The Solace of Leaving Early by Haven Kimmel Page B

noticed again her mother’s flat, blunt nails. Her hands were so strong they could have belonged to a man.
    “Mother, it’s so nice—”
    “Now AnnaLee, I would advise you to become more punctual. I’ve been sitting here for almost twenty minutes.”
    “But you said you’d be here—”
    “I know what I said, and I thought I taught you better than to keep your guests waiting.”
    “Grandma, I think Mother is trying to say that if
you
had been on time—”
    AnnaLee said, “Langston!”
    Her grandmother said, “Langston!”
    Langston rose. “Shall I start the tea?”
    Her grandmother sniffed and looked at the floor. “Your mother hasn’t even offered me any tea.”
    “Would you like some tea, Mother?”
    “I don’t know. What kind do you have?”
    “We have Constant Comment. Would that be all right?”
    Grandma Wilkey took a deep breath. “That’s what we drank during the Depression, if memory serves. Well, you make do with what you have.”
    AnnaLee turned and began to take cups and saucers out of the china cupboard.
    “Is that my mother’s teapot in there, AnnaLee?” her mother asked. As she stood to her full height, Langston realized her grandmother was at least an inch and maybe two taller than she, which made her tall indeed for a woman in her seventies.
    AnnaLee turned and looked at Langston, who gave a small shrug.
    “Grandma, isn’t it a shame that Mama has to keep it in such a humble cabinet?”
    Her grandmother tugged at the corners of her linen jacket, straightening the lines. “That dog isn’t coming near the table, is it? I have never in my life allowed an animal in my house.”
    *
    With their tea AnnaLee served small ham salad sandwiches and cantaloupe, which Langston thought was lovely, but her grandmother didn’t eat much of anything. She claimed to be feeling peckish at odd hours of the day and night, but never at mealtimes.
    Their visit was winding down; Grandma Wilkey had exhausted her inventory of criticism and was about to start asking very pointed questions about Walt and his potential for better employment, so Langston leapt in.
    “Grandma, Mama thinks this new minister, Amos Townsend, is all the rage.”
    “Has anyone seen my keys?”
    “I think they’re on the coffee table, Mother.”
    “What do you think, Grandma? Have you met him?”
    “I don’t see them on the coffee table.”
    “Well, I do. That’s your Daughters of Job key chain, isn’t it?”
    “I can see perfectly well! And I do not see them on the coffee table!”
    “And isn’t it a shame about Alice Baker? Did you attend the funeral, Grandma?”
    Her grandmother folded her napkin and slid it under her plate. “It’s a
horrible
thing. Never would have happened in my day. Oh, I imagine if your granddad were alive, what he’d think.”
    “It never would have happened in your day? I’ve always assumed death was general over Indiana.”
    AnnaLee walked over and picked up her mother’s keys off the coffee table. “Here they are.”
    Grandma Wilkey pushed her chair out and stood up impatiently. “Where were they?”
    “They were on the coffee table, Gran—”
    “They were on the floor, Mother, where you couldn’t see them.”
    “That dog probably got ahold of them,” Grandma Wilkey said, snapping her purse shut. “I’m going to have to have this suit cleaned.”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Grandma, Germane is the most intelligent, noble—”
    “Langston,” AnnaLee said, raising her hands to heaven, “does this have to happen
every single time
my mother visits?”
    “No, it certainly does not,” Langston said, more archly than she intended. “Grandma could simply learn to behave herself and then none of—”
    “I’m going.” Her grandmother strode toward the door. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “Well. Come kiss me, you two.”
    AnnaLee walked over and kissed her mother on the cheek and then Langston did the same. She didn’t kiss them back, but she slipped a