Faye Kellerman - The Garden Of Eden And Other Criminal Delights

We arrive at the home around ten in the morning, time for Granny’s midmorning snack. Great-granny has her own semiprivate dining room containing four round tables, six chairs per table. Granny is about four foot five and weighs about one fifty, down from her former weight of two hundred plus. She started losing pounds awhile back, and everyone panicked that she was sick. It turned out to be a case of ill-fitting dentures.

Today the snack is ice cream, so Great-granny’s in seventh heaven. The dining room’s jammed, staff working fast and furious, so we’re expected to give a hand. I take to feeding Mr. Zarapata. Carefully, I give him measured spoonfuls of orange sherbet. But he becomes impatient with me.

“You feed me like a baby,” he croaks out testily. “Give me more.”

I give him a bigger spoonful. Of course, he starts coughing. I wipe spittle off his mouth. “Told you so,” I say.

“You little snot,” he retorts.

“Yeah, yeah. Open your mouth.”

He complies, then complains once again that I’m feeding him like a baby. And on and on it goes until he polishes off his sherbet and snack time’s over. By the time I finish wiping his mouth, plumping his pillow, and adjusting the footrests of his wheelchair, Great-aunt Kate has set up the board on one of the cleared tables. Great-aunt Renee wheels Great-granny over, and Grandma pulls up five chairs. Mr. Zarapata asks if he can play, too, but tradition demands that only blood relatives play. He calls us all snots-and worse-until finally, a nurse wheels him away.

“We have enough tokens for eight,” I say to Grandma.

“Rules are rules,” she answers.

“Yeah, but who makes up the rules?” I contest. “We do. So that means we can change them.”

“Rules are rules,” Renee answers.

“That’s right,” Kate agrees. “Rules are rules.”

“Rules are a state of mind,” my mother interjects. “In the universe, there are no absolutes.”

“I want the thimble,” Renee states.

“You had the thimble last week,” Grandma says.

“No, I had the hat,” Renee corrects.

“You had the thimble,” Grandma repeats.

“Kate had the thimble,” Renee says. “I had the hat.”

I reach over and grab the thimble. “Here, Renee.”

Renee takes the thimble. “I had the hat last week. You’re thinking two weeks ago.”

“Who wants to go first?” I say.

“Wait, Christy,” Grandma says. “I don’t even have my token yet. I think I’ll be the iron.”

“I was going to be the iron,” Kate says. “Why don’t you be the rocking horse? You had good luck with that last week.”

“No, I had good luck with the shoe,” Grandma says. “Okay, you be the iron, I’ll be the shoe.”

“I’ll be the race car,” I say. “I’ll roll first to see who goes first.”

“Wait, wait,” Grandma says. “Your mother doesn’t have her token. And nobody has any money. Who’s the bank?”

“I can be the bank,” my mom says.

“Mom, I’ll be the bank,” I say, picking up a stack of apricot-colored five-hundred-dollar bills. “By the time you count out the money, it’ll be dark.”

My mom gives me a gentle rap on the shoulder. “Have a little patience.”

“You’re so impatient, Christy,” my grandma chides.

“It’s because she’s young,” Renee pronounces.

“I know she’s young,” Grandma says. “But she’s also impatient. Allison isn’t impatient.”

“That’s because Allison has time,” Renee mutters out loud under her breath.

“That’s because her husband makes a good living and she doesn’t have to work,” Grandma mutters even louder under her breath.

I start doling out the cash. “Mom, did you choose a token yet?”

“You choose one for me.”

I hand her the wheelbarrow. At this point Mom closes her eyes and puts on her Buddha smile.

“You’re not going to chant first, Allison.” Renee turns to my grandma. “Ida, she’s not going to chant, is she?”

Grandma reaches out and touches my mother’s arm. “Allison, honey, we don’t have time for the chant today. Renee has a hairdresser’s appointment.”

Kate says, “Why are you going to the hairdresser’s, Renee?”

My grandma gets a teasing look on her face. “She’s got a date tonight-”

“Oh, hush up,” Renee scolds. “It’s not a date.”

My mother says, “I refuse to play without some acknowledgment of the Higher Spirit.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes!” Renee mutters.

Grandma says, “Hush up. How about the hands thing, Allison?”

“The universal hand circle would be lovely,” Mom states. “Let’s all join together and give praise to our spirits and souls.”

We all take each other’s hands. I’m sitting next to Great-granny. Her hand is dry, knobby, and liver-spotted. I give it a small kiss, and Great-granny smiles. Slowly, she strokes my face with a crooked finger. I kiss her again and admire her nails. They are clean and manicured-courtesy of her daughters.

My mother closes her eyes and says, “Heavenly Being, we thank You for the opportunity to address You, and for the many blessings You have bestowed upon this family. Please bless the game we are about to play.”

Mom opens her eyes and says, “Great-granny, do you want to be the hat?”

Great-granny grunts. Mom picks up the hat and places it on Go.

“I’ll roll first,” I say. “Just to see who goes first.”

“Just go, Christy,” Grandma says. “I can see you’re very impatient.”

I roll the dice. I get a five. I buy a railroad.

Kate says, “Mom, you can be next.” She rolls the dice for her and says, “Mom, do you want to buy Oriental?”

Great-granny grunts. Kate buys Oriental. She says, “So, Renee, tell me about this date that isn’t a date.”

Renee says, “There’s nothing to tell.”

Kate says, “So tell me the nothing. Who is he?”

“He’s William the ex-insurance agent,” Grandma says.

“Not ex,” Renee clarifies. “He’s retired.”

“Did I ever meet him?” Mom wants to know.

Renee says, “He insured your house, Allison. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember someone.” She thinks for a moment. “I’m usually good at faces. What does he look like?”

“It’s someone’s turn,” I state. “Whose turn is it?”

Grandma says, “He’s nice-looking. Except for the beard. The beard has to go.”

“I like the beard,” Renee says.

“It’s too white.”

Renee says, “He’s old, Ida. Of course it’s white.”

Grandma says, “It looks like someone threw a pie in his face.”

“I don’t think I know him,” my mother says. “But David usually deals with the insurance agents.”

“Whose turn is it?” I say in a singsong voice.

Nobody knows. Mom shrugs. “I’ll go.” She rolls a seven and lands on Connecticut. “I think I’ll buy… no, forget it. I’ll pass.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because if I buy the property, Great-granny can’t get a monopoly.”

I stare at her. “Mom, that’s why you should buy the property. You want to block anyone else from getting a monopoly.”

My mom smiles at me and whispers, “Christy, don’t you know that Great-granny always wins?”

I frown. “You mean the game is fixed?”

“We prefer to think of it as predetermined.”

Grandma says, “You’re upsetting Christy’s bile, Allison. Buy the property. Trade it to Great-granny later.”

“It’s okay if I buy it, Great-granny?” Mom asks.

“I don’t believe this,” I say to myself.

Great-granny grunts. Mom buys the property. It’s Renee’s turn. She rolls the dice and lands on my railroad. I make her pay me the twenty-five dollars.