Free Isle of Palms by Dorothea Benton Frank

alternative, I jumped from the swing and feigned willingness for my own sake.
    “Hey! Grandmother! Can I help you?”
    I was experienced enough to know that obstinate behavior would result in anything ranging from sharp words to a switching from her across the back of my legs.
    “Certainly you can, young lady.”
    The woman must have been descended from crows with that horrible voice of hers.
    I struggled under the weight of a cardboard box she placed in my skinny arms and made it up the steps to the porch. She passed me with a suitcase in each hand, opened the screen door, holding it open with her foot for me to enter, and called my father’s name. No wonder my grandfather had died before her. A wise choice. A wise choice, indeed.
    “Dougggg-lassssss! Wheeeerrrree arrrreee youuuuuu?”
    “He’s trying to take a nap,” I said, dropped the box on the floor and ran back outside, down the steps, to get another load of her freight. I was rude and didn’t care one bit either.
    I heard her hiss something like The impertinence! but I just kept moving. I really thought she should leave Daddy alone. But Violet had no intention of leaving anybody alone.
    I came back with another box. Daddy had come down the stairs; he gave the old crone her obligatory peck, and then, Lord save us all, she burst out into tears, hugging Daddy’s neck. I didn’t think the shriveled-up old battle-ax had any water in her.
    “It’s okay, Mother,” Daddy said, “we’re fine, Anna and I. It’s just the shock of it all. We’re really fine.”
    “Fine? How can this be? Mary Beth, her body is not even cold yet. Let me look! Oh! My poor boy!”
    Ignoring me and my mental state, I guess she decided Daddy was okay, because then she composed herself and said, “Where I am supposed to put my things? Let’s go.”
    Daddy led and I followed behind them, my trap shut tight for once in my life.
    Our house was no castle but it was passable looking and sensibly designed. It was standard beach issue—up on stilts with a front porch built for breezes. There were at least a hundred houses like ours. When you entered through the main door, you came into a hall with a staircase, but if you went straight you’d wind up in the dining room. On the right side of the house was the living room, behind it the kitchen and the den, which continued around the back of the house. The left side of the first floor had two bedrooms and an adjoining bathroom. Upstairs were two more bedrooms and another bathroom. That was about it.
    Daddy mumbled that his mother would probably settle into those two rooms downstairs.
    “How long is she staying, Daddy?”
    “As long as she wants, honey.”
    Holy hell, I thought, my life is over. Over and ruined.
    “I need lamps, son,” Grandmother said. “Overhead lights give me migraine.”
    “Okay. We can do that,” Daddy said.
    She harrumphed at the wallpaper in her room, which was faded from sun and pretty ugly, even I’d have to agree. She sniffed and sniffed at the mildewed closets and frowned at the scuffed condition of the floors. Momma had never been the world’s greatest homemaker. My grandmother continued to sniffle from room to room, nearly to the point of an allergic fit.
    “You want a Kleenex?” I asked, rolling my eyes. She saw me.
    “Douglas? Are you going to tell Anna not to sass her grandmother?”
    Daddy looked at me in a way I’d never seen. His face was cold and in that one glance I saw that he had given all power to his mother. She had become the Berlin Wall, dividing father and daughter.
    “Anna? Why don’t you go and get a cold Coca-Cola for your grandmomma,” Daddy said.
    “Oh, I’m fine, son,” she said with the smallest of all smug smiles. “I think with effort, we can make this place very presentable. I will work on it. People will be coming here from funeral, of course. What plans are made?”
    The funeral! Gee, God! I hadn’t wanted to even think about that. Don’t bring it up, please!