Free TROUBLE 1 by Kristina Weaver

answering it makes my stomach turn.
    “Hannah! Open the damn door! I know you’re in there, and I’m not leaving.
    Freaking Amber. I should have known she wouldn’t crack it for long, but I’d expected more from her than one night.
    “What?” I whisper after throwing on a robe and opening the door.
    She glares at me and shoves a suitcase my way, stepping aside to reveal Nana behind her, a huge grin on her wrinkled face.
    “She’s soft, this one, Hannah girl, and I wouldn’t leave her to care for a rattlesnake. She hasn’t even given me breakfast. I have low blood sugar. I need my breakfast.”
    I tilt my head back and groan before grabbing the suitcase and waving Nana in.
    “Come on, Nana, let’s leave Amber to get back to her super important life,” I say, glaring at my sister as Nana shuffles in and makes a beeline for the kitchen. “You’re such an idiot. Jesus, you can’t look after a defenseless old lady for a few days without trying to starve her?”
    “I found her in the kitchen smearing peanut butter on her face! She poured vinegar in my petunias, and she stays up until two in the goddamned morning singing Sinatra!”
    “Oh, poor baby.”
    “The peanut butter is for my wrinkles, and your petunias were already dead. I was trying to get rid of the decaying plant smell. And if you don’t like Sinatra, there’s something wrong with you!” Nana yells from the kitchen, making me smile despite the pounding headache in my eyeballs.
    “Just go home, Amber. Oh, and I want my fucking money back,” I say, slamming the door in her shocked face.
    “That girl is a menace, I tell ya,” Nana says, bustling around in the kitchen as I slump over the tiny kitchenette and pray for death. “Here, Hannah darling, have some water, and then Nana will make you a nice hangover cure,” she croons, stroking my hair softly.
    I down the water with a smile and watch her cook breakfast and join me.
    “I’m sorry, Nana, I should never have left you with Amber,” I say ten minutes later, when the grease has started sucking up some of the booze and the Godawful concoction she’s poured down my throat starts working.
    “That’s all right, baby, I understand. You’ve got a lot on your mind right now.”
    It’s a feeble excuse and I know it, but I appreciate it anyway.
    “Sooo, want to tell me why you were smearing peanut butter all over your beautiful face?”
    She chuckles and her eyes dance merrily, confirming my belief that she’s not so senile she’ll believe a dose of nutty goodness will cure her wrinkles. I say Nana is probably senile, but she’s still alert enough to run circles around the likes of Amber.
    “She brought a man home last night, and I had to listen to them making the beast with two backs,” she says disgustedly. “No one should have to hear that, dear.”
    I snort, remembering what I’d seen at the home. Double standard, Nana, total double standard.
    “So you sang Sinatra at the top of your lungs and smeared yourself with good old peanut butter?” I laugh, seeing the humor in it even if Amber can’t. “What’s the big deal?”
    “I happened to be singing in her bedroom without my bloomers on, dear. That caught their attention very quickly.”
    I’m still laughing an hour later when we approach the park. I stop for a newspaper and water, and by the time we get there my arm's almost dead from the pound of bread crumbs she’s forced me to carry along.
    I sit beside her and try not to notice when we’re swarmed by pigeons. Nana loves them, and after the morning she’s had I am not about to give her grief, even if I am afraid the birds will peck out our eyes and carry us away.
    “So,” I say, waiting until she’s scattered half the bag. “If I find another home…”
    I hear her sigh and hide the grin the sound elicits.
    “Hannah, dear, is it too much to ask that I don’t have to die in an old person’s prison?”
    Oh, she’s such a drama queen.
    “You’ll outlive Satan, and