Free Tending Roses by Lisa Wingate Page B

looking toward the driveway. “And where is Benjamin gone to this morning?” She didn’t mention the propane incident, so I didn’t either.
    “He had to go out of town for a couple of days on a job. He flew out this morning.”
    “My, that boy is a hard worker.”
    “I guess he is,” I muttered, but I failed to completely conceal my irritation that once again he was not at home when a crisis arose.
    Grandma was acute about those things, and as usual, she honed in, looking for a worry to pounce upon. “Is something wrong?”
    Shaking my head, I pretended to rub my eyes because they were tired. The truth was, I felt lonely and lost, and I wondered if I could survive two more weeks with Grandma. I had the overwhelming urge to run home to my house and my job, and forget all about smoke damage, coffee-stained floors, defective sewer pipes, and spewing propane. I wanted Grandma Rose to be completely sane again and the crisis to be over. “No. Everything’s fine.”
    “I see,” she said, and I was afraid that, as usual, she was seeing more about me than I wanted her to. Looking me in the eye, she took a deep breath, and for a moment, I thought she was going to offer some grandmotherly advice. Then the expression on her face went blank, and she patted the seat beside herself, saying, “Well, sit down for a while. This is just the kind of morning when the roses smell heavenly.” She pointed to the trellis in the yard, but of course the vines were winter-bare. “I planted some Peace roses and some Mr. Lincolns at the cemetery last spring.”
    A quick stab of panic went through me at the mention of the cemetery, and I wondered if she was going to press me about visiting my mother’s grave. She always went there on Sundays after church. I wasn’t ready to go and didn’t know when I would be. I hadn’t gone there since we’d laid my mother in the ground.
    I sat beside Grandma on the glider, and we rocked slowly back and forth in silence. Pulling my knees to my chest, I rested my chin on them and watched a cottontail hop lazily around the lawn, looking for something to eat.
    After a moment, Grandma laughed under her breath and shook her head, watching the bunny.
    I glanced sideways, wondering why she was laughing when only a moment before she had been stirring up turmoil.
    “It’s terrible to get old.” She was smiling as she said it, though. “I was thinking I would roust old Trooper for not keeping the rabbits from the yard.” Another chuckle burst from her lips, and she slapped her hand to her chest. “That dog’s been dead for twenty years!”
    Throwing her head back, she laughed until tears squeezed from her eyes. I couldn’t help laughing with her, and we kept at it for a long time, rocking and laughing, then finally catching our breaths. Our noise frightened the cottontail from the yard, and we laughed harder, both thinking that now there was no need for the dog.
    Grandma’s face was red when she stopped, and tears had traced lines around her eyes. She wiped them with the handkerchief from her pocket, then fanned her cheeks. “Oh, I’ll be a mess for church. People will think I’ve been drinking.”
    “That’ll give them something to talk about,” I teased, taking the handkerchief from her hand and helping her dab away the tearstains. I had a fleeting thought of how beautiful she must have been as a young woman and how much time had changed her. Her eyes were still the blue of a summer sky. “There, now no one will know your secret.”
    She smiled, and for just a moment we sat gazing into each other’s eyes like lovers.
    She turned away, looking suddenly somber. “Your grandfather had the most beautiful deep brown eyes. Just like yours.” A long sigh, and then, “He always called me Rose.”
    I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or not, so I kept silent. Her tone was wistful, and she turned her face away so that I could not see her expression. I wondered if she had thought, just for an