Page 20 of Tainted Love

With a resigned sigh, I decide on a frozen Hungry Man meal. I take the Salisbury steak meal out of the box, poke a few holes in the plastic wrap with a fork, and pop it into the microwave. My meal is halfway done cooking when the phone rings.

I shuffle over to the wall-mounted phone by the kitchen and answer with a tired “hello.”

“Michael? How are you, darling?” My grandmother’s voice beams through the line, wrapping me in a warm hug.

“I’m fine, Gram.”

“Are you sure?” she asks wearily. No, I’m not sure.

“I’m doing well, Gram,” I assure my grandmother, who deserves to live without worries.

“How’s school?” she continues to prod.

“It’s going fine,” I reply casually, as the microwave beeps four times in quick succession, indicating that my dinner is ready. I hope the brownie dessert isn’t overcooked; it’s always the best part of the meal.

“Have you made any friends?” Gram asks with genuine interest. She asks the same question nearly every time we speak.

“Yes,” I respond with the phone cradled between my cheek and shoulder as I pull my lava-hot meal out of the microwave. “Most of the guys on the hockey team are pretty cool. We hang out quite a bit. And a couple of other guys are thinking about trying out for the Mavericks.”

“That sounds lovely,” her voice is like a sweet, soothing, gentle melody. “Are there any kids you remember from when you lived there before?”

My mind flashes to one person. Her piercing green eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, glow against her perfect alabaster skin. Her jet-black hair falls around her face, adding to the fire that ignites my body.

“Not really. I was pretty young when I moved,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I struggle to focus on anything other than her undeniable beauty.

“That’s true,” she says.

“How’s Farrah?” I ask, momentarily distracted by thoughts of the best dog in the world. She’s not as young as she used to be. Her once vibrant golden fur is now a muted amber, but she’s still surprisingly spry for an old dog.

“She’s quite the handful,” Gram responds with a tired sigh. “Always underfoot, that one. I’ll be sending her to the doggie spa for a long weekend when I visit Ruth.”

I can’t help but snicker. “Is that the place that insists on putting those silly bows on her?”

“They’re not silly, dear. She looks like a princess with them on.”

I shake my head in disagreement. “No, she doesn’t. She looks ridiculous and smells like artificial strawberries.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge scents, Michael. Strawberries smell delightful. And let’s not forget your own post-hockey practice aroma before criticizing.”

Damn. Burned by Gram.

“Is your father home?” she inquires, her voice soft but tinged with concern.

“Uh, no,” I reply. “I think he’s working.”

She falls silent for a moment. “Has he been spending a lot of time away?” Her tone is gentle yet probing.

“Nah, not much,” I lie.

“And you’ll tell me if he’s not living up to his end of the bargain?”

“I will.” I won’t. She deserves better.

“I plan to come and visit next week,” she says.

“Sounds great, Gram, but don’t feel like you have to come to check on me. Things are fine. I promise.”

“Alright then, my dear,” she says. “Enjoy your evening.”