The Sweet by and By by Todd Johnson

tell him the same thing. “Hello there, I’m Margaret Clayton. Bernice will be so glad to see you, I know.”
    “Is she in therapy? Or, I hope, a bath?” the wife says in a perky voice.
    “No ma’am, she’s still down having her hair done for Mother’s Day. We all do, whether we’re mothers or not. I think even some of the men do!”
    “I imagine they’ll be finished with her in a few minutes.” The son glances at the wife while talking to me. “We have to go to a church thing later. That’s the one thing about being a deacon that’s changed my
    life, I can never be late.” He lets out a wheezing laugh like I am sup- posed to be an insider on a joke. “You want some chewing gum?” he asks. “I can’t stop chewing it. Better than cigarettes though, right?”
    The wife doesn’t acknowledge him at all. She moves things around on Bernice’s dresser top, throwing tissues and greeting cards into the trash without looking at them.
    “She’ll be back. It doesn’t take long,” I say. “It never takes too long. Don’t y’all want something to drink? She’s got a refrigerator full of stuff.”
    The wife speaks this time. “I don’t think so. We’ll get something when we get to the car.” She looks down at her watch.
    “I’m gonna go get Mama. I’ll be right back,” the son says and takes off down the hall.
    Alone with the wife, I can’t decide whether to stay or go back to my room. “Are y’all taking Bernice out?”
    “We’re going to have lunch at the K&W, then come right back. She never eats much anyway. I think the cafeteria’s better so she can take just what she wants and not waste.”
    “My nurse Lorraine told me the new Chinese restaurant was good.
    Have you been?”
    “We don’t like Chinese food. They use too much oil.”
    “Well I sure wouldn’t want to get fat before the beauty contest.” I strike a pose with a hand on one hip. She is expressionless. “Oh I’m teasing. I think it’s wonderful that you young people are concerned about what you eat and your bodies and all. It’s healthy. You all will probably live a lot longer than us.”
    The prospect of that does not seem to suit the wife very well, maybe because it’s not much fun thinking about living forever while standing in a place that always smells faintly like urine. She picks up a wilted potted hydrangea and throws it in the garbage.
    “Bernice loves to show pictures of her grandchildren. How old are they now?” I ask.
    “Three and five,” she says. “The oldest one just turned five.”
    “I have always loved that age. They’re so curious. They’ll talk about anything in the world. A friend of mine who used to teach kin- dergarten said it was like teaching college.”
    I think I might have broken the ice. She laughs. “Well I don’t know about that, but my Christine is curious all right. Both of them are.”
    “Well I can’t wait to meet them sometime. Bernice said they might come today.”
    “No, we decided we better let them stay home with the babysitter.” “Is one of them sick?” I ask.
    “No, no. They’re fine. I think sometimes they get depressed, you know, when they come here. They’re little. They don’t understand.”
    “You mean about Bernice?”
    “No. Yes. Well in general you know. It’s hard for them to see.” “She’s their grandmother.” The wife arches an eyebrow at the tone
    of my voice, and I can tell I’ve overstepped a boundary. “I’m sorry honey, it’s none of my business.”
    She turns away from me to the sink and rinses her hands. “They’re children. They love their grandmother, and she loves them. That’s all that matters.”
    “Doesn’t Mama look beautiful?” The son appears in the doorway with Bernice on his arm, and Mister Benny on hers, his yarn hair teased straight up and f luffy. “I told the girl that fixes hair I’ve never seen her look any prettier. Have you?”
    I’m not sure to whom he is directing the question but I answer. “Bernice