The Dry Grass of August(27)

Daddy took it from her, “A free ticket. Mother, that’s really nice.”

“I couldn’t nap or read. Stared out the window and cried, paid them no mind.”

“You were crying?” Mama said.

Meemaw snorted. “The mother, not me.”

“Did the kids behave?” I asked.

“Boy sat next to me. She just put him—kicked his feet against the seat. The girl—about your age, June—hummed ‘Tennessee Waltz’ and ‘Some Enchanted Evening’—not a tune in a bucket, neither.”

“You must be worn out, Cordelia,” Mama said. “Why don’t we get you settled before dinner.” She turned to Daddy. “Are your mother’s things still in the car?”

Meemaw cleared her throat. “I just got the one. Travel light, always have.”

Daddy started to rise. “I’ll get it.”

Mama put a hand on his knee. “No need, William. Stell, you and Jubie show your grandmother to her room. Carry her bag up for her and help her get settled. It’ll be an hour and a half until dinner, Cordelia, which will give you a nice rest.”

Puddin jumped up. “I’m going, too, Meemaw. All your granddaughters can help.”

Stell put out her hand for Meemaw to stand. I ran ahead. “We’ll get the suitcase. C’mon, Puddin.”

I got Meemaw’s bag from the car, ran up to the rec room, and put it on the luggage rack.

At the top of the stairs, Meemaw held her hand to her chest. “Where’s the ladies—I mean . . .”

“The door in the corner.” I pointed.

“Got to take—my arthritis. Should have before now.” She closed the bathroom door behind her.

“What’s arthur-itis?” Puddin sat on the sofa.

“Her joints don’t work right,” Stell said.

The bathroom door opened and Meemaw swayed into the room, trailing the scent of rosewater cologne. She opened her suitcase and handed each of us a gift-wrapped package. “Here you are, girls.” Meemaw sat down next to Puddin.

“How nice,” Stell said, opening the envelope that was Scotch-taped to her gift. The word Granddaughter was printed in glitter on the front of the card. Inside Stell’s package was a silver charm bracelet. “Oh! I love it.” She jumped up to hug Meemaw.

“I’ll give you charms—Christmas and your birthday.”

“I’m next!” Puddin pulled at the wrapping paper and Stell said, “The card, Puddin.”

“Oops.” Puddin read her card, mumbled, “Thank you,” and ripped the package open. Pastel hair ribbons spilled onto the floor. “Meemaw! How’d you know my hair was long enough?”

“Asked Rita. Tomorrow I’ll weave one into a braid for you.” Meemaw sat back. “Now you, June.”

I read the plain note card first. On the front was a verse in Meemaw’s spidery handwriting: Roses are red. Violets are blue. Flowers are sweet. You can be, too. Inside she’d written, This is something to help. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I said, “Thank you, Meemaw.”

My gift was a tin of deodorant powder and two metal sticks with hooks on the end. “What are these?”

“Crochet hooks. I’ll teach you while I’m here. And the powder tin has directions.”

“I know how to use talcum.”

“Read it, you’ll see.” Meemaw settled into the sofa cushions, her eyes closed, sighing, “Oh, Lord.” She said, “One of you—I mean, my shoelaces . . .”

Stell and Puddin kneeled and untied the leather shoes and I helped Meemaw stretch out. I got the plaid blanket from the ottoman and spread it over her. I think she was asleep before we were halfway down the stairs.





I sat at my dresser and read the back of the powder tin. “Use liberally under arms and in intimate areas to stifle body odor and prevent alarming rashes. Contains essence of gardenias for discreet allure.” Did Meemaw think I had BO? I put the tin in my dresser drawer, thinking about all the fuss people made over body smells. Mama sometimes told Mary to use more deodorant, but I liked all the ways Mary smelled—whether of soap or sweat or her Cashmere Bouquet talcum.

I was combing my hair when Mama’s voice floated up the stairway, calling Puddin, Stell, and me to her bedroom. She shut the door and sat on the side of the bed, tapping a cigarette into an ashtray on the nightstand. “Be on your best behavior. Use your manners. Remember about the forks; we put out all three. The spoon at the top of your place setting—”

“For dessert,” Stell said.

“That’s right. And don’t get mad at Davie if he spills something. Jubie, where in God’s name did you get that brooch? Come here.”

“Aunt Rita gave it to me.”

She unpinned the brooch. “Get my short pearls from my jewelry box.”

I handed Mama the pearls and watched in the mirror as she fastened them. I looked like Stell Ann had dressed me.

“Be as good as you can be.” Mama jabbed the cigarette out. Puddin crawled into her lap and said, “I’ll be the goodest girl in the world.” Mama kissed Puddin’s blonde curls. One of the new ribbons was tied in a bow and bobby-pinned to Puddin’s hair.

Mama said, “I know you will, Puddin-tane.” I couldn’t remember Mama ever kissing me and holding me that way.