will cost you an extra twenty-five dollars. Don’t expect me to pay it.”
Twenty-five bucks would make a serious dent in Josie’s pay.
“You wouldn’t leave your own granddaughter stranded in after-school playtime.” Amelia would be mortified. She knew it was mostly for the work orphans, the kids who’d been abandoned by their ambitious parents. Poor Amelia wouldn’t even have the comfort of a parent who was a high-profile lawyer or doctor. Her parent checked out chicken franchises.
“If it meant giving her a future, I would,” Jane said.
Josie wished she had a video screen on her phone so she could see her mother’s face. If Jane’s jaw was set in that bulldog line, nothing would change her mind.
“Stan has a steady job at the VA hospital. He would make a good husband,” Jane said.
“So marry him, Mom.”
Stan would make a terrific husband for a woman of sixty-eight. He drove twenty in a thirty-mile zone. He saved his pennies in a Mason jar on his dresser. He clipped coupons and shopped for the best values. He’d once talked to Josie for twenty minutes about paper towels, detailing the differences in price versus absorbency.
“What’s it gonna be, Josie? This is for your own good.” Josie saw her daughter languishing in the extended-day play class.
“Okay, Mom, I’ll go out with Stan.” I just won’t say when, Josie thought.
“Good. I’ll tell him you’ll go out with him Thursday night. I’ll call him before I pick up Amelia.”
Josie was trapped as surely as the dragonfly around Danessa’s neck. The date with Stan would last aeons.
She sat stalled in traffic, nearly suffocated by General Cheeps fumes. She’d left the chicken in the hot car when she’d had her run-in with Danessa. Josie thought she could hear the salmonella spawning in the buckets. She knew the food wasn’t safe to serve for dinner anymore. She’d have to throw it all out. There wasn’t a General Cheeps on her route home. Josie would have to stop somewhere and pick up dinner. She sure wasn’t cooking after the day she’d had.
It was another hour before Josie made it home. She arrived, hot and frazzled, with an armful of fries and burgers.
“I like onions and ketchup on mine—no pickles,” Amelia said.
“I remembered,” Josie said.
“Did you remember the vegetables?” Jane said.
Josie tossed a pile of ketchup packets on the kitchen table. “Here you go, Mom. President Reagan said ketchup was a vegetable. If it’s good enough for the president, it should be good enough for you.”
After that declaration of war, Josie knew it was only a matter of time before she and her mother engaged in battle. She longed for a bubble bath, a good book and a margarita. She knew there wasn’t a chance for any of them.
At least Josie had time to shower and change into jeans and a plain white shirt. She buttoned it higher than usual after her day of wrestling with the tube top. The evening settled into an uneasy quiet while Josie helped Amelia with her homework at the kitchen table. Amelia worked on perfecting her cursive writing.
“So what do you think, Mom?” Her daughter proudly showed her a page. “Does it look grown-up?”
“Your writing is so much better than mine. You don’t have your mother’s chicken scratches.”
Josie admired the faint cinnamon sprinkle of freckles across her daughter’s nose and her straight black hair. Amelia hated her own nose. She thought it was too big, but Josie knew it would give her daughter’s face character. Josie’s nose was a hopeless pug. The nicest thing anyone ever called it was cute.
Tonight, Amelia’s slightly slanted hazel eyes were worried. She knew there was a fight brewing between her mother and her grandmother.
“Amelia, you know that your grandmother and I love each other. But you can love someone and still disagree with them sometimes.”
“It’s your mystery-shopping job, isn’t it?” Amelia said. “Grandma says she still has some pull at the
Twenty-five bucks would make a serious dent in Josie’s pay.
“You wouldn’t leave your own granddaughter stranded in after-school playtime.” Amelia would be mortified. She knew it was mostly for the work orphans, the kids who’d been abandoned by their ambitious parents. Poor Amelia wouldn’t even have the comfort of a parent who was a high-profile lawyer or doctor. Her parent checked out chicken franchises.
“If it meant giving her a future, I would,” Jane said.
Josie wished she had a video screen on her phone so she could see her mother’s face. If Jane’s jaw was set in that bulldog line, nothing would change her mind.
“Stan has a steady job at the VA hospital. He would make a good husband,” Jane said.
“So marry him, Mom.”
Stan would make a terrific husband for a woman of sixty-eight. He drove twenty in a thirty-mile zone. He saved his pennies in a Mason jar on his dresser. He clipped coupons and shopped for the best values. He’d once talked to Josie for twenty minutes about paper towels, detailing the differences in price versus absorbency.
“What’s it gonna be, Josie? This is for your own good.” Josie saw her daughter languishing in the extended-day play class.
“Okay, Mom, I’ll go out with Stan.” I just won’t say when, Josie thought.
“Good. I’ll tell him you’ll go out with him Thursday night. I’ll call him before I pick up Amelia.”
Josie was trapped as surely as the dragonfly around Danessa’s neck. The date with Stan would last aeons.
She sat stalled in traffic, nearly suffocated by General Cheeps fumes. She’d left the chicken in the hot car when she’d had her run-in with Danessa. Josie thought she could hear the salmonella spawning in the buckets. She knew the food wasn’t safe to serve for dinner anymore. She’d have to throw it all out. There wasn’t a General Cheeps on her route home. Josie would have to stop somewhere and pick up dinner. She sure wasn’t cooking after the day she’d had.
It was another hour before Josie made it home. She arrived, hot and frazzled, with an armful of fries and burgers.
“I like onions and ketchup on mine—no pickles,” Amelia said.
“I remembered,” Josie said.
“Did you remember the vegetables?” Jane said.
Josie tossed a pile of ketchup packets on the kitchen table. “Here you go, Mom. President Reagan said ketchup was a vegetable. If it’s good enough for the president, it should be good enough for you.”
After that declaration of war, Josie knew it was only a matter of time before she and her mother engaged in battle. She longed for a bubble bath, a good book and a margarita. She knew there wasn’t a chance for any of them.
At least Josie had time to shower and change into jeans and a plain white shirt. She buttoned it higher than usual after her day of wrestling with the tube top. The evening settled into an uneasy quiet while Josie helped Amelia with her homework at the kitchen table. Amelia worked on perfecting her cursive writing.
“So what do you think, Mom?” Her daughter proudly showed her a page. “Does it look grown-up?”
“Your writing is so much better than mine. You don’t have your mother’s chicken scratches.”
Josie admired the faint cinnamon sprinkle of freckles across her daughter’s nose and her straight black hair. Amelia hated her own nose. She thought it was too big, but Josie knew it would give her daughter’s face character. Josie’s nose was a hopeless pug. The nicest thing anyone ever called it was cute.
Tonight, Amelia’s slightly slanted hazel eyes were worried. She knew there was a fight brewing between her mother and her grandmother.
“Amelia, you know that your grandmother and I love each other. But you can love someone and still disagree with them sometimes.”
“It’s your mystery-shopping job, isn’t it?” Amelia said. “Grandma says she still has some pull at the
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