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Authors: Kristine Rolofson
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Martha moaned. “Whatever for?”
“I’d like to be rich before I die,” her mother said. “And I sure would like to meet Katie Couric.”
“What does Katie Couric have to do with the price of beans?”
“She’s the cute little gal on TV.”
“I know who she is, Mother. I want to know what she has to do with your writing a book.”
Kate began to laugh. “Gran, do you want to be on television?”
Gert nodded. “I sure do.”
“If you’d come to New York you could be an extra on the show.”
“I’m not fancy enough for that, Katie. I want to be like those old women who were on TV a few days—or was it weeks—ago. They’d made themselves a bunch of money, just talking about their lives and giving advice.”
“It’s a good idea,” her granddaughter declared. “I would think your stories would be very interesting.”
“You can’t even type.” Martha hesitated. “Can you?”
“Enough. Maybe I’ll get me a computer.”
“A computer.” Her lips pursed with disapproval.
“That’s what I said, Martha. A computer. One of them little ones like Kate carries around. So I could put it on the kitchen table.”
“I brought my laptop with me,” Kate said. “I can teach you how to use it.”
“Don’t encourage her. The attic is already filled with scrapbooks and letters and heaven only knows what else. I suppose some things could be donated to the county historical society someday,” Martha said, still unenthusiastic about book writing and television appearances.
“ Someday meaning after I’m dead and buried?” Gert didn’t like the idea of strangers looking through her personal letters, and there were a fewsecrets here and there that folks in town wouldn’t like made public. Come to think of it, though, things like that might spice up the book a little bit. Make it more interesting than dust storms and recipes.
“I’m not sure writing a book guarantees you’ll be on TV,” Kate said, but she looked like she was enjoying the conversation. Gert bet the girl didn’t do a lot of smiling in New York City. Too much stress, that’s what everyone said about living in the city. The girl needed more clean air and good hearty food. “We’ll have to go through those things upstairs. For ideas.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Martha said, rising from the couch. “What’s in the past should stay in the past.”
“Why, Martha, are you so goldarned upset?”
“Mom?”
“I’ve had enough of this talk. And I don’t think anyone should be writing anything about family secrets.” Martha didn’t look at either one of them. Instead she stalked out of the room.
“Gran didn’t say anything about family secrets,” Kate called after her. Gert could have told her that wouldn’t work. When Martha was in one of her fusses, there was no talking her out of it. Sure enough, Martha returned to the living room and kissed Gert goodbye, but she didn’t look happy.
“I wish you’d change your mind,” Martha said.
“About writing a book?”
“About coming home with us.”
“I’m staying here,” Gert declared, “until I sell the place or the hearse comes to take me away.”
“Gran,” Kate said, making a face at her. “I’ll be back in the morning, so have a list ready for me. That is, unless the hearse beats me out here.”
Gert chuckled. “Go on, both of you. Thank you again for a lovely day.” She took Kate’s hand and whispered, “You won’t forget to bring your computer tomorrow?”
“No. Go to bed.”
“I will,” she promised, wishing Martha wasn’t leaving in such a snit. What secrets would her daughter want to keep private, anyway? Martha Knepper McIntosh had never done anything wrong in her life.
Unlike a lot of other folks around here.
“S HE REALLY SHOULDN’T stay out here alone anymore, should she?” Kate turned the car around and headed away from the ranch house. She drove slowly, reluctant to leave her grandmother on her
“I’d like to be rich before I die,” her mother said. “And I sure would like to meet Katie Couric.”
“What does Katie Couric have to do with the price of beans?”
“She’s the cute little gal on TV.”
“I know who she is, Mother. I want to know what she has to do with your writing a book.”
Kate began to laugh. “Gran, do you want to be on television?”
Gert nodded. “I sure do.”
“If you’d come to New York you could be an extra on the show.”
“I’m not fancy enough for that, Katie. I want to be like those old women who were on TV a few days—or was it weeks—ago. They’d made themselves a bunch of money, just talking about their lives and giving advice.”
“It’s a good idea,” her granddaughter declared. “I would think your stories would be very interesting.”
“You can’t even type.” Martha hesitated. “Can you?”
“Enough. Maybe I’ll get me a computer.”
“A computer.” Her lips pursed with disapproval.
“That’s what I said, Martha. A computer. One of them little ones like Kate carries around. So I could put it on the kitchen table.”
“I brought my laptop with me,” Kate said. “I can teach you how to use it.”
“Don’t encourage her. The attic is already filled with scrapbooks and letters and heaven only knows what else. I suppose some things could be donated to the county historical society someday,” Martha said, still unenthusiastic about book writing and television appearances.
“ Someday meaning after I’m dead and buried?” Gert didn’t like the idea of strangers looking through her personal letters, and there were a fewsecrets here and there that folks in town wouldn’t like made public. Come to think of it, though, things like that might spice up the book a little bit. Make it more interesting than dust storms and recipes.
“I’m not sure writing a book guarantees you’ll be on TV,” Kate said, but she looked like she was enjoying the conversation. Gert bet the girl didn’t do a lot of smiling in New York City. Too much stress, that’s what everyone said about living in the city. The girl needed more clean air and good hearty food. “We’ll have to go through those things upstairs. For ideas.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Martha said, rising from the couch. “What’s in the past should stay in the past.”
“Why, Martha, are you so goldarned upset?”
“Mom?”
“I’ve had enough of this talk. And I don’t think anyone should be writing anything about family secrets.” Martha didn’t look at either one of them. Instead she stalked out of the room.
“Gran didn’t say anything about family secrets,” Kate called after her. Gert could have told her that wouldn’t work. When Martha was in one of her fusses, there was no talking her out of it. Sure enough, Martha returned to the living room and kissed Gert goodbye, but she didn’t look happy.
“I wish you’d change your mind,” Martha said.
“About writing a book?”
“About coming home with us.”
“I’m staying here,” Gert declared, “until I sell the place or the hearse comes to take me away.”
“Gran,” Kate said, making a face at her. “I’ll be back in the morning, so have a list ready for me. That is, unless the hearse beats me out here.”
Gert chuckled. “Go on, both of you. Thank you again for a lovely day.” She took Kate’s hand and whispered, “You won’t forget to bring your computer tomorrow?”
“No. Go to bed.”
“I will,” she promised, wishing Martha wasn’t leaving in such a snit. What secrets would her daughter want to keep private, anyway? Martha Knepper McIntosh had never done anything wrong in her life.
Unlike a lot of other folks around here.
“S HE REALLY SHOULDN’T stay out here alone anymore, should she?” Kate turned the car around and headed away from the ranch house. She drove slowly, reluctant to leave her grandmother on her
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