Break My Heart: Part 3

I thought this story was finished, but a comment from a friend made me realize this story had more to tell. My mind is debating where it shall go, so here is a snippet to get your mind moving forward. Happy birthday week to me. Please eat some cake, but eat responsibly.

As I tucked my creation back into the gift box, someone softly cleared their throat. I looked up to find a tall, lanky man smiling shyly down at me. As my eyes rested on his face, a soft pink flush infused his cheeks. He glanced away, back to my face, and then down at his hands.

“Yes?” I offered a single word like a lifeline.

“It appears we have the same problem.” The color in his cheeks deepened as he looked at me through his eyelashes.

My brows furrowed as I waited for him to elaborate. He wiped his hands nervously on his slacks before continuing.

“We both seem to be dining alone.”

“I didn’t notice.” I offered a smile that I hoped would prove discouraging.

“I was hoping maybe we could…” He shrugged his shoulders, waiting for me to fill in the details for myself.

I raised an eyebrow.

“I'll buy if you allow me to join you for dinner.”

“I’m not really looking for a date…” A sour note crept into my words.

“I didn’t mean a date. I just don’t like to eat alone.” His words tumbled over each other as he took a step backward. “I’m sorry. I’ll just go back to my seat.”

“Wait.” I gestured toward the chair across from mine. “Please have a seat.”

“It’s not a date.” He reassured me as he pulled out the chair and sat down. “My name is William, by the way.”

“I’m Winnie.” We shook hands quickly, pulling our hands apart in confused silence.

The waiter helped break the silence when he delivered my onion fries. He looked at my new eating companion in confusion for only a second before producing silverware from his pocket and taking our orders.

“So, William, what should we talk about?” I asked as the waiter walked away.

Break My Heart: Part 2

Presenting the conclusion of last week's story. Sorry I didn't post it all at once, but this section needed a little more revision. It may even need revision now. Let me know what you think.

I arrived on time to the second class and took the same station as before. Maribel joined me a couple of minutes later.

“Think they’re ready?” She offered an anxious smile as she glanced toward the locked cabinet.

“I hope so. This is the big weekend.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the teacher interrupted. “I took the liberty of peeking at your pieces this morning. Now it is your turn to tell me whether they are leather hard and therefore ready to be fired. Ladies…”

As he walked past us to unlock the cabinet, Maribel and I stepped forward to claim our creations. As we gently placed them on the counter and removed the newspaper, all eyes in the room turned to us. As far as I knew, they looked ready to be fired. I tapped the clay tentatively with one fingernail. This produced a soft clicking sound.

“Don’t say anything yet. I’ll be coming around to ask each of you to tell me what you think when everyone has their piece in hand.”

I nodded and hazarded a peek at Mirabel. With a glance to make sure the teacher wasn’t looking, she raised one thumb and nodded her head. I smiled and looked back down at the interlocked hearts, relieved to see that they had maintained their original shape. After everyone whispered their assessment of their own work, he supervised as we placed our shaped clay into the kiln.

 “Don’t worry, we have plenty of space for all of your masterpieces.” The teacher offered reassurance as mutters arose from the men in the front row. “You’ll all have something beautiful to take home tonight. In the meantime, work on your next masterpiece. Try a different method of creation this time. If you used coils for your first piece, try slabs. I want to be sure you have a basic understanding of the clay before we try throwing pots on the wheel.”

Maribel and I turned to the fresh balls of clay that awaited us. As I began gently kneading the clay, I pondered what to make. Maribel leaned in to voice the question in my mind.

“What are you going to make this time?”

“I have no idea.”

“You could make your man’s mom an ashtray.” She giggled.

“Or a teacup.” I offered with a smirk.

I finally decided to make a slab box. Soon I was rolling the clay out gently between two thin boards to make sure the thickness remained consistent. No matter how intently I focused on the task at hand, my eyes always wandered back to the kiln. After waiting the suggested amount of time, I peeked into the kiln. Reassured, I raised my hand to get the teacher’s attention.

“It looks done to me.” I pointed to my creation to make sure he knew which one.

“I believe you’re right.” He nodded his head as he came to stand at my side.

I slipped on heavy gloves from a shelf beside the kilns and a pair of tongs. “May I?”

“Please do.” He stepped back to observe as I gently pulled out my creation.

Peering over my shoulder as I gently placed the warm clay on a rack to cool, Maribel offered. “I think mine is done, too.”

We distracted ourselves by continuing to prepare our new masterpieces, but we couldn’t keep our eyes off the cooling rack for long. By the time class ended, I couldn’t keep my feet from carrying me back to Janson’s gift.

Maribel joined me. “Think they’re cool enough?”

I nodded my head as I slowly placed my hand near the rack. Feeling no heat, I gently wrapped my fingers around the coiled hearts and picked them up. The clay warmed my hand though it had cooled enough to be handled.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” I turned my creation over in my hands, pleased to find that it had not cracked or slumped as it baked.

“I think as long as you like it, it is perfect.” Maribel offered me another smile.

“It is perfect.” I breathed a sigh of relief as I clutched the entwined hearts to my own.

~~

“Happy birthday.” I smiled as I opened the door for Janson.

His lips smiled back at me but his eyes looked past me. “Thank you.”

“Should I drive tonight since it’s your special day?” I offered as I pulled the door closed and dropped my keys into my purse next to my carefully wrapped present.

“That would be good. We should take separate cars.” He said distractedly.

“Okay?”

He ignored the question in my voice and turned toward his car. “I’ll meet you at Roberto’s.”

I paused to watch him get into his car and slam the door. He didn’t look back to make sure I was following as he drove away. I hurriedly opened my car door and slipped behind the wheel. As I merged with traffic and followed him, I bit my lip, searching for some clue as to what was happening.

At the restaurant, I ran to catch up to Janson before he reached the door. As I slipped my arm into his, he resisted. Then he stiffened up but allowed my arm to stay linked with him.

“Is something wrong?” I leaned in to whisper.

“Of course not.”

I didn’t pursue it as the restaurant door opened and a greeter with a warm smile under a thin mustache invited us to enter. The maître d’ offered us another warm smile and a slight bow as he checked our reservation and invited us to follow a third man to our table. The waiter held my chair out for me as Janson took his own seat.

“Maybe this will cheer you up.” I pulled my carefully wrapped gift from my purse and placed it on the table between us.

“Man, Winnie, can’t you give me one second to breath.”

“I’m sorry. What?” My forced smile faded.

“I just wanted to have a nice dinner and let you down easy, but…”

“Let me down…” As realization began to sink in, my mouth dropped open.

“I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, but my mother told me I should at least see what your gift was. I just can’t do this…”

“Your mother told you…” Again my mouth gaped open with no words to fill it.

“Yes, apparently, she was right. We’re not compatible. I’m sorry. I have to go.” He almost knocked over the waiter coming to take our drink orders.

My whole body felt numb. I turned enough to watch him walk away, but no part of me wanted to follow or beg him to stay. After a few seconds of gazing after his retreating form, I turned back to the waiter.

“I’ll have a glass of ginger ale and some onion fries to start.”

“Yes, ma’am. And the gentleman?”

“I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He offered no questions, just a slight bow as he removed the extra place setting.

I smiled and reached for the present. Carefully, unwrapping it, I lifted the lid to reveal the entwined hearts. I reached into the box to pull out the entwined hearts and hold them close to my own.

“This really is the perfect gift.” I whispered softly as all the worry and trepidation of the last few weeks rose from my shoulders and followed Janson out the door.

Break My Heart: Part 1

“His birthday is only a couple of weeks away. You really should buy him something nice.” Mrs. Adamson smiled at me over a porcelain teacup as she gingerly raised it to her lips.

I opened my mouth, but somehow managed to bite back the question on my tongue. Even though we both knew I never listened to my potential mother-in-law, wisdom dictated that I not admit to this flaw in my character.

“Would you like me to give you some suggestions?” Another sip of chamomile tea slid across her lips as she waited for my response.

My lips tilted upward in a soft smile as I lied. “I’ve got something special in mind.”

“I hope so. He deserves the best.” She frowned critically as she searched my face for signs of my lie.

I nodded agreement, avoiding more words by taking a long sip of the tepid tea. Her frown deepened as I lingered with the fine porcelain to my lips. My mind wandered to how sincerely I didn’t wish to be here. Clearly, she didn’t approve of me, so I couldn’t understand why Janson insisted I get to know his mother. He’d already admitted that he never intended to marry, so I was probably another in a long string of broken hearts he’d leave in his wake. I fidgeted a little as I tried to surreptitiously glance at my watch.

“So what is it?”

The broken silence returned as I gazed back at her through startled eyes. I struggled to keep from expressing my own annoyance at her questions. Mrs. Adamson tilted her head as if seeing me for the first time.

“What is this special something you have planned for my son?” Disdain chased the words from her mouth to my ear.

Warm blood blushed through my fair skin from feet to hairline as I searched for a response. I finally stammered a few words of defense. “Um. Well. I want to keep it a secret for now.”

“I see.” I knew she didn’t but she would never admit it.

Instead, she tried to wheedle information from me as we continued to sip tea and nibble tiny cakes coated in crystalized icing. Had I actually planned something already, I would have cracked and revealed everything in the hope of being released. It may have been better that I didn’t know yet.

~~

By the time the great inquisitor permitted me to leave, exhaustion ruled me. I drove home in a foggy haze and passed out on my couch without even removing my shoes. The next morning, my first thought upon waking drove me to stumble down the stairs and across the street to the local newsstand in search of a newspaper and, hopefully, some inspiration. After acquiring the local paper, I barely crossed my threshold before opening its pages and scanning the classifieds.

“Chasetown Community College Offers Continuing Education” leapt out from a half page ad. Underneath this promising headline, a list of classes filled the rest of the space. My eyes rested on the offering of “pottery basics”. Scenes from an old movie drifted into my head and I smiled.

“That’s perfect.” A soft smile played along my lips.

~~

I arrived late to the first pottery class. Slipping into an empty station at the back of the room, I offered a tentative smile to the redhead at the station next to mine. She smiled back as she raised one hand to wipe a bead of sweat from her brow. My own skin already released its own thin layer of moisture as the heat of the kilns reached me. As the teacher began preparing us to sink our fingers into the balls of clay that nestled under moist cloths in front of us, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and carefully flipped it open under the tabletop. Janson wanted to know what I was doing. I spent the rest of the lecture reassuring him that I’d see him later. During our conversation, I only managed to catch a few of the instructions from our teacher. Determined to create a beautiful gift anyway, I began rolling the clay into the snake. When the snake was as thick as a pencil, I cut it into eight equal pieces and formed each coil into a heart shape, one on top of the other. After some hesitation, I reformed it into two interlocking hearts. I lifted my creation gently and turned toward the kiln.

The girl with the flaming red hair noticed and called out in a slow, southern drawl. “Honey, you have to wait…”

“I don’t need help.” Impatience brought the words to my lips.

“But you do need to let the clay dry before you fire it.” She forced a smile as she stepped closer to me.

“It dries in the kiln.” I responded.

“The professor says it needs to air dry first.” Her eyes wandered to my phone, which I had placed on the countertop.

“Oh.” I gently placed my hearts back on the counter.

I felt the warmth of the other woman’s hand as she placed it on my wrist. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s start over.”

I looked at her for a moment in silence, gently pulling my wrist away. I turned to look at my coiled hearts. After exaggerated scrutiny, I gently pressed a few of the coils more tightly together.

“My name is Maribel.” She filled the silence, extending her hand to me.

As I turned back to her, I found my own hand engulfed in a warm handshake. “Winnie.” I breathed my name as my rigid body relaxed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Despite my initial reluctance, we talked like old friends. Somehow, she softened the sharp edges of my personality and opened me up. I explained why I had decided to take the pottery class. She repeated more of the instructor’s advice as I worked to make my piece ready for the kiln. By the time the teacher circled around to offer assistance and criticism, newspaper covered our works as we leaned against the counter.

He lifted the corner of one of the newspapers to peer at the clay underneath. “Good. Good. A little patience merits great rewards.”

I inclined my head in a slight nod. He lifted the second newspaper and offered similar platitudes to Maribel. She smiled and thanked him. We continued to lean against the counter in companionable silence as the teacher took his place at the front of the room.

“I know you are all impatient to take home the fruit of your labors, but you’re going to have to wait. As I said before, we have to let the clay dry before firing it. I have reserved some cabinets in the back to store your pieces until you return next week. They should be ready to go into the kiln then.”

A rustle went through the room as we all turned to pick up our creations. The professor cleared his throat. “Let’s not rush. We need to do this in an orderly fashion.”

He pointed at a few men in the front row, inviting them to be the first to stow their work until next week. Being closest to cabinets, Maribel and I were the last to place our items in storage.

“See you next week.” She called out as we separated to go to our cars.

“And our masterpieces. At last.” I replied with a dramatic flourish.

We both laughed.

Two Freaks

The talented Bella slips another one in under the wire. Before you choose to be offended, keep in mind that I love wearing cloaks on an average day, referring to myself in the third person, and dressing up in costume for no reason at all. Enjoy!

Two freaks met and fell in love. How many love stories start like that?

Ours did. I ended a short-lived relationship with yet another man who thought he owned me. Had he thought of it, I would have signed a paper signing away the rights to all my thoughts and feelings. He wanted to possess me that much. It drove him crazy that he couldn’t, so he forced the issue. He started trying to destroy my relationships with everyone around me.

That’s why I ran away. I left my hometown, my friends, my job, and my broken heart behind just to be free of him. I stayed under the radar for a year. I never went out with people from my new job. I lived in fear of making new friends. I barely even left my apartment to pick up food and other essentials.

When a year passed without hearing from my ex, I loosened up a little. I decided to celebrate. I didn’t need a big party. After all, I didn’t have anyone to party with. But I wanted to do something that signified moving on and returning to some semblance of a normal life.

I remembered seeing a coffee shop on the corner. I would be close enough to dash home if I lost my nerve. Besides, a cup of hot chocolate always heals my woes. As I pawed through the few items of jewelry that I brought with me, a spiked collar caught my eye. The words “I thought you’d need a new collar now that you’re free” had been carefully written in my best friend’s handwriting along the inside of the soft, supple leather.

My mother remained the only person I trusted enough to have my address. Occasionally, she sent a care package. She included this gift from Edi in the first shipment though I doubt she knew she’d sent such a thing. Wrapped tightly in shimmering gold foil and silver ribbons, she had no clue. Of course, I reached for the shimmering gift first when I cut open the box.

My smile returned as it had when I ripped off the paper and pulled back the box top. I fumbled with the small buckle, as I wrapped it around my neck. The leather seemed to mold to my skin. I found a black baby tee and black jeans with red flowers painted along the hem. A few swift passes of the brush left my hair smooth and shiny. I grabbed my purse and rushed myself out the door before I could change my mind.

When I reached the coffee shop, I almost didn’t go in. A soft glow came from a single candle on each table, but it looked too gloomy to be open. I checked the sign to make sure. Reassured, I stepped toward the door as a tall man with curly dark hair put his hand on the handle. He wore wrinkled black slacks and a black button-down shirt with the top three buttons undone. Dark eyes met mine as he smiled down at me.

“Nice collar.”

Distracted by his smile, I nodded my head and mumbled. “Thank you.”

“You alone?” His eyes looked up and down the street, looking for anyone else.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Um…yes.”

“Sometimes it gets crowded this late. Want to sit together?”

“Umm…”

“My name is Aaron. I promise not to bite you…” He looked deep into my wide eyes as he paused and leaned closer to whisper. “…unless you beg me to.”

I laughed and the tense bubble around me broke a little. “Okay.”

“I’ll buy if you find us a table.” He offered as he held the door open.

“Sounds good.” I started to walk toward the nearest empty table.

He placed a hand on my shoulder gently. As I turned to him, he shook his head. “Sadly, my ESP is broken. You need to tell me what you want.”

A warm blush colored my cheeks as I said. “Hot cocoa.”

 When he joined me with two cups of foam-topped delight, the look on his face aroused my suspicions. “What did you do to my cocoa?”

“Nothing you won’t like. We can switch if you like.” He reached for my cup.

“No. I’ll trust you.” My heart disagreed as my chest tightened, but I slowly brought to cup to my lips.

I sipped gently, allowing the warm liquid to flow over my tongue. He watched me anxiously.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. It’s different. What’s in it?”

“Raspberry Italian syrup.” He beamed. “It’s their specialty.”

“It’s delicious.” I took a longer sip, closing my eyes as raspberry and chocolate mingled to create a sweet sensation.

“I should probably answer a few more of your questions.” The table shifted as he leaned closer.

I opened my eyes and gazed into his face. “Such as?”

“I don’t normally hit on girls that I see at the coffee shop. I work as an accountant by day, but I love to play the drums at night.”

I couldn’t think of anything interesting to say in reply. Clearly, he felt differently. He encouraged me with questions. I fired a few back at him, discovering that he had talked to me because I was wearing the collar. Otherwise, he said he’d have been afraid to scare me off by being so forward. I even explained why I chose to wear it. I felt comfortable talking to Dylan. I hadn’t felt so free and so close to anyone in over a year. I didn’t want it to end. By the time we finished talking, my neglected cocoa actually had grown cold. I finished it anyway as he held out his hand to walk me home.

Twenty years and two kids later, I still wear my studded collar from time to time. Edi visits us often. After all, without her, we would never have met. My possessive ex did try to reconnect, but my lack of interest finally convinced him to find another victim. My husband still makes me want to talk for hours, loves my studded necklace, and introducing me to new things, freaky or otherwise. He still plays the drums and, sometimes, I sing along.

I’m glad I found the right freak to fall in love with. I’m even more glad that he loves me back.

Bride's Lament

I've been obsessively cleaning this week, so I unearthed another old flash fiction for your reading pleasure. Enjoy.

I rest here, waiting for the blood to fall again. It slips slowly down my fingers from somewhere near the realm of my heart. It drips again, splashing against the whiteness of my wedding dress.

On my wedding day, I should be smiling. Looking across the room at my husband, I see only emptiness. The void lingers until he turns his eyes upon me. I see myself in those eyes. I see the woman he wanted to marry—the adoring wife he thinks I am returning his gaze with my own blood dripping from my fingers. He doesn't see the blood though, just the veil falling back from long golden hair.

He crosses the room and takes me in his arms. He has no need to be gentle anymore. Though he cannot see the blood welling up and pouring from me, he knows that no harm he inflicts will be worse than my surrender to him has been. Luckily, his knowledge is not conscious and he enjoys melding with me as snaps and hooks come undone and leave me, simply me, for him to behold.

He still doesn't see me. Even with no veils or skirts to hide my nakedness, he can't see me. He doesn't recognize the pain behind my eyes as I smile and make all the right sounds and then wait in the dimming light for him to sleep with me cradled in his arms. He is so gentle now, caressing my cheek with his fingers, gazing into my eyes without seeing into their depths.

At last his eyes close. Dark, untamed lashes come together to conceal grey eyes. Now my own dark eyes are free. The teardrops slip down my cheeks. I regret that I will hurt him someday when he learns to see beyond the face I put on for him and them. For a time though, they're all happy, even if I am bleeding away in obscurity.

For this is all I was born to, this marriage where I can finally die without anyone ever having seen that I existed without a man to give me his name.

Screams of the Heart

The submission I was working on for today needs a little more research, consideration, and editing. I discovered this old flash fiction and punched it up for you. What do you think?

The brunette screams. She screams so loud that her very heart will burst. These screams will never penetrate thick strong walls. Her mournful tones shall never reverberate through his ears and make his heart echo the ache of her own. She will never be free. The sun shall never lighten her dark tresses again.

It seems only moments since he last held her. It felt as if his lips still pressed hers. Yet her heart shattered in a single moment from his words, so soft and then so harsh, all in an instant.

"I love you, but the kingdom must never know."

He pushed her away and whistled softly. As she protested, two guards appeared and grabbed her wrists. They wrapped her in a dark cloth and rode with her to this place. She does not know this place. She looks but sees no means of escape. Does it matter? She does not know which direction leads home. No, none of this matters at all. All that matters is that she can still scream.

She can scream and forget to try to understand. She can scream and forget she was ever loved. She can scream into eternity with no one to hear. She can scream and let those screams drown out all else including the sorrowful patter of her heartbeat. Thus she screams as her dark hair falls to cover her face. Thick stone walls cover her screams until blood seeps up from her raw throat and silences her at last.

Grandmother Knows

Those were the sweet summers of our youth. My cousin always sheltered from the summer heat in the shaded home of our grandparents. Images flashing across the tiny screen of an old television expanded our world on hot, muggy days. Unfazed by the sounds of laughter as we wrestled, grandfather lazed in his big chair in the living room. We’d listen to him snore as the afternoon heat finally penetrated the defenses of the house’s thin walls. He often fell asleep with a lit wicker pipe dangling from his mouth, causing grandmother to awaken him.

“Jacob, you’re tryin’ to kill us, ain’t ya?”

“Myrtle, you worry too much. I ain’t burned down this house in all our years…”

“That’s right. ‘Cause I’m always here to wake you up.”

“Well, I admit I need ya as much as I ever did. Come here and give us a kiss.”

Sometimes Joyce and I would creep out into the hallway to watch them. Grandmother never gave him that kiss that we could see. We always thought it was because she knew we were watching. That was one thing you could count on. Grandmother knew everything.

She knew about the candy we snuck in under our loose tops. She knew how we’d fight over who was going to grow up and marry our favorite actor in whatever movie we were watching that day. She knew to fill our bellies with blueberry pancakes and sausage every morning. She knew we’d need plenty of lemonade for our evenings on the porch as we waited for twilight and the chance to chase lightning bugs.

That’s probably why none of us knew what to do when we found the one thing that grandmother didn’t know all about. It was another of those lazy summer days. Joyce and I had finally found a movie where each of us fell for a different character, so we hadn’t fought all day. Our conversation as we slipped lemonade mirrored the stillness of the growing dusk. Our excitement grew as it neared the time to collect lightning bugs. If we collected enough, we could tell stories by their glow before we fell asleep to the gentle sound of the wind in the trees outside the window.

It was as we slowly rose from the porch swing that we realized something was wrong. Somehow standing up made it easier to hear the voices we had only vaguely noticed as we lounged in the last rays of the sun. I looked at Joyce, unable to identify exactly what I was hearing. Her face assured me that she shared my confusion. As I opened my mouth to voice our question, she raised a finger to her lips and shook her head. She took a couple of slow, careful steps toward the open window, leaning in to listen. I followed her lead, leaning in until I could make out the words.

“…forty years?”

“I told you that I didn’t know, woman. I only just found out.”

“But we were married…”

“…a year later. It was one night with her. I’ve devoted my life to you.” Grandfather pleaded.

“I won’t forgive you for this. You know I can’t…” Tears softened my grandmother’s strong voice.

My mouth opened to form a slack oval. Joyce frowned as her brow furrowed. We raced off into the meadow, not to look for fireflies as we had planned but to get away from the sounds of discord echoing from the house. When we finally returned to the house, grandmother sat alone in the living room with her knitting across her lap. She didn’t look up as we tiptoed down the stairs. I know she heard us, but she didn’t want us to see her tears.

A few weeks later, my aunt Christina moved in with my grandparents. Born to a woman who knew grandfather before he met our grandmother, she favored him in appearance. We accepted her into the family, everyone but grandmother. She knew that this woman’s arrival would change our family. At first, Joyce and I thought she changed it for the better.

Aunt Chris knew how to have fun. She laughed and joked with us. She even included us in practical jokes on grandfather. We tried pranking our grandmother once, but rediscovered how much she knows when she chased us through the house with a broom before we got a chance to switch the powdered sugar for flour.

 While Aunt Chris brought a certain sense of carefree abandonment, her levity came at a price. As the summer drew to a close, her disposition changed. Lethargy overtook her. An aroma of stale alcohol accompanied her from room to room. She demanded quiet to sleep off her latest round of drinking. More and more, the television remained dark. Either Aunt Chris would stumble out to turn it off or curse at us until we did.

Grandmother’s anger flared up more often and fell on Joyce and I. Grandfather no longer took his naps on his favorite chair. Instead he sought the solitude of a small copse of trees behind the house. Distracted by her own concerns, grandmother stopped making fresh lemonade. Joyce mixed up the powder a few times, but we found it wanting and stopped trying.

One night, Aunt Chris’s snoring kept me awake, so I tiptoed down the stairs. I figured I could get a few hours of sleep on the couch. As my padded feet neared the lowest stairs, I became aware of the soft sound of hushed voices.

“I know that she is your daughter. That’s why she is staying.” Grandmother hissed.

“But I love having the girls here for the summer, Myrtle.”

“I won’t have them here with her any longer. I’ve already called their mothers.”

“It’s not like she’s going to turn them into alcoholics. Come on…” Grandfather reassured her in a hushed voice.

“I would hope not. My girls are smarter than that.”

As my grandmother defended us, my cheeks burned. A faint hint of whiskey still tinged my breath. Aunt Chris shared her libations with us on more than one occasion that summer. I gave in more often than my cousin. I guess I wasn’t as smart.

That’s just one more thing grandmother didn’t know.