Playing with Fire

Everyone knew West and I weren’t chummy, so they conveniently deducted he was feeling sorry for Toastie, his newest colleague, and wanted to make sure she didn’t off herself.

He’s the one who hates life, I wanted to scream in their faces. He’s the one who wants to die. Not me. I just want to be left alone.

“You’re quittin’?” I blinked at Marla, trying to keep my tone neutral. Marla nodded, gathering my hands in her oily, swollen palms and bringing them to her lips.

“Retiring. Movin’ away. Pete found a great condo in Florida, just outside Miami. Real nice and fancy, and so cheap for what we’re getting. We’ll be close to Joanne, my daughter, and her little stinkers. It’s been a long time coming. I ain’t a kid anymore. I want to enjoy my grandchildren, and go on walks, and get fat with my husband.”

Nothing about what she said was news to me. Still, I was irrationally upset. Not with Marla, of course. I could hardly blame her for wanting to better her own situation. But with the world. I depended on Marla, who at this point became more like family and less like an employee. She always put in extra hours and was on call twenty-four seven. Grams got along with her most of the time, and Marl never took any of her bullshit. Finding someone else was going to be a struggle. Marla was a Sheridan local, but not many people wanted to commute into my small town for work, and those who were willing to demanded to be financially compensated accordingly.

Even though I had some money put aside for medical bills for Grams, and her 401k payments kept us comfortable, I wasn’t exactly in tall cotton.

“Oh, Marla, that’s wonderful.” I stood up, swallowing down my panic, tugging her into a hug. I relished the small, bittersweet moment in her arms, feeling the pinch of pain behind my eyes. “You deserve it. You worked hard for so many years. I’m so happy for you and Pete.”

She reared her head back, patting my cheeks to make sure they were dry. I winced when she touched the scar tissue. It still felt raw. The skin was thinner than on my right, healthy side.

“Don’t worry, Gracie-Mae. I’m giving you a two-month notice. Plenty of time to find a replacement.”

I let out a breath. Two months was a good amount of time.

“Thanks. I’ll start searchin’ right away.”

“Although, you know where I stand in terms of what should happen next.” Her mouth twitched, like she was fighting back the words that wanted to tumble out of her mouth.

“I know. Especially with the hunger strike.” I bristled. Marla laughed.

“Yeah. ’Bout that. She’s been slipping cracklins into her room when she thinks I ain’t looking. And, well”—her laughter pitched higher—“I pretend not to look so she’ll eat.”

Shaking my head, I let out a relieved chuckle. “She’s impossible. What am I going to do with her?”

“Send her to her home!” Marla snorted. “She’ll thank you.”

Sensing a big, juicy moment, Grams crept into the kitchen in her calico housedress and bunny slippers.

“What’s all this fuss about?” She went straight for the utensil drawer, trying to yank it open. It didn’t budge. I’d installed magnets on every drawer that contained anything that could be used as a weapon earlier that week, the stuff you used when you had toddlers. I couldn’t take my chances. Not after the stove incident.

“Grandmomma, Marla just told me she will be leavin’ us in a couple months. She is movin’ to Florida to be closer to Joanne and her grandkids.” I turned to face Grams. Her back was still to me.

“Shoot! What’s this?” She wiggled the handle for the drawer, huffing. “I can’t open it!”

“Grams, did you hear me?” I asked.

“What in the name …” she muttered, ignoring the news—and me, still tugging.

“What do you need?” I rushed to her, eager to make amends after the ER incident. “I’ll get it for you.”

“What I need is to know how come I can’t open my own drawers in my own dang house to get a spoon out for my tea!” She spun on her heel to face me, waving her hand in the drawer’s direction. “Is this a part of your scheme, Courtney? To convince people that I have Lord knows what diseases? That I can’t even open a drawer? You wanna put me in a mental institute? Is that it?”

This time, I didn’t feel like playing her dead daughter anymore. It hurt too much.

“Grams, it’s not Courtney. It’s me, Gracie-Mae, and I don’t want to put you in a mental institution.”

“You want me to die there so you can take all my money and my house. So you can get high without anyone interruptin’ you. I see right through you, young lady. All you ever cared about were those boys and the drugs.”