I paused as the realization hit me: I didn't know what my own grandmother looked like! The only pictures I had seen of her in Grandma Olivia's basement were pictures of her when she was much, much younger.

Mrs. Greene turned to me and waited.

"I'm afraid I've never met her," I said.

"You've never met her? Well," she said. "Well." She shook her head and turned and nodded toward a tiny woman sitting by the window reading what looked like a child's picture book. She wore a white knit shawl over a pale green dress. Even from across the room, I could see the resemblances between her and Grandma Olivia. They were both small featured, however, as I drew closer, I thought Grandma Belinda's features were more dainty, more doll like. Her eyes were bluer and brighter and when something she read brought a smile to her face, her smile was warmer, happier.

With Mrs. Greene not far behind, I started across the room, my entrance drawing as much interest from these residents as it had with the residents in the lobby. Only Belinda didn't break her concentration. She turned the pages of the picture book and widened her smile.

"Hello," I said. She looked up slowly and I could see she had very young looking crystal blue eyes that highlighted her gentle, soft smile. Her skin didn't look as translucent as Grandma Olivia's. In fact, Grandma Belinda appeared healthier and more robust, with a richer complexion, despite being locked away in a rest home.

"Where have you been?" she asked quickly.

"Where have I been?" I looked at Mrs. Greene.

"This is a visitor, Belinda. She doesn't work here and she's not a volunteer."

She squinted at me.

"Oh," she said with great disappointment. "I thought you came here to read to me. '

"I could do that," I replied and sat in the chair just across from her. Mrs. Greene turned to speak to another resident, but she didn't move too far away from us. "My name is Melody," I told Grandma Belinda and waited to see if there would be any note of recognition. She simply widened her smile a bit.

"That's a very nice name." She paused and tilted her head a bit. "I think I once knew someone named Melody."

Had she heard of me?

"My mother's name was Haille," I said. I glanced again at Mrs. Greene, who was obviously leaning closer to hear our conversation.

"Oh." Grandma Belinda's lips remained in the shape of an 0, as if she had just realized something significant.

"You know who I am then?" I pursued. She shook her head, more like someone who wanted to deny what she knew than someone saying she didn't know.

"Haille lived with your sister Olivia," I said, "and her husband Samuel."

"I haven't seen my sister today," she said. She turned and looked toward the door. "She's probably in her room, sulking as usual, just because, just because Nelson asked me to go for a walk with him and didn't ask her."

She gave a slight laugh that sounded like the tinkle of wind chimes. Her eyes brightened

mischievously.

"I showed her the bracelet he bought me and she just sucked in her cheeks and turned her face into a big old sour puss. She said I asked him to buy it for me. Can you imagine? I wouldn't ask a man to buy me anything, especially Nelson Childs. I've never had to ask." She leaned forward to whisper. "But she does," she said and laughed again. "She asked Paul Enfield to take her to the Fleet dance Saturday night because no one had asked her. But he said he wasn't going. I knew he was going," she assured me with a knowing nod. "So . . She leaned back. "She had to go with Samuel Logan. Rather, he had to go with her. He didn't want to go. He wanted to ask me, but someone else had already.

"I don't ask men for things," she emphasized with another small nod. "I don't have to." She paused to drink me in and then nodded. "I bet you don't have to ask them, either."

I laughed. Mrs. Greene left the side of the other resident and moved directly behind us.

"Wh

at are you going to read me? Are you going to read me Sleeping Beauty? I like Sleeping Beauty," Grandma Belinda said emphatically.

"If you'd like," I said. "Where is it?"

"Don't you have it? Didn't you bring it?" she asked a little frantically.

"No. I'm sorry."

She pouted. I gazed at the pile of children's books on the small table between us and chose one. "Would you like me to read this?"

Tags: V.C. Andrews Logan Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net