She's Up to No Good(10)

After a visit to the restroom, we waited in the Starbucks line together. “I hate that you can’t use the app at rest stops,” I complained.

“What’s an app?”

“It’s a . . . I don’t know . . . a thing on your phone. And you can preorder at pretty much every other Starbucks.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“So you don’t have to wait in line.”

“If you don’t want to wait, just go to the front of the line.”

“You can’t do that.”

Her mouth curled into a grin. “I can.” Shaking off my attempt to put a hand on her arm, she walked right up to the front of the line. “Excuse me,” she said to the man standing there. He looked about thirty and was staring at his phone screen. “I’m almost ninety years old. Do you think I could go ahead of you?”

“I—um—yes, ma’am. Of course.”

She reached up and patted his cheek. “Such a polite young man. Your grandma must be so proud of you.” She turned back to me. “Come on. We need to get back on the road.”

“Excuse me. I’m sorry,” I said, mortified.

“It’s fine,” he said, gesturing to the waiting barista.

“A venti skinny caramel macchiato.” I turned to my grandmother. “What do you want?”

“A coffee. Did you order food? I’d take one of those triangle things.”

“What kind of coffee?”

“The coffee kind.”

I shot an apologetic look at the people in line behind us. “Okay, what size?”

“What size are you getting?”

“Venti.”

“Vanity? Really? I wasn’t flirting with him. I just wanted some coffee.”

“No, Grandma, a venti is a large.”

“Then why didn’t you say large?”

I looked in horror at the now significantly longer line behind us. “Okay, do you want a large?”

“What would I do with a large? I’d never sleep again.”

“Oh, for the love of—what size coffee do you want?”

“A small, darling.”

“Do you want anything with flavors or an espresso drink?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. What flavors are there?”

I threw my hands up, exasperated. “She’ll have a tall drip and a blueberry scone.”

“A drip sounds terrible. Get me what you’re having.” I rubbed at my neck but complied, then paid and half dragged my grandmother to the side to wait for our order.

I looked down at my phone and began composing a text to my mother.

But when I finished, I realized my grandmother was far too quiet and looked up to see she had wandered to the milk station. I took three steps toward her, then stopped as I watched her open her purse and dump the entire container of artificial sweeteners into her bag. I rushed over. “What are you doing?” I hissed.

She looked at me in surprise. “What? They’re free.”

“You’re not supposed to take all of them!”

“Why not? They have more.” Raising a hand, she called to the closest barista. “Miss! You’re out of Sweet’N Low.”

“I will buy you some Sweet’N Low. Just put it back.”

“I’ll do no such thing. You never know if they’ll have it when you’re traveling.” The barista brought over a box of sweeteners and began restocking the station. “Thank you, dear.” My grandmother waited until the barista had walked away, then looked at me triumphantly and dumped the new packets into her bag as well.

I heard my name, grabbed the tray with our coffees and the scone, and took my grandmother’s arm, dragging her toward the door. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

“You have a lot to learn.” She plucked the smaller of the two coffees from the tray and took a sip. “I love when they put the caramel on top of the foam.”

“I thought you didn’t know what kind of coffee you wanted.”

My grandmother just smiled.





CHAPTER SEVEN


April 1950


Hereford, Massachusetts


As her vivacious second-to-last child kissed her father goodbye and practically floated out the door, Miriam watched with the trained eyes of a mother who has already raised three older daughters, then she sighed heavily. Evelyn might have said she was going to the carnival with Ruthie, but it was obvious, both from the fact that Vivie was not accompanying her and from her demeanor, that she was lying. Evelyn had a boyfriend.

Drying her hands on her apron, Miriam walked to the door of the living room and cleared her throat so Joseph would look up from his newspaper. “She goes out a lot lately,” Miriam said, nodding at the door.

“She’s a happy girl. With many friends.”

Miriam didn’t reply. He had been so quick to assume wrongdoing with their older children, and yet, when it came to Evelyn, he was blind. So instead, she turned her attentions to Vivie, who was draped across the armchair in the corner of the living room, her nose in a book. “Why aren’t you at the carnival?”

Vivie looked up guiltily, confirming Miriam’s suspicions. “I . . . didn’t want to go.” Lying might come easily to Evelyn, but Vivie had yet to master that skill. Especially to their mother.