Page 15 of Hello, Summer
6
G’mama was dragging an ancient green aluminum Coleman cooler into the entry hall just as Conley returned to the house.
“What’s all this?” Conley asked. Three suitcases stood at the foot of the stairs, along with a huge wicker picnic hamper, a flowered hatbox, a bulky-looking television, a bulging hot-pink zippered garment bag, a lumpy dog bed, and a pair of enormous potted ferns.
“Just a few things we’ll need at the beach,” Lorraine said, reaching down to scratch Opie’s ears. “Were you a good boy?”
The dog flopped down onto the floor and rolled over onto his back.
“G’mama, this won’t fit in my car. Are you even sure you need all this stuff?” She nudged the cooler with the toe of her sneaker. “I thought we’d buy groceries on the way out to the beach in the morning.”
“This is just the basics. The corn and green beans and field peas Winnie froze from the garden last year and a few other essentials.” Lorraine gave her granddaughter a sunny smile. “Don’t worry. There are several quarts of Winnie’s vegetable soup and Brunswick stew in here too, along with a peach pie and a chocolate pound cake.”
“That’s great, but where will we put Winnie? And Opie? And the ferns?” She gestured helplessly at the stack of luggage. “And the rest of this stuff?”
“We’ll take the Wagoneer,” Lorraine said. “I had Winnie drive it home so it’ll be all gassed up and ready in the morning.”
“You still have Pops’s old car?”
“Of course,” Lorraine said. “And it runs like a Swiss watch. I do just like your grandfather always did—oil change every three thousand miles, tires rotated twice a year. Lamar at the Pure Station says he’s never seen such a well-maintained vehicle. He keeps making noises about buying it, but I can’t let go of Pops’s car, can I?”
“You’re not still driving it, I hope.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m notthatold, Sarah Conley.”
“Grayson says your eyesight is deplorable.”
“Your sister needs to mind her own beeswax,” Lorraine said. “I drive when I want to. Now. Do you want your supper? I already had some cottage cheese and tomatoes, but Winnie left you a plate out in the kitchen.”
“Supper?” Conley glanced at her watch. “It’s not even six yet.”
“Dining late doesn’t agree with my digestive tract,” G’mama said. She turned toward the stairs. “I’ve got to finish my packing, and then my show comes on at seven.”
“Right.” Conley grinned. “You’re still watchingWheel of Fortune?”
“Of course. It keeps my brain agile. And just between us girls, that Pat Sajak is mighty easy on the eyes, isn’t he?”
“Very,” Conley agreed.
When Conley went into the den shortly after nine, she found her grandmother slumped into the side arm on the sofa, her head resting on her shoulder, mouth ajar, snoring softly in perfect rhythm with Opie’s loud, shuddering snorts. Lorraine held the remote control tightly between her be-ringed fingers.
The room, which had once been her grandfather’s office, was pine-paneled and lined with overstuffed bookshelves, and at the moment, it was bathed in the blue light of the television, which was tuned to Lorraine’s other favorite channel, Turner Classic Movies.
Conley was trying to slip the remote control from Lorraine’s grasp when her hand was swatted away.
“I’m watching this,” G’mama said, struggling to sit upright.
“You were sound asleep. Come on, let me walk you upstairs to bed.”
“I’m fine right here,” Lorraine replied. “Opie will wake me up when he wants to go out for his potty break, then we’ll both go upstairs.”
“Suit yourself,” Conley said. “I think I might go out for a ride.”
“So late?” Lorraine frowned. “Where do you think you’ll go this hour of night?”
Conley shrugged. “I’m going stir-crazy just sitting around the house. My stuff is all packed. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl.”
Lorraine adjusted her eyeglasses and gazed up at her granddaughter. “You’ve been telling me that since you were five years old.”
