besides change everything around in my house?”
“I should never have told you about that.” Nana was kidding, sort of, but she never missed a chance to bring up what Caddie had done to the living room. “Well, I’m learning a new Beethoven, the Sonata Number Seventeen—”
“ New and exciting, I said. Have you called up any more men in the sex ads?”
“The personal ads, and no, I haven’t. Once was enough.”
“Caddie Ann—”
“Did you know twenty-seven million Americans live alone? And the median age of the whole population is thirty-five? I read that somewhere. So I’m definitely…I’m in the whatchacallit.”
“Mainstream,” Nana said, sighing.
“What’s this?” Caddie picked up a snail shell from the windowsill. “And this.” A dry twig and, next to it, pieces of a speckled blue eggshell. “What’s this stuff?”
Nana sat up straight. “That’s for my project. Be careful, don’t break anything. Put that down, Caddie, it’s fragile.”
“Sorry. This is your new art project? How exciting.” Nana had been hinting about a new work, something big taking shape in her mind, butCaddie hadn’t been sure if it was real or not. Sometimes her grandmother’s art schemes stayed there, in her mind, never actually bore fruit in a material way. If this one was already taking form in twigs and eggshells, that was a good sign. Nana was always happiest when she was making something.
“It’s a monument,” she said. “To oldness. To age. It will symbolize the courage and beauty of elderliness. It’ll have ‘longevity’ in the title. That’s all I can say right now.”
“How will it—what form will it take?”
“Well, I don’t know that yet. It’ll be a construction. It’ll have to be big, representational.”
“You mean it’ll look like something?”
“Not necessarily. It will have representatives, I mean. Of everything that’s old.”
“Everything?” Another global project. Nana’s art was so inclusive.
Through the window, Caddie saw a black taxi stop at the curb in front of the house. The driver jumped out, came around, opened the rear passenger door, and stuck his hand in to help somebody out. A woman swung her legs out, nice legs under a knee-length cherry-red skirt, and stood up. She had on a straw hat with a wide brim; Caddie couldn’t see her face until she leaned back against the car to look up at the house. Just for a second, it felt as if they were looking right into each other’s eyes. The woman said something to the driver that made him laugh. She laughed, too, and Caddie heard one ringing, agreeable “Ha!”
“Nana,” she said excitedly, “I think it’s the new lady, the one who’s taking the tower suite. The room you wanted, remember? I bet it’s her—Brenda said she was coming today or tomorrow.” The tower suite was a beautiful, round-walled bedroom with its own sitting room, but it was already taken, reserved, when Nana moved in. It would’ve been too expensive, anyway.
Nana wheeled her chair over and peered down with Caddie.
“Doesn’t she look nice? Where are your glasses, can you see? She looks young.” Relatively; middle sixties, Caddie estimated. Around here, that was a whippersnapper. Brenda said her name was Dorothea Barnes.She was a widow with no children. She came from somewhere on the Eastern Shore, but she’d grown up here, Brenda said. She was coming home. “Barnes,” Cornel had been saying suspiciously for days. “Barnes. I don’t recall any Dorothea Barnes.” He’d grown up in Michaelstown, too, and he thought he knew everybody.
There went Brenda, hurrying down the front walk to greet the new arrival. She had a lot of luggage; the cab driver kept pulling boxes and suitcases from the trunk and piling them on the curb. She saw Brenda and went toward her, holding out her hands. She greeted her that way, shaking her hands warmly with both of hers, smiling and tilting her head to listen to Brenda’s welcoming
“I should never have told you about that.” Nana was kidding, sort of, but she never missed a chance to bring up what Caddie had done to the living room. “Well, I’m learning a new Beethoven, the Sonata Number Seventeen—”
“ New and exciting, I said. Have you called up any more men in the sex ads?”
“The personal ads, and no, I haven’t. Once was enough.”
“Caddie Ann—”
“Did you know twenty-seven million Americans live alone? And the median age of the whole population is thirty-five? I read that somewhere. So I’m definitely…I’m in the whatchacallit.”
“Mainstream,” Nana said, sighing.
“What’s this?” Caddie picked up a snail shell from the windowsill. “And this.” A dry twig and, next to it, pieces of a speckled blue eggshell. “What’s this stuff?”
Nana sat up straight. “That’s for my project. Be careful, don’t break anything. Put that down, Caddie, it’s fragile.”
“Sorry. This is your new art project? How exciting.” Nana had been hinting about a new work, something big taking shape in her mind, butCaddie hadn’t been sure if it was real or not. Sometimes her grandmother’s art schemes stayed there, in her mind, never actually bore fruit in a material way. If this one was already taking form in twigs and eggshells, that was a good sign. Nana was always happiest when she was making something.
“It’s a monument,” she said. “To oldness. To age. It will symbolize the courage and beauty of elderliness. It’ll have ‘longevity’ in the title. That’s all I can say right now.”
“How will it—what form will it take?”
“Well, I don’t know that yet. It’ll be a construction. It’ll have to be big, representational.”
“You mean it’ll look like something?”
“Not necessarily. It will have representatives, I mean. Of everything that’s old.”
“Everything?” Another global project. Nana’s art was so inclusive.
Through the window, Caddie saw a black taxi stop at the curb in front of the house. The driver jumped out, came around, opened the rear passenger door, and stuck his hand in to help somebody out. A woman swung her legs out, nice legs under a knee-length cherry-red skirt, and stood up. She had on a straw hat with a wide brim; Caddie couldn’t see her face until she leaned back against the car to look up at the house. Just for a second, it felt as if they were looking right into each other’s eyes. The woman said something to the driver that made him laugh. She laughed, too, and Caddie heard one ringing, agreeable “Ha!”
“Nana,” she said excitedly, “I think it’s the new lady, the one who’s taking the tower suite. The room you wanted, remember? I bet it’s her—Brenda said she was coming today or tomorrow.” The tower suite was a beautiful, round-walled bedroom with its own sitting room, but it was already taken, reserved, when Nana moved in. It would’ve been too expensive, anyway.
Nana wheeled her chair over and peered down with Caddie.
“Doesn’t she look nice? Where are your glasses, can you see? She looks young.” Relatively; middle sixties, Caddie estimated. Around here, that was a whippersnapper. Brenda said her name was Dorothea Barnes.She was a widow with no children. She came from somewhere on the Eastern Shore, but she’d grown up here, Brenda said. She was coming home. “Barnes,” Cornel had been saying suspiciously for days. “Barnes. I don’t recall any Dorothea Barnes.” He’d grown up in Michaelstown, too, and he thought he knew everybody.
There went Brenda, hurrying down the front walk to greet the new arrival. She had a lot of luggage; the cab driver kept pulling boxes and suitcases from the trunk and piling them on the curb. She saw Brenda and went toward her, holding out her hands. She greeted her that way, shaking her hands warmly with both of hers, smiling and tilting her head to listen to Brenda’s welcoming
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