said.
This time I heard her slam the hatch before she came inside. I held open the door, and she dropped the final two bags on the counter and wiped off her brow.
“The amount of food you two eat could feed a small army,” Grandma said, coming into the kitchen and peering into the bags.
Mom grimaced and shook out her raincoat. “What was it you needed to tell me, Adam?” she asked.
With Grandma hovering over us, I’d lost my chance. “Never mind,” I said.
“Well, let’s get these things put away,” Mom said. “I’d like to start dinner. We’re having a surprise guest!”
Grandma and I looked up in alarm. Mom laughed. “Don’t look so scared, you two! It’s just Dottie Lewis! I ran into her at the market. She misses you, Ma. Said she hasn’t seen you yet this summer.”
Dottie was one of Grandma’s oldest friends on the lake, though they never seemed to spend much time together anymore.
Grandma peered at the clock. “Well, I wish you’d given me a little more warning. I would have baked something special.”
“It was just a spontaneous thing,” Mom said. “But I bought some fresh berries, and there’s still plenty of time to make a pie.”
Grandma perked up a little at that. She strode to the pantry and retrieved an apron.
“It’ll take me a few more minutes to get the table cleared off,” Mom told her. “Have a seat.”
Grandma sat down, awaiting her supplies. Or her instructions. It was hard to tell which when Mom was involved. Either way, I could tell there wasn’t room for me in all this. I grabbed the newspaper and another handful of pretzels and went back to my room.
DOTTIE LEWIS BROUGHT OUT the best in my grandmother. From the moment she stepped into the cabin, Grandma’s expression changed. Her face lifted up in a way that erased her scowl and made her look friendlier. She had changed into a nicer tucked-in blouse and put on some makeup. I’d always thought makeup was a little freaky. But at her age, it had its advantages.
Dottie was the same age as my grandmother, but she acted a decade younger. She had her long hair pulled back in a bun and wore bright lipstick that matched the big red beads on her necklace.
“Guess what!” she told my grandmother. “I’ve gotten into clay!”
“Clay?” Grandma asked. “In the garden?”
“No, Viola!” Dottie laughed. “I’m talking pottery. Ceramics. You should see me, Adam — I’m like an old witch sitting in front of that potter’s wheel. I put my hands on the wet clay and — abracadabra! — I’m making the wildest creations!”
“That’s remarkable, Dottie,” my mother said. She circuited the table to make sure everyone was taking salad. I nodded in agreement.
“You’ll have to show me your work sometime,” Grandma said with careful bites of her lettuce.
“I will!” Dottie said enthusiastically. “I’ll take you over to the studio sometime.”
“Did you really just start making pottery, like, this year?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine my grandmother starting something new at this age.
She nodded. “The last time I messed around with clay at all was almost seventy years ago. And you were there, Viola!” she said with a wink.
“Not at scout camp?” my grandmother asked.
Dottie nodded. “I made something truly awful. I think it was a miniature wishing well.”
“I made a grizzly bear,” my grandmother said, surprising us all with her sudden recollection. “I tried to make it hulking and terrifying — a real predator. But when I showed it to my father, he thought it was our dog, Ollie.”
Dottie burst out laughing. “Ollie? That tiny dachshund?”
Grandma nodded. “So much for my sculpting talent!” she exclaimed.
Dottie’s laugh was so infectious that the two of them started laughing like kids, and my mom and I couldn’t help but join in. Grandma dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Now you know why I’ve never touched a piece of clay again.”
“Oh, well, you should try,”
This time I heard her slam the hatch before she came inside. I held open the door, and she dropped the final two bags on the counter and wiped off her brow.
“The amount of food you two eat could feed a small army,” Grandma said, coming into the kitchen and peering into the bags.
Mom grimaced and shook out her raincoat. “What was it you needed to tell me, Adam?” she asked.
With Grandma hovering over us, I’d lost my chance. “Never mind,” I said.
“Well, let’s get these things put away,” Mom said. “I’d like to start dinner. We’re having a surprise guest!”
Grandma and I looked up in alarm. Mom laughed. “Don’t look so scared, you two! It’s just Dottie Lewis! I ran into her at the market. She misses you, Ma. Said she hasn’t seen you yet this summer.”
Dottie was one of Grandma’s oldest friends on the lake, though they never seemed to spend much time together anymore.
Grandma peered at the clock. “Well, I wish you’d given me a little more warning. I would have baked something special.”
“It was just a spontaneous thing,” Mom said. “But I bought some fresh berries, and there’s still plenty of time to make a pie.”
Grandma perked up a little at that. She strode to the pantry and retrieved an apron.
“It’ll take me a few more minutes to get the table cleared off,” Mom told her. “Have a seat.”
Grandma sat down, awaiting her supplies. Or her instructions. It was hard to tell which when Mom was involved. Either way, I could tell there wasn’t room for me in all this. I grabbed the newspaper and another handful of pretzels and went back to my room.
DOTTIE LEWIS BROUGHT OUT the best in my grandmother. From the moment she stepped into the cabin, Grandma’s expression changed. Her face lifted up in a way that erased her scowl and made her look friendlier. She had changed into a nicer tucked-in blouse and put on some makeup. I’d always thought makeup was a little freaky. But at her age, it had its advantages.
Dottie was the same age as my grandmother, but she acted a decade younger. She had her long hair pulled back in a bun and wore bright lipstick that matched the big red beads on her necklace.
“Guess what!” she told my grandmother. “I’ve gotten into clay!”
“Clay?” Grandma asked. “In the garden?”
“No, Viola!” Dottie laughed. “I’m talking pottery. Ceramics. You should see me, Adam — I’m like an old witch sitting in front of that potter’s wheel. I put my hands on the wet clay and — abracadabra! — I’m making the wildest creations!”
“That’s remarkable, Dottie,” my mother said. She circuited the table to make sure everyone was taking salad. I nodded in agreement.
“You’ll have to show me your work sometime,” Grandma said with careful bites of her lettuce.
“I will!” Dottie said enthusiastically. “I’ll take you over to the studio sometime.”
“Did you really just start making pottery, like, this year?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine my grandmother starting something new at this age.
She nodded. “The last time I messed around with clay at all was almost seventy years ago. And you were there, Viola!” she said with a wink.
“Not at scout camp?” my grandmother asked.
Dottie nodded. “I made something truly awful. I think it was a miniature wishing well.”
“I made a grizzly bear,” my grandmother said, surprising us all with her sudden recollection. “I tried to make it hulking and terrifying — a real predator. But when I showed it to my father, he thought it was our dog, Ollie.”
Dottie burst out laughing. “Ollie? That tiny dachshund?”
Grandma nodded. “So much for my sculpting talent!” she exclaimed.
Dottie’s laugh was so infectious that the two of them started laughing like kids, and my mom and I couldn’t help but join in. Grandma dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Now you know why I’ve never touched a piece of clay again.”
“Oh, well, you should try,”
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