Page 52 of Nerdelicious
Not the same, not even close to what my heart and body demand. But it will be okay.
“Granny, we’re home!” Grace calls out as we thump into the house, unloading our bags in the entry.
It’s quiet and empty. Just the ticking of the old cuckoo clock in the corner.
“Maybe she’s out in the barn.” My eyes alight on something bright and red hanging on the banister.
Grace’s footsteps tap away toward the kitchen and I head to the stairs, reaching for the item just as I realize what it is.
It’s a bra. It’s lacy and red. And it’s not mine. It can’t be Grace’s. Only Granny has the rack for it. Grace’s plodding footsteps stop and then increase in volume. She’s coming this way. I snatch the red piece of lingerie, hiding it behind my back as I face her.
“What was that?” she asks.
“What? Nothing.”
One hip juts out and her hand rests on it. “Why are you hiding a bra?”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“You suck at lying. Fine.” She ducks around me and grabs it before I can blink. “Holy crap, who’s is that?”
“Uh. Mine.”
She snorts. “Your boobs are not that big. Is that Granny’s? Why is it down here?”
I snatch it back. “It’s none of our business.”
“I can’t believe Granny has a boyfriend. So that’s where she’s been disappearing to almost every night.” Her eyes gleam as they meet mine. “We should spy on her.”
“No spying.”
I run up the stairs.
Grace stomps up behind me. “Oh, come on. I bet it’s old Mr. Thompson. She says she doesn’t like bald men but she’s always telling him what to do. I think she likes bossing him around.” She gasps and the sound is so loud I stop on the middle of the stairs and turn to check on her.
“What?” I ask.
She’s halted on the step, eyes wide, hand on her chest. “Maybe she bosses him around in the bedroom,” she whispers, lifting her brows with mock horror. I roll my eyes and keep going up the stairs while she bursts into laughter behind me. “You should see your face.”
I toss the offending garment through Granny’s door and it lands on the floor somewhere with a whisper of fabric.
Time for a subject change.
“I’m showering first!” I holler and beeline to the bathroom, but Grace is closer and hustles inside, shutting the door on my face before I can stop her.
“You suck!” I yell.
Her response is loud laughter. “I’ll be fast.”
“Yeah right.” I head downstairs. I’ll find Granny while I’m waiting three years for the shower.
She’s out back in the shade of the awning, relaxing in a rocking chair, feet up on the patio table, smoking something that definitely isn’t a cigarette.
I clear my throat and her feet whip down, hand shoving the joint down under her chair in a delayed attempt to hide it.
“Granny,” I say, ready to give her the same lecture the doctor gave her at her last appointment.
“Oh, hey Fred girl.” She’s all innocent smiles. “Glad you made it back. Earlier I was feeling a little,” she coughs, “afflicted, you know, stressed out. And it’s not good to make my blood pressure rise, doctor’s orders. So we should make sure we don’t talk about anything... troubling.”
