Nancy Martin - Monkey Wrench

In the kitchen, Rose was already puttering at the stove with a carton of milk, a wooden spoon and a box of powdered cocoa. She hummed while she worked. “He’s one of the most sought-after men in Tyler, you know.”

Susannah threw her beret on the kitchen table. “Granny Rose, you’re as maddening as ever!”

Laughing, Rose said, “Because I’m in the mood for cocoa? Or because I’d like to fix you up with Joe?”

“You’re always trying to fix me up with somebody or other. Why him, of all people?”

“Why not him?” Rose cried. “Joe is available, good-looking and well respected, plus he’s fun to be around. And he’s a real man—not one of those overgrown boys you see in the city. What more could a woman ask for?”

“A little culture, maybe? I like men who read books, not just use them to fix a wobbly table now and then.”

“Don’t be such a snob.”

“I’m not a snob,” Susannah replied defensively. “I simply know my own taste, that’s all. I like bright men with a certain amount of...of polish, I suppose.”

“Joe has polish.”

“I meant sophistication,” Susannah shot back. “Not something you rub into fine furniture.”

“ That was the remark of a snob.”

Susannah slid limply into one of the kitchen chairs. “You’re right. I apologize.” She rubbed her forehead. “You caught me off guard, that’s all. This whole day has caught me off guard, as a matter of fact. I’ve been working very hard lately. I’m supposed to be going on my vacation tomorrow, but I’m more disorganized than ever. I guess I really do need some time off.”

Rose turned and leaned against the stove to look at Susannah, as if ready for one of their patented heart-to-heart talks. For a moment, Susannah felt as if it were twenty years ago, and that she was still a teenager confiding in her grandmother in the privacy of their cozy kitchen. The room was filled with the fragrance of fresh baking, and rows of cookies filled sheets of waxed paper on the counter. The shelves were lined with jars of fruits and jellies that Rose had painstakingly preserved the previous summer. Sheaves of dried herbs and flowers hung from the beams overhead, reminding Susannah that everything she had become—the cooking, decorating, entertaining expert of Milwaukee television—she owed to her grandmother, who long ago had taught Susannah gracious living and the value of hearth and home.

“It feels good to be home,” Susannah said at last.

Rose relaxed and smiled. “It’s good to see you home, dear.”

She padded to Susannah and gave her granddaughter a warm hug and a kiss on the top of the head. “I wish you were home to stay, not running off to some hot beach tomorrow. I’m going to miss you this Christmas.”

With a guilty pang, Susannah held her grandmother’s hand a little longer. “I’ll be back on Christmas Day, Granny Rose. I just won’t be here for all the parties beforehand.”

“Not even for your birthday?”

Susannah’s birthday fell just a week before Christmas and had been the family excuse for a large pre-Christmas gathering ever since Susannah was born. The famous Atkins party was one of the social events of the season for the whole town of Tyler.

“I can’t celebrate with you this year, I’m sorry.” Hearing the wistful note in Rose’s voice caused Susannah’s heart to ache, but she said, “Roger bought the tickets, you see, without remembering my usual plans to be in Tyler for the week before Christmas. I hated to disappoint him, Granny Rose.”

“Why? He disappoints you all the time.” Rose released Susannah’s hand and returned to the stove.

“He doesn’t mean to disappoint me. He’s just forgetful. He’s a busy man.”

“Too busy to be kind?” Rose sent her a short-tempered frown.

“I won’t defend Roger today,” Susannah said patiently, having endured Rose’s low opinion of Roger Selby for a long time. “Roger and I understand each other, and that’s what matters. Subject closed. I’d rather hear about you.”

“I’m fine,” Rose said at once, spooning cocoa into a saucepan full of milk.

“Joe says—”

“Oh, what does Joe know? I had a little episode, that’s all.”

“An episode?” Susannah echoed. “That sounds like a euphemism for something very bad.”

“It wasn’t.” Rose shook a dash of cinnamon into the warming milk and reached for the bottle of vanilla from the open shelf over her head. “I just...I didn’t feel well for a couple of hours. Maybe it was the flu.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“I felt light-headed. Then, I...well, all right, I admit I blacked out.”

“Good heavens! That’s more than the flu!”

“Joe was here,” Rose said hastily. “So I wasn’t alone. It hasn’t happened again. I’m fine now.”

Her concern heightened, Susannah asked, “But what caused it? Have you been taking your blood-pressure medicine?”

Rose flipped her hand. “Off and on. When I need it.”

“Granny Rose!” Truly angry, Susannah rapped the table with her knuckles. “You’re supposed to take that medication regularly! It’s not something you pop into your system now and then—”

“I’ve been feeling well without it.”

“When was the last time you saw your doctor?”

“I have an appointment scheduled in January.”

“That’s not answering my question. When was the last time?”

Rose didn’t respond, pretending to concentrate on the seemingly intricate task of stirring hot cocoa with the long-handled spoon. Frustrated, Susannah leaned forward on her elbows, trying to think of a way to force her grandmother to take care of herself. It seemed very odd, though, for Rose had been Susannah’s parent for most of her life. To reverse roles and become her grandmother’s caretaker felt...well, presumptuous. Until now, Rose had been perfectly capable of taking care of herself. What right did Susannah have to march in and take over?

“Look,” Susannah said, endeavoring to keep her voice steady, “it’s not my place to order you around. You’re a grown woman with common sense, and you know you should take your medicine and see your doctor regularly. But for some reason you’re not taking care of yourself, Granny Rose. That upsets me.”

Impatiently, Rose said, “I promise to see Dr. Phelps after Christmas.”

“Why not immediately? I’m sure he’d squeeze you into his schedule right this minute if—”

“I don’t need to see him now.”

“But if—”

“I’m fine, and that’s final! Go on your vacation and have a wonderful time, Susannah. After Christmas, you can come see Dr. Phelps with me, if you’re still upset. But I’m not going to budge until then, do you hear me? I’m fine!”

Susannah glared at her grandmother’s turned back. “Granny Rose, are you afraid you’ll spoil my silly vacation if you’re sick?”

Rose was saved from answering that question. A thump sounded on the stairs, and a lofty baritone voice carried to the women in the kitchen, singing, “‘Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plain....”’

Then Joe appeared, filling the kitchen doorway with his tall frame and broad shoulders. His gaze traveled swiftly to Susannah, and he lifted his brows as if to ask how everything was going. Susannah frowned and shook her head.

Rose turned from the stove. “You don’t look much like an angel, Joe, but you can sing like one. Want a cookie?”

“As many as you can spare,” he said cheerfully.

“Sit down, then. This cocoa is almost ready.”

“Smells great.”

Joe eased his body into the wooden chair opposite Susannah’s, and he continued to watch her face while Rose’s back was turned. “So,” he said, “you two get everything worked out?”