Free The Murderer's Daughters by Randy Susan Meyers

and pulled the magazine from my hands.
    I gave her a closemouthed smile. “What is it?”
    “You need to hear a few things.” Grandma grabbed my hand. Despite her fragile appearance, she held me with a powerful grip. “I’m not going to be around forever, Lulu.”
    “I hate when you talk like that.”
    “Shush. By
forever,
I mean not very long at all. The doctor says my heart is getting bad, and the sugar makes it worse and worse. And my eyes, I can hardly get around. Forgive me for saying so,
tatelah,
but dying will be a blessing. Except, who will take care of your father? Who will watch over Merry?”
    “I have to go to the bathroom, Grandma.”
    “You can hold it a minute. Listen to me—when I’m gone, you watch your sister. Understand?”
    “I watch her now.”
    “Don’t be fresh.” Grandma squashed my fingers as she gave my hand a painful squeeze.
    “Ouch!” I tried to pull away, but Grandma held on with her iron gangster grip.
    “You watch her like a hawk, do you hear me?” Grandma still wouldn’tlet go of me. “Merry’s your responsibility when I’m gone. I know, I know, you think you do everything already—but believe me, you don’t. When I’m gone, you’ll be all she has. You can take care of yourself, you’ll always be okay, but she’s not tough like you.”
    “Okay, fine.” Grandma’s words piled on me. Why did everyone think I could take care of stuff? I hadn’t done it for Mama, had I?
    “And remember, your sister will need to see Daddy,” Grandma said. I ignored her, staring down at my knees, and she gave me a tiny smack on the side of my head. “Look at me.”
    I looked up. “I said I’d take care of Merry, but how do you expect me to take her to prison? I’m only thirteen, Grandma.”
    “What a character you are. When I try to tell you what to do you say you’re not a kid, you’re thirteen. Now suddenly thirteen is a baby?” Grandma shook her knobbed finger in my face, still holding on to my hand with her other hand. “We need to talk about your father.”
    I ran my free hand over the worn velvet nap, pushing it one way and then the other. Merry might be my responsibility, but I wasn’t taking him on.
    “You haven’t seen your father once,” Grandma said. “Not once. When I die, you go see him. Do you hear? He’ll be all alone in this world except for you and Merry.”
    “Wasn’t that his choice?” I squeezed my thigh. Grandma and I never spoke of how Mama died, that my father killed her, that he ran a knife wet with Mama’s blood into Merry’s chest.
    “Your father did a terrible thing. It’s not for me to defend. However, he’s my son and he’s your father. When I die, you take care of Merry and you see your father. Do you promise?”
    “Just how am I supposed to get there?” I pictured the prison as a fortress with rats jumping from everywhere and moving brown patches of cockroaches covering the walls.
    “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out. Call your uncle Hal.”
    Was she kidding? Aunt Cilla and Uncle Hal hadn’t come to see us since Mimi Rubee died.
    “It will kill me if you don’t promise,” Grandma said.
    I shrugged.
    Grandma squeezed my hand one more time. “Promise!”
    I crossed my fingers. I wound my legs together. I’d never go to Richmond Prison. Never.
    “I promise,” I said. “I promise.”
    “That’s a good girl.” Grandma unwound her fingers and patted me. “Remember, a promise is sacred. God listens. Disobey a promise and God knows what can happen. But never mind, I know you’ll keep your word.” She tilted her head and gave me an approving smile. “I see your father in your face. It comforts me. I’ll die easier knowing I can count on you.”

    The next morning I dressed with particular care. I tried not to get excited as I waited for Hillary to pick me up for our “something great.” So far, we’d gone to the movies, gone to the Brooklyn Museum, where she couldn’t get enough of the costume rooms and I