Her Last Memory

TV, watching an endless stream of various sporting events. His favorite sport was baseball and he followed the LA Dodgers. Once or twice, when Jesse was small, Grandpa Ron had made some attempts to pass on his love of the sport to his grandson, taking him out to the park in the Arts District. But Jesse had often wandered away, bored. Jesse's choice of style lately made their grandfather bristle with silent indignation and make barbed comments about the PC movement. Still, Barbara preferred the company of her father's parents to Ramani, who was just plain strange.

"Uh, where's Grandpa?"

Grandma Maggie scraped the back of her short hair with her nails. "Went out for a game of golf. He should probably be back in the next hour. "Can I get you anything? A soda?" She stopped herself, a look of uncertainty clouding her features. Dora and Erica didn't like the kids drinking soda. "Or I think I have some sparkling water."

"Sure. Water's fine."

Her grandmother rose up to head for the kitchen. She still had a trim, lean figure and an erect posture. She returned with a glass that had a floral design on it, fizzing with carbonation and ice. Barbara took a long swallow while her grandmother got comfortable in the seat she'd vacated.

Barbara glanced at the book her grandmother had set down on the coffee table. "What are you reading?"

"Oh, just one of those crime mysteries. Let's see." Her grandmother picked it up and handed it to her.

“Kiss The Girls And Make Them Cry,” Barbara read aloud. "Is it good?"

"It's formulaic," Grandma Maggie said with a twist of a smile. "But I've been reading Mary Higgins Clark for decades. I'm a devoted reader."

Barbara nodded and took another sip of her water.

"How about you? Are you reading anything good?"

American Murder flashed through Barbara's mind, but she shook her head no.

"So it must be disconcerting, this memory loss of your mother’s."

"It's been really hard, especially on Sara and Jesse."

"I'll bet." Barbara's grandmother drew a breath, then smiled. "I'd have stopped by with a casserole, but I didn't want to intrude. Carrie's been keeping us updated."

"Yeah," Barbara said softly, turning her glass around in her hands. "Mom said that when she and Dad were dating, she used to come here a lot to hang out."

Grandma Maggie did this little toss thing with her head. "Dora was always welcome. All the kids were."

"She told me once that she liked coming here because you guys were so normal."

"Oh? She did?” Her grandmother's eyes softened a little. "Well, things were a bit unusual across the street. That grandmother of yours." Grandma Maggie pursed her lips. "I suppose your mother was just looking for some direction."

"Yeah. I suppose."

"You know, life is funny," Grandma Maggie continued. "Now, your great grandmother, who you were named after, she was just as normal as apple…" The words died out on her lips. She ran the palm of her hand over the arm of her chair, apparently deciding that the cliche expression might be offensive. "Anyway, someone like Barbara having a daughter like Ramani––well, that was unexpected."

Barbara picked up a coaster from the stack on the coffee table and placed her glass on it. "I wanted to invite you and Grandpa and Aunt Carrie to come over this Saturday for dinner. I don't know if Aunt Carrie told you, but my mom doesn't remember much beyond being sixteen."

"I don't know the particulars," her grandma said. "Only that she lost her memory. Does she remember you kids at all?"

Barbara shook her head no, and her grandmother's hand rose slowly to her mouth. "That's awful, Barbie."

"But she remembers Dad, and she seems to come alive whenever he's around."

Something flashed in her grandmother's eyes. Barbara wasn't sure what it was. Disapproval? No, Barbara decided, studying her grandmother. It was protectiveness. It was her dad's heart that had been broken. Her mom left him, not the other way around.

"I know that you and Grandpa haven't always seen eye to eye with my mom, but I know that part of that has to do with the recent years. Mom––she's just––well, she just doesn't remember any of it, and the few times I mentioned you guys she seemed interested. I thought maybe it would be nice if we had dinner together as a family. I think my mom would actually like seeing you two because you're a part of a past that she does remember."

"And Erica?"

Barbara bit her lip. A few times, Erica and her grandpa had gotten into it. Grandpa Ron seemed to be the only person on Earth who could actually rile up Erica to the point of yelling, really yelling. Six months ago, they'd argued about Jesse when he showed up to visit at their grandparent's house with barrettes in his hair. It was before he'd fully begun dressing like a girl. The screaming match ended with grandpa Ron calling Erica a fascist, black dyke bitch who had broken up his son's marriage and was now intent on turning his grandson into a freak. Erica had sworn that his racist butt would never be allowed in their house again.

“It’s not your house, though, is it?!” He'd roared, slamming the door in her face.

"I talked to Erica," Barbara said. "They’re willing to put aside differences for my mom's sake."

Grandma Maggie dipped her head and then glanced back up at Barbara.

"I'll have a talk with him, Barbie. Ron can be stubborn, but I know he misses being a grandpa to all of you, and frankly there's no reason for us to go on like this."

Barbara was surprised at this small admission. Her grandfather could have fooled her. She had never really felt that Grandpa Ron had taken much interest in his role as a grandfather.

"We're a different generation," her grandmother said as if reading her thoughts. "Ron's never been the buddy type of parent. We've always worked and let the kids get on with being kids. None of that helicopter parenting they talk about today. But I know he