.  Grandpa loves the cream in the center.  He says he’s loved them since he can remember, which is surprising, because he usually can’t remember anything too well these days.  He traded his four-bedroom Cape for a small room next to mine, which was closer to the bathroom.  Mom said that he was losing his memory and had become a danger to himself.  He almost burned his house down last year when he tried to make himself eggs.  He’s been with us ever since.

 

“Hey, Grandpa.  What’s going on?”

 

“I could schwear I put ‘em in the glassh nexsht to my bed.”  

 

“What did you put in a glass?” 

 

“My teef.”

 

Grandpa’s mouth was missing his chompers!  I didn’t even know he wore false teeth.  I never saw him without them, but there he was, gumming the cream-stripped, milk-dunked, chocolate cookies.

 

“I’ll put my books down and look for them, okay?”

 

He nodded and several crumbs splattered onto the table.

 

“Shaun,” I heard from the back of the house, “is that you?”

 

“Mom?  Where are you?”

 

“In here,” she said.  I followed her voice to find her standing in a pile of dirty laundry in front of the washing machine. She turned with several pairs of socks and underwear draped over her arms.  “I’ve been searching the house since I came home from work.  Have you seen Grandpa’s teeth?”

 

“No, but I’ll help you look. Where should I start?”

 

“Well, Maria is looking in the basement.”  Maria took care of Grandpa while Mom worked, and I was at school.  “I’ve looked everywhere.”

 

“Yeah, I see,” I said surveying the new placement of our furniture and the emptied closets.  “I’ll check the backyard.”

 

“Thanks, Sweetie.”

 

I walked up and back the half-grass/half-dirt carpet that we barbecue on in the summer.  My dog, Sparky’s head was cocked and he looked confused.  “Not searching for your bone, buddy, just Grandpa’s chompers.”  He walked next to me sniffing the ground.  I zig-zagged across the grass, my head hung low, inspecting the brown-green floor for a set of pale yellow teeth.  Sparky followed carrying a partly chewed tennis ball in his mouth.  

 

The sun was being swallowed by the horizon when Mom came out to the yard.

 

“We’ll look some more after dinner,” Mom said.  “Come in and eat.”

 

Mom made little elbow noodles drenched in butter so that they would slide right down Grandpa’s throat with minimal chewing.  He slurped more than usual, but I guess he couldn’t help it.  

 

“Dishh is good.  We should have dishh for dinner every night,” he said.

 

I began to list all of the possible places Grandpa’s teeth could be.   With each suggestion, Mom said “I looked there, and Maria said she checked the doghouse.”   I was dumbfounded.  I think Mom was, too.

 

After dinner, I helped clear the table to make room for dessert.  We were all eager to try Mom’s homemade apple pie. I worried about how Grandpa would chew it.

 

I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out the milk.  Nothing goes better with pie than milk.  Mom handed out clean glasses.  Grandpa’s tongue traced his toothless gums.  

 

“I wish I had my teef to schink into that pie,” he said.

 

“Looks like you already did,” I said pulling the pie from the refrigerator.  Mom, and Grandpa took one look at the pie and we all started laughing. Sticking out of the crusty edge of the pie was Grandpa’s teeth.

 

Grandpa turned red.  I poured everyone a glass of milk as Mom cut each of us a slice of pie.  

 

“I guess I can’t blame you,” Mom added as she handed Grandpa the slice with his teeth. The mystery was solved.

 

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