thinks she's about to catch me in a lie.
“That window always stuck going up and down,” the grandmother said. “I figured I'd just as soon start off with a new one that slides easy.”
“So you had two fires.”
“There's nothing to show for this one but scorch marks,” she said, as if this ought to close the subject.
Kerrie came into the room from the other side, and joined us as we sat down at the enamel-topped table in the middle of the kitchen. There was another table at the side, in a kind of breakfast nook that looked more appealing, but I gathered it hadn't yet been decided if we were going to stay. Summit meetings were likely held at this table.
“So how many fires have you had?” Mel said, sounding too casual, the way she does when the lie-catching voice isn't getting her anywhere.
“I'm not in the business, you know,” the grandmother said. “The arson business. Unless you count burning down the shed.”
“Let's count that,” Mel said, “if it burned down. It burned to the ground?”
“Accidents happen,” the grandmother said, her eyes narrowing.
“Yes, they do,” I said, hoping to avoid a fight.
Mel said, “How long ago was the window?”
“It's been a couple of months now.”
“And the iron was about two weeks ago?”
“Not quite.”
“One of those comes-in-threes things,” I said. “Like when you break a glass, it always happens again real soon,
and then again.”
They went quiet. So I went quiet.
We all sat like we were there for a game but somebody forgot the cards. Neither Mel nor the grandmother would meet anyone's eyes. Kerrie and I waited to see if we were playing Hearts or War.
Mel said, “Could I make us some coffee, Momma?”
“Lands, yes,” the grandmother said, coming to life. “You children haven't eaten yet, have you?”
Kerrie and I shook our heads. We hadn't eaten.
“Start the coffee, Melisande,” she said, getting up. “Give me seven minutes to make myself look human and we'll make some breakfast.” She hurried out of the kitchen, pulling at the loops of paper and balling them up in her hands.
Seven minutes seemed an odd number. I looked at the clock, saying, “Can I do anything?”
“Sit still,” Mel said. She found coffee in one cabinet, mugs in another; both times exactly where she expected them to be. “And don't try to mediate.”
I said, “Mediate?”
“Be quiet. You don't have to help me deal with her.”
I watched the clock and sure enough, in seven minutes the grandmother was back, looking like a new woman. A new
old
woman, okay, but she looked pretty good, like she could be in a commercial for a breakfast cereal or something.
Mel and the grandmother moved around the kitchen like it was only yesterday they'd cooked breakfast together.
“I expected to find Clare here,” Mel said as the grand-mother passed her eggs and butter from the refrigerator.
“Your sister has her own home,” the grandmother said. I thought her tone suggested Aunt Clare ought to stay in it. Then again, the grandmother put that tone in most of what she said.
“Me too,” Mel said. “But I'm here.”
“Why?” The grandmother sounded like it was the last thing she'd ever expect, that Mel would be there.
Mel said, “I thought you needed me.”
“You had a clairvoyant experience?”
“You have not mellowed with age, Momma.”
The grandmother said cheerfully, “Now that's a pure fallacy, mellowing with age. People become more and more comfortable with who they are as they get older, not less and less. For some, that may appear to be a mellowing. In my case, it isn't.”
Mel sighed loudly.
It occurred to me that the grandmother wasn't un-friendly so much as it was that she enjoyed an air of debate to her conversation. Seen from the back, she was a dance of elbows to the beat of eggs cracked against an iron frying pan.
I glanced at Kerrie at the exact moment she looked in my direction. She raised her eyebrows, quirked her mouth down at
“That window always stuck going up and down,” the grandmother said. “I figured I'd just as soon start off with a new one that slides easy.”
“So you had two fires.”
“There's nothing to show for this one but scorch marks,” she said, as if this ought to close the subject.
Kerrie came into the room from the other side, and joined us as we sat down at the enamel-topped table in the middle of the kitchen. There was another table at the side, in a kind of breakfast nook that looked more appealing, but I gathered it hadn't yet been decided if we were going to stay. Summit meetings were likely held at this table.
“So how many fires have you had?” Mel said, sounding too casual, the way she does when the lie-catching voice isn't getting her anywhere.
“I'm not in the business, you know,” the grandmother said. “The arson business. Unless you count burning down the shed.”
“Let's count that,” Mel said, “if it burned down. It burned to the ground?”
“Accidents happen,” the grandmother said, her eyes narrowing.
“Yes, they do,” I said, hoping to avoid a fight.
Mel said, “How long ago was the window?”
“It's been a couple of months now.”
“And the iron was about two weeks ago?”
“Not quite.”
“One of those comes-in-threes things,” I said. “Like when you break a glass, it always happens again real soon,
and then again.”
They went quiet. So I went quiet.
We all sat like we were there for a game but somebody forgot the cards. Neither Mel nor the grandmother would meet anyone's eyes. Kerrie and I waited to see if we were playing Hearts or War.
Mel said, “Could I make us some coffee, Momma?”
“Lands, yes,” the grandmother said, coming to life. “You children haven't eaten yet, have you?”
Kerrie and I shook our heads. We hadn't eaten.
“Start the coffee, Melisande,” she said, getting up. “Give me seven minutes to make myself look human and we'll make some breakfast.” She hurried out of the kitchen, pulling at the loops of paper and balling them up in her hands.
Seven minutes seemed an odd number. I looked at the clock, saying, “Can I do anything?”
“Sit still,” Mel said. She found coffee in one cabinet, mugs in another; both times exactly where she expected them to be. “And don't try to mediate.”
I said, “Mediate?”
“Be quiet. You don't have to help me deal with her.”
I watched the clock and sure enough, in seven minutes the grandmother was back, looking like a new woman. A new
old
woman, okay, but she looked pretty good, like she could be in a commercial for a breakfast cereal or something.
Mel and the grandmother moved around the kitchen like it was only yesterday they'd cooked breakfast together.
“I expected to find Clare here,” Mel said as the grand-mother passed her eggs and butter from the refrigerator.
“Your sister has her own home,” the grandmother said. I thought her tone suggested Aunt Clare ought to stay in it. Then again, the grandmother put that tone in most of what she said.
“Me too,” Mel said. “But I'm here.”
“Why?” The grandmother sounded like it was the last thing she'd ever expect, that Mel would be there.
Mel said, “I thought you needed me.”
“You had a clairvoyant experience?”
“You have not mellowed with age, Momma.”
The grandmother said cheerfully, “Now that's a pure fallacy, mellowing with age. People become more and more comfortable with who they are as they get older, not less and less. For some, that may appear to be a mellowing. In my case, it isn't.”
Mel sighed loudly.
It occurred to me that the grandmother wasn't un-friendly so much as it was that she enjoyed an air of debate to her conversation. Seen from the back, she was a dance of elbows to the beat of eggs cracked against an iron frying pan.
I glanced at Kerrie at the exact moment she looked in my direction. She raised her eyebrows, quirked her mouth down at
Similar Books
