coming. Hold your horses.”
The floorboards whine as she slowly waddles to the door. Her eyes grow when she finally sees me. Her sight isn’t what it used to be, so it takes her until halfway down the hall. “Evie, darling girl. Come in. Come in,” she insists, gesturing her hands quickly.
I open the screen door and step inside, ambushed by tight hugs and wet kisses. She’s strong for a bitty old thing.
“You’re too skinny, child.” She shakes her gray head with disapproval. “Don’t they eat in California?”
“Sure. It’s all gluten-free or made from seaweed though,” I tease.
“Well, this won’t do.” She yanks me toward the kitchen and sits me down at the table. “I’ll make you a plate of my fresh peach cobbler.”
I ate a big breakfast, but I’d never refuse Hettie’s cobbler. It’s the best in the state.
She places the dessert in front of me with a glass of ice cold milk.
“Thank you, Nana.”
She sits in the chair next to me with a groan and pop. Her, not the chair.
“You know you’re getting old when it’s a struggle to sit.”
She snorts a tired laugh.
“You’re not old, Hettie. You’ll always be young to me.”
“Bless you, child,” she says, patting me on my cheek affectionately. “I wish someone would tell my joints and bones that.” She points to the untouched cobbler on my plate. “Eat.”
I set the bouquet of lavender on the table, the stems tied together with twine. “These are for you.”
“They’re wonderful.” She picks them up and inhales deeply. “My favorite.”
I pick up my fork and dive in.
“Mmm,” I moan. “I’ve missed this.”
“It’s not the only thing you’ve missed, I hope,” she says, laying the grandma guilt on thick.
“Of course it’s not. It wouldn’t be nearly as good if it were made by anyone else.”
I grew up on Hettie’s home cooking. If we didn’t order food in or go out to eat, Meredith and I would join Roy and Hettie for dinner. She was always feeding us. I think it’s because she loves us and wants to thank my mom for letting them live on the land rent free. She refuses to take their money because she considers them secondary parents.
“That boy living with you can certainly put it away,” she comments.
My eyes fly to hers. They’re lit up, lifted at the wrinkled corners from the nosy grin on her lips. She’s trying to get information out of me.
“How do you know about Holt?”
“You forget what it’s like to live in a small town. People talk,” she reminds me. “That, and he’s come over to fix things and bring us supplies we need. He’s a very nice boy.”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t like him?”
“He doesn’t seem to like me,” I correct her.
“What is there not to like?” she asks, moving her hand up and down in the air. “You’re the whole package.”
“I have no clue.” I shrug. “He wouldn’t talk to me for the first week. When he did, I wanted him to shut up again.”
“I’ve been there,” she says with a chuckle. “Perhaps you make him nervous? Boys aren’t always sharp when it comes to emotions.”
“I highly doubt I make him feel anything but nausea.” She laughs a hardy laugh. “He seems to enjoy getting a rise out of me. And he succeeds.”
“It sounds to me like he likes you.”
“Are you trying to tell me by picking on me, he’s really saying he likes me?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s some schoolyard stuff right there. Next, he’ll be pulling my pigtails.” I take a gulp of my milk, wiping away the mustache. “Do they ever grow up, Nana?”
“Nope.”
“That’s reassuring. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” She rubs the back of my hand.
“I wish he didn’t bug me so much.”
“Wait until you spend fifty years with him.”
“I wouldn’t last fifty minutes.” I giggle softly. “Where is Roy anyway?”
“He went fishing hours ago. Probably won’t be back until supper. It’s a shame. He’ll be upset he missed
Learning to Kill: Stories