The Ninth Wife by Amy Stolls

hands.
    “What’s going on? Gramp?” But he couldn’t look at her.
    “Bess, honey,” says Millie hesitantly. “We, that is your grandfather and I, we can’t keep everything anymore and this is a little thing, it’s true, but it’s so fragile and could break if you don’t take it and take care of it.”
    “Not following here. What do you mean you can’t keep everything?”
    Millie takes a deep breath. “We had a hard winter this one past, Bessie. We’re not getting any younger, you know. My arthritis gets so bad sometimes I can’t button my own shirts and your grandfather forgot and left the burner on last night after he made his hot cocoa and something started to smoke and he didn’t ever hear the alarm. I had to shout at him to turn it off.”
    “Like you need a reason to shout,” says Irv, hunched in his chair.
    “Never mind, I got plenty.”
    “Gramp, is that true? You left the burner on?”
    “Maybe I did. Turned out okay in the end, didn’t it?”
    “The two of us are taking so many pills we can hardly keep track,” Millie continues. “And it’s impossible to get around anymore. You know how bad your grandfather’s eyesight is, and they think I need cataract surgery. We hardly know anyone on the block anymore so we just keep to ourselves and, well, it can get lonely, can you understand that?”
    “Yeah,” Bess whispers. The synapses of her brain, clotted with denial and incomprehensibility, are not letting this new information get in. But loneliness she can understand. She has only to hear the word and her mind envelops it, no questions asked.
    “So your grandfather and I think it’s a good idea for us to move to a smaller place and someplace warmer.”
    An ant crawling up the stem of Bess’s spoon feels like her worst enemy. She wants to squash it with her thumb. “Where are you going?”
    “We’re moving to Tucson near my sister, Shirley. They have a nice place there, she sent us pictures. Two-bedroom apartments where there is a nurse on duty twenty-four hours and shuttle buses to the market and places of interest, and other people like us, Bess.”
    Bess’s foot is tapping uncontrollably. “How come nobody told me this before?”
    “Sweetheart, we didn’t want to concern you with this until we had to.”
    Bess looks at her grandfather, who has remained quiet. She implores him with her eyes to say something. He tries to avoid her stare but he can’t. “Bessie, we don’t like to bother you. But you’ve seemed kind of down lately.” Has it been so apparent that an old man nearing senility with poor eyesight and dirty glasses can see that?
    “I’m fine. I’ve just had a lot of work to do, but I’m not as busy now. Really. I’m fine.” She stops herself for fear she will say, I’m fine too many times until the meaning of the phrase reverses itself.
    Millie gets a little popped bubble of energy and pokes Irv’s shoulder. “You—don’t just sit there. Say something else. Don’t make me the bad one here.”
    “What do you want from me?” he yells back, straightening his back, confronting her. But then he retreats back into his shell, hunched quietly in his chair. “I never said I was fully sold on the idea,” he says softly.
    “Don’t you dare do that. We’ve talked about this.”
    “You talked about this,” says Irv, more loudly, gaining steam. “You and Shirley. I never said I wanted to live around a bunch of old farts.”
    “Don’t give me that. I got news for you, you are an old fart.”
    “I can run circles around anyone my age and you know it.”
    “Yeah, because you’d be lost , you and your circles!”
    “Shut your trap, Millie!”
    “Stop!” yells Bess.
    Irv stands up so he can look down at Millie and raise his fist in the air. “I’m perfectly capable . . .” he is saying when he knocks his cup of tea into her lap.
    “ Idiot! ” Millie jumps up and wipes her pants down furiously with her napkin. “What is wrong with you? Are you blind?