“Want some now?”
“We ain’t had our lunch yet.”
“Dessert first, then lunch.”
“What? I never heard such foolishness!” She let a ghost of a grin escape. “Where’s Miss Five Major and Go Easy on the Sugar today?”
Angel giggled. “I sent her off on a little vacation. I figured you and me need a treat once in a while.”
“Ohhhh-kay.” Grandma pushed herself up out of the rocker. “Let me at it.”
It was Rocky Road, with bits of marshmallow and nuts and streaks of dark chocolate through the milk chocolate.
“Hmmph,” Grandma said. “Whoever heard of ice cream you have to chew? This is almost too much work for an old lady.”
“You want me to finish yours for you?”
“Not on your stuffed cabbage.”
They chewed and slurped the Rocky Road. “I guess there weren’t any calls while I was gone.” She knew there hadn’t been, but still, just in case...
Grandma shook her head.
“I didn’t think so.” Did Bernie even know the number here? That was it—he didn’t know the number. Otherwise, he would have called, wouldn’t he? He wasn’t tied up and gagged. He wasn’t a prisoner. But he couldn’t call because she’d never taught him Grandma’s number. She should have taught him Grandma’s number. They always tell you to teach little kids their address and phone number in case they get lost. She’d been too busy bossing him around to remember to teach him his own phone number. “I never taught him the phone number,” she said aloud.
“Well, there, you see? How’s he gonna call us if he don’t know the number?”
They didn’t eat much lunch—too filled up with Rocky Road. But it was just this once. She wouldn’t do it again for a long time. Just once was okay, surely.
Angel got up to wash the dishes, trying to keep her mind off Bernie, trying to concentrate on what Miss Liza had told her, when Grandma’s voice interrupted from the rocker: “You reckon I should buy a TV, Angel?”
“I don’t know, Grandma. You want a TV?” Can you afford a TV was more like it. But she wasn’t going to ask that.
“I used to have one, but it broke and I never missed it much. You can’t get much up here in the country unless you pay for one of them dishes, and that costs more’n my grocery bill for a year.”
“You don’t need a TV.”
“Well, I was thinking, maybe if I’d had a TV, Bernie would have stuck around. It’s boring for a kid out here in the country, nobody to play with, nothing to do.”
“I don’t remember Bernie complaining about having no TV.”
“Then you wasn’t listening. He mentioned it to me nearly every day. I told him if I did have one, only thing he’d see was snow, and if he’d hold his horses for a couple of months, he’d see more snow than he’d ever want to.” She shook her head. “I think he missed watching. I should have tried to get him one.”
“Grandma, Bernie didn’t leave because you didn’t have a TV. He left because Mama came and took him. I bet he didn’t even want to go.”
“Yes, he did. He missed his mama. He told me that, too.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “I never was much of a mama, Angel.”
“I bet you were, too. I bet you were a great mama.”
“Jimmy and Ray, both my boys, spent time in jail. Now they’re both dead. I don’t know what I did wrong. I did the best I could.”
“It’s not your fault. Sometimes people are just unlucky. Or their children get in with the wrong crowd or something. You can’t take the blame for that.”
Grandma didn’t seem to be listening. “I was on my own. My husband died when they was hardly more’n babies. I was trying to run this farm and raise two boys—I tried, Lord knows, but I guess I didn’t have what it took. And then there was that damn war.”
Angel kept scrubbing the same pot, trying to think of something to say, but no words came.
“Maybe they should have died over in Vietnam, but they didn’t. They come home, both of them all messed up with drugs. Jimmy has to get married, but the baby’s no sooner born than he’s got himself in jail. Next thing I know, Ray’s in jail as well. I couldn’t understand that. Ray was smart. He was supposed to go to college.” She closed her eyes and rocked, muttering something about the damn war before she continued. “So, my two boys are in jail, I got Jimmy’s wife and baby living here—you want to talk about hell on earth—but it didn’t last long. Just before she drives me stark raving crazy over the cliff, that no-count woman runs off with the cattle feed salesman and leaves Wayne behind. She didn’t even change his diaper before she took off. Oh Lordy. I’d already failed with my own two boys. I guess I should have learned something, but”—she sighed deeply—“looks like I didn’t. I’s’pose it’s a good thing Verna come and took Bernie off. I wouldn’t want to ruin another generation of Morgans.”