Southern Fried
you daft,
    boy,” she chided, taking a bite of my toast, the butter sliding off,
    a glob of marmalade with it. Homemade, if I wasn’t mistaken.
    The peaches, of course, came from our very own orchard.
    Again I looked to the ceiling, giving it a shrug. “A little daft
    28 Rob Rosen
    goes a long way, Pearl. Keeps the beggars away. And the Girl
    Scouts, too. Parents don’t let their kids knock on a crazy person’s
    doors. Nifty trick I learned.”
    She sat on the bed and finished my slice of toast. Thankfully,
    it had a sister. I grabbed it before she did. “You get that from
    your granny,” she said, chewing.
    “Penchant for toast?” I matched her chew for chew.
    She slapped my arm. “The crazy , boy. Your granny was crazy,
    too. Did some of the strangest things at times. Couldn’t rightly
    guess what she was up to when she got like that.” She shook her
    head, sipping from my coffee. “Crazy.”
    “Like what?” I asked, starting in on my omelet before she had
    the chance to.
    She scratched her chin, a tater tot now between her nimble
    fingers. She popped it whole in her mouth. “I don’t know,” she
    replied, shooting crumbs my way, which she quickly brushed off
    the bed. “Like when you done left, she’d come up here at night
    when she thought I’d left for the day. Only, I heard her, pacing
    around, opening and closing drawers. I’d ask her about it, but
    she’d say I was hearing things. And, boy, everything else might be
    going, but my hearing is still top notch. Like a hawk.”
    I shook my head back and forth. “I think hawks are known
    for their eyesight, Pearl, more than for their hearing.”
    She slapped me again. “Boy, don’t you sass me. Anyway, my
    eyesight ain’t too shabby neither.” She ate another tater tot and
    grabbed my fork when I set it down, starting in on my omelet
    right where I had left off.
    “Maybe she missed me,” I offered. “Maybe she came up here
    to be closer to me the only way she still could.”
    Pearl snickered, the omelet nearly gone, my juice too, and the
    tater tots, and toast, and strawberries. Thankfully, I wasn’t all that
    hungry. “You’re confusing your granny with someone else, boy.
    Woman didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body.” She nodded
    and took another sip of coffee. My coffee. “Don’t get me wrong,
    though; woman loved you something fierce. Just wasn’t her style
    southeRn FRied 29
    to show it too much. Least of all coming up here and getting all
    sappy over it. Nope, just plumb crazy she got sometimes, I’m
    telling you. Other things too, like whispering on the phone and
    then pretending she wasn’t. And she hated talking on the phone.
    You know it, too. But I’d catch her whispering, then lying about
    it.”
    Pearl had a point. Granny hated the phone, or anything electric
    for that matter. Might’ve been born in the twentieth century, but
    she had a foot stuck in the nineteenth. Barely talked to me when
    I called. But she could write pages and pages worth, all on that
    fancy scented stationary of hers. Yep, I could smell a letter from
    her from a mile away.
    “What else?” I asked, pushing the tray away. Breakfast, after
    all, was finished.
    She shrugged. “I don’t like talking bad about the dead, boy.”
    I chuckled, despite the comment, the dead part of it, anyway.
    “What’ve we been doing?”
    The third slap was the hardest. Or I was just getting tender.
    “Never mind, boy. She was just an old lady. And old ladies do
    nutty things sometimes, I suppose. Probably not even knowing
    they’re doing it.” She stood up and lifted the tray. Then she headed
    for the door. “We’re leaving at eleven, Trip. Jeeves is driving us.
    Wear something nice.” She left, the silence enveloping me like a
    shroud. I shivered into it.
    I’ll tell you this, though: Granny wasn’t crazy or old acting.
    Ever. The woman retained her senses to the end, I was sure of it.
    Held it all in like a steel safe. What Pearl was saying sounded

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