Free Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L. Holm

I’m Turtle,” I say. “Your granddaughter.”
    She looks up.
    “Sadiebelle’s girl.”
    And blinks.
    “Mama’s in New Jersey,” I explain. “She got a job as a housekeeper to a rich lady.”
    Nana Philly stares at me.
    “I’m supposed to make you lunch. You hungry?” I ask.
    The old lady doesn’t say anything; she just looks back down at her magazine. It’s not exactly thetearful reunion I was imagining, although maybe that blink was her way of saying she was happy to see me. Then again, maybe she has dust in her eye.
    I go into the kitchen and look around. Mama’s always making fancy lunches for the ladies she works for. You wouldn’t even know people were standing in breadlines if you walked in and saw what they were eating: iced cantaloupe, shrimp aspic, caviar sandwiches with cream cheese, hearts of lettuce with French dressing, meringue cookies.
    There’s no caviar or cream cheese in sight, but there is bread on the table and milk in the icebox, so I decide to make milk toast. I toast up some bread, stick it in a bowl, and pour milk over it. It’s tasty, and it’s mushy.
    Nana Philly eyes the bowl suspiciously when I place it on the little table in front of her.
    “It’s milk toast,” I say. “We eat it all the time.” Strange as it seems, I want her to like it.
    She doesn’t move and then I realize why.
    “Oh, no! I forgot your spoon,” I say, and rush back into the kitchen. I hear a thump, and when I return, the bowl is lying facedown on the floor, milk splattered everywhere.
    “What happened?” I ask.
    Nana Philly doesn’t say anything. Not that I really expect her to.
    “I must have put it too close to the edge,” I say, and clean up the mess. Then I set about making another bowl of milk toast. I bring it out—with a spoon this time—and place it in front of her on the little table.
    “Here you go,” I say. “I hope you like it.”
    She looks at the bowl for a moment and then her hand whips out and knocks it right off the table and onto the floor.
    I’m so shocked, I just stand there. I didn’t really believe what the boys said about her before, but I do now.
    “You did that on purpose,” I say. “Why? I’m your granddaughter!”
    Her mouth twitches as if this amuses her.
    Something hopeful in me hardens. She reminds me of all the rotten kids I’ve ever lived with.
    “You don’t scare me,” I say.
    I clean up the mess again and make another bowl of milk toast. But this time I don’t give it to the mean old lady who’s my grandmother; instead, I sit down in a chair and start eating. She stares at me, her eyes following every spoonful.
    “This is delicious,” I say, and smile. “Shame you spilled yours.”
    I swear I can see her mouth watering.
    When Miss Bea returns, Nana Philly and I are sitting in the parlor.
    “Did you two have a nice lunch?”
    “We had a lovely time,” I say.
    “Would you like to come again tomorrow? Give your poor aunt a break?” Miss Bea asks.
    “Sure,” I say, and smile sweetly at Nana Philly. “I’m looking forward to getting to know my grandmother.”
    Miss Bea’s waiting for me on the front porch with her shopping basket when I arrive the next afternoon.
    “There’s grits-and-grunts-and-gravy on the stove and guava duff for dessert. There’s plenty for both of you,” Miss Bea says. “I’ve got shopping to do, so I might be a while.”
    “Take your time,” I say.
    “Thank you, Turtle,” she says. “You’re a dear.”
    Nana Philly’s in her room looking at her magazine as usual. I notice it’s upside down.
    “Must be some real interesting reading you got there,” I say.
    The old woman ignores me, so I go into the kitchen. I spoon out two bowls of grits-and-grunts-and-gravy. Folks here eat this all the time. Grunts are little fish and grits are like porridge. That’s the one good thing about Key West: there’s food everywhere—hanging from trees, in the ocean—and it’s all free.
    After what happened yesterday