A Grandma's Love

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We left that life behind a long time ago. We now lived in the suburbs of a quaint little town in the southern part of Arkansas. No drive-by shootings, no gang wars, no festering hatred for your fellow man, none of that. New Jersey wasn't the safest of havens to raise my daughter, so, simple as that, we left. She was about ten when we took off. She's thirteen now.

 

Two days ago, I had my mother over. She moved out here with us and got her own place a couple miles away. My father and husband were both killed before we left, in a deal that went south in their so called "business" back in Jersey, if you want to call money laundering, extortion and murder a business.

 

Crystal, my daughter, came home from school and tried to blow us off. She waved a quick hello into the kitchen and tried escaping to her room.

 

"What the crap," my mom blurted out. "You're not even going to come in and say hi?"

 

I heard Chris take a deep breath before she rounded the corner and came back in. Her black eye was huge. I gasped in shock.

 

The chair fell backward behind her when Mom instantly jumped up. "Who did this to you?"

 

"No one, Grandma." She turned her eyes away. "I fell at school."

 

"The fuck you did," my mom yelled. "You don't get a shiner like that from tripping in the hallway!"

 

My daughter looked up. She knew better than to lie to my mom. Crap, I couldn't even get away with it when I was young.

 

"Don't give me that bullshit, who did this!?" My mom was pissed. I was as well but knew better than get in the middle of that.

 

Chris still stayed quiet for a few seconds until Mom grabbed her wrists, pulled her in close and demanded, "Who?"

 

"Okay, some dumb bitch at school, Grandma. She's a senior and she's huge. Not fat huge, but 'I can kick your ass' huge. Mock her stupid intellect with something sarcastic and you can plan on a beat-down. And that's exactly what I got."

 

My mom inhaled a long, slow breath and then slowly exhaled it with the same consistency. "And where might I find this neanderthal?"

 

"Grandma, don't. Don't do this. It won't-"

 

Mom reached up and put her finger on my daughter's lips while shaking her head. That meant, shut your fat mouth and only answer the questions asked of you. My mother was old-school and raised amid the mafia era. Kindness and forgiveness was seldom a logical option. "Again, where might I find this heathen," she whispered.

 

A few days later, in the news, our little town was plagued with the mystery of the burning down of the Wilson Manor that killed everyone inside.

 

Even though my daughter was no longer bullied at school and there was no trace of substantial evidence, I suggested to Mom, perhaps we move again.