Free Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L. Holm Page A

at lunch, I figured Nana Philly would have wised up. But I guess you can’t teach a mean old lady new tricks, because the bowl hasn’t been in front of her for more than a moment when her hand knocks it off the table. It falls to the floor in a splatter.
    “You know, there sure are a lot of hungry folks who would have liked to eat that,” I say, but all she does is stare at the upside-down magazine a little harder.
    I clean up the mess and eat my own lunch with her watching the whole time. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s just like dealing with a rotten kid: if you back down in front of them, they’ll never leave you be.
    When I’m finished, I carry a bowl of guava duff out and place it in front of her. She lifts her hand to smack it, but I snatch it away just in time.
    “You’re not wasting dessert,” I say.
“I’ll
eat it.”
    I sit down and take a bite. It’s delicious. It tastes a little like plum pudding.
    “Miss Bea sure is a good cook.”
    Nana Philly pretends to ignore me, but I can tell she’s watching. She reminds me of a lobster, with her beady eyes peeking out at me from under her red hat.
    “Mama’s a good cook, too. She makes the best caramel custard. One of our old employers, Mr. Hearn, couldn’t get enough of it. He had her make it four nights a week.”
    I study Nana Philly closely. “You know, Mama told me you were dead.”
    She glances down quickly, and it comes to me.
    “You were mean to her, too, weren’t you?” I ask. “Is that why she hasn’t come back to Key West?”
    My grandmother doesn’t look up, and I know the answer to my own question.
    “Poor Mama,” I whisper. Chased off by her own mother. No wonder she’s such a wreck.
    A shadow crosses Nana Philly’s face and, for a brief moment, I see something like regret in her blue eyes, but then it’s gone.

    It happens just like in the Bible: on the third day, there’s a miracle.
    “I can tell the old girl’s really looking forward to seeing you today,” Miss Bea says.
    I doubt that, but say, “Really?”
    “Even had me get out her best hat,” Miss Bea says.
    I’m not impressed. I didn’t even want to come here today after what I learned yesterday, but Aunt Minnie got used to me helping out, so I don’t have any choice now. This is what I get for being a good girl.
    When I walk into the bedroom, Nana Philly puts down her magazine and looks at me. She’s wearing a royal blue hat with a peacock feather.
    “You expecting the queen?” I ask.
    Miss Bea has made conch chowder, and it’s simmering on the stove. I fill two bowls and carry them out, placing one in front of Nana Philly. I sit down with my bowl and start eating, waiting to hear her bowl hit the floor. But when I look up, she’s holding the spoon. She brings it to her mouth with her good hand and swallows the chowder.
    She takes another spoonful. And another.
    Soon her bowl is empty.
    “You know,” I say, “I missed seeing a matinee the first day when I came here to give you lunch. It was a Shirley Temple picture.”
    Her eyes fly to my face.
    “Which is fine by me, because I hate Shirley Temple,” I say.
    A corner of my grandmother’s mouth turns up in a crooked smile, and her eyes shine.
    “Me thoo,” she says.

12
Hard Times
    Everyone’s always saying that hard times bring out the best in people, but far as I can tell, the only thing that hard times bring out is plain meanness. I left my shoes outside on the front porch last night, and some rotten kid stole them.
    I loved those shoes. I remember the day Archie bought them for me. He’d taken Mama and me out to lunch at the counter at Woolworth’s. After, Mama was buying me a pair of glue-on soles to help stretch my too-small shoes when Archie stopped her.
    “The princess needs new shoes,” he said. “That’s all there is to it.”
    He took me to a store where a pal of his worked and bought me a pretty new pair of Mary Janes.
    Even though Mama’s fellas were always buying me