South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [50]
Gladys walked Up to the door, gave a knock, and stepped into a bare, sunny living room. She caught a faint whiff of Urine and cleanser, and of pancakes. The walls were lined with easy chairs and rockers like those on the porch, some of them occupied. The men and women in them were old, dressed in thrift shop clothes. Some looked Up when she came in; others didn’t seem to notice her.
A huge television was blaring. A bomb had just exploded in the Middle East; there was the sound of mortar fire from beneath the newscaster’s voice. Gladys wished Ted Braith would turn the thing off when the news came on. These poor old folks didn’t need to be subjected to it, besides which it made her think of Frank Junior. She’d hated seeing all that footage on the television back then, it never should have been allowed. She’d hated it in a way Frank Senior never Understood, and she’d been right, hadn’t she?
Ted came toward her from the back, where the kitchen was. “Gladys! What brings you here again so soon?”
“I came to see Walter, what do you think? And why do you run that television so endlessly? No one needs to see that gore, shut it off.”
Ted, bless his heart, crossed the room and changed the channel to a cooking show—which Gladys found ridiculous but at least harmless—and waved her toward the stairs. “He’s in his room. Go on Up.”
“Thank you, Ted.” Gladys touched his arm on her way past by way of apology.
Walter was lying on his bed, listening to his radio, but he sat Up when Gladys knocked. “Hello. Anybody home?” she said.
Walter grinned. “Nobody but an old hound dog.” This was their standard exchange and it always seemed to please him.
“How have you been?” Gladys asked, sitting in his easy chair.
“Good, good.”
“Good.” Walter gazed at her expectantly. Gladys cleared her throat. “Listen, Walter. You know I was just here the other day?”
“Oh, yes. It was Friday, you almost always come on Friday.”
“That’s right.”
“You couldn’t come for a while because you had to go and live in Chicago with your sister. Arbutus. Arbutus is a nice lady.”
“Yes, she is.”
“You don’t usually come on Monday,” Walter said.
“No, that’s right, I don’t. I came for a special reason, today. I have something to tell you. It’s exciting, I think. I hope you’ll think so too.”
Walter sat on the edge of his bed, his hands folded in his lap. He waited for her to go on. She cleared her throat again.
“Walter, your great-niece Madeline has come back Up north. Do you remember Madeline?”
“Oh, yes! She was a pretty little baby. She was Jackie’s baby.” His initially happy look faded and was replaced by one that was more pensive.
“That’s right.”
They sat in a reflective silence. “I didn’t like Jackie,” Walter said eventually. “Not once she got big.”
Gladys sighed. “No, I know. She was never nice to you. The truth is, Walter, I never liked her, either.”
Walter nodded.
“But that’s neither here nor there. Madeline isn’t Jackie, and she’s back. Walter, I haven’t told her about you yet. But I want to. I know she’d like to meet you. That is, she would if she knew. But I wanted to make sure it would be all right.”
“For her to meet me?”
“Yes.”
Walter nodded, smiling again. “Oh, yes. It’s all right. Madeline was a pretty little baby. Joe let me hold her, I was careful. She always smiled for me. Joe said I was good with babies.”
Tears brimmed in Gladys’s eyes and she clamped her lips together. At last she said, “That’s right. Joe always did say you were good with babies. But Madeline’s grown Up now.”
“Yes.”
“So I’ll tell her about you.”
“All right.”
Gladys nodded. “I can’t stay long. I have some other things to see to in town.”
“All right.”
“I’ll see you soon, dear. Take care of yourself.”
“Bye,” Walter said, stretching