by Susan Harper
“Ma’am!” I shouted as I leaned forward to take the wheel. “Are you okay?”
She suddenly sprung to action, screaming and jerking the wheel to the left. Her screaming caused me to scream and I grabbed the wheel and pulled it to the right, trying to get us back in our lane. We continued to scream until the car stopped teetering and settled down to a nice hum on the road.
“Are you trying to kill us?” The woman’s voice was hoarse and she seemed out of breath.
“I tried to talk to you and you didn’t answer!” I practically shouted. “I thought you had a heart attack or something!”
“You almost gave me one!” She flashed me a dirty look. “And you made me swallow my mint. You’re lucky I didn’t choke to death!”
“I’m sorry.” As I said the words, I noticed my heart was beating in my ears. “I really thought something had happened to you.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Well, to be honest with you, I did doze off for a moment.” She looked at me, pride spreading across her face. “I sleep with my eyes open. Do you know anyone who can do that?”
Before I could answer, she was telling me about her friend Delores who “claimed” she could sleep with her eyes open but, as it turned out, just slept with one eye half-open because she had a stroke and it wouldn’t close all the way.
I sat there in silence before saying a quick prayer. My hands resumed their spot around the seat cushion and I could feel the blood draining from my knuckles yet again.
“So what was it you tried to talk to me about before you nearly killed us?”
I swallowed hard, trying to push away the irritation that fought to come out.
“I asked you what your name was.” I stared at her and decided right then that I wouldn’t take my eyes off of her for the rest of the trip. I would make sure she stayed awake, even if it meant talking to her the entire time.
“Oh yes! My name is Hattie Sue Miller,” she said with a bit of arrogance. She glanced at me. “My father used to own most of this land.” She motioned to either side of us. “Until he sold it and made a fortune.” She gave me a look and dropped her voice to a whisper as she raised one eyebrow. “Of course we don’t talk about money. That would be inappropriate.” She said that last part like I had just asked her when she had last had sex. I felt ashamed until I realized I had never asked her about her money; I had simply asked her name. This woman was a nut. Didn’t Grandma Dean have any other friends she could’ve sent to get me?
For the next hour or so, I asked her all kinds of questions to keep her awake—none of them about money or anything I thought might lead to money. If what she told me was true, she had a very interesting upbringing. She claimed to be related to Julia Tuttle, the woman who founded Miami. Her stories of how she got a railroad company to agree to build tracks there were fascinating. It wasn’t until she told me she was also related to Michael Jackson that I started to question how true her stories were.
“We’re almost there! Geraldine will be so happy to see you. You’re all she’s talked about the last two weeks.” She pulled into a street lined with palm trees. “You’re going to love it here.” She smiled as she drove. “I’ve lived here a long time. It’s far enough away from the city that you don’t have all that hullaballoo, but big enough that you can eat at a different restaurant every day for a month.”
When we entered the downtown area, heavy gray smoke hung in the air, and the road was blocked by a fire truck and two police cars.
“Oh no! I think there might have been a fire!” I leaned forward in my seat, trying to get a better look.
“Of course there was a fire!” Hattie huffed like I was an idiot. “That’s why Geraldine sent me to get you!”
“What?! Is she okay?” I scanned the crowd and saw her immediately. She was easy to spot, even at our distance.
“Oh yes. She’s fine. Her shop went up in flames as she was headed out the door. She got the call from a neighboring store owner and called me right away to go get you. Honestly, I barely had time to make you a sign.” She acted like Grandma Dean had really put her in a bad position, leaving her only minutes to get my name on a piece of poster board.
Hattie pulled over and I jumped out; I’d come back for my luggage later. As I made my way toward the crowd, I was amazed at how little my Grandma Dean—or Grandma Dean-Dean, as I had called her since I was a little girl—had changed. Her bleach blonde hair was nearly white and cut in a cute bob that was level with her chin. She wore skintight light blue denim capris, which hugged her tiny frame. Her bright white t-shirt was the background for a long colorful necklace that appeared to be a string of beads. Thanks to a pair of bright red heels, she stood eye to eye with the fireman she was talking to.
I ran up to her and called out to her. “Grandma! Are you okay?” She flashed me a look of disgust before she smiled weakly at the fireman and said something I couldn’t make out.
She turned her back to him and grabbed me by the arm. “I told you to never call me that!” She softened her tone then looked me over. “You look exhausted! Was it the flight or riding with that crazy Hattie?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “Joe, this is my daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”
Joe smiled. I wasn’t sure if it was his perfectly white teeth that got my attention, his uniform or his sparkling blue eyes, but I was immediately speechless. I tried to say hello, but the words stuck in my throat.
“Nikki, this is Joe Dellucci. He was born in New Jersey but his parents came from Italy. Isn’t that right, Joe?”
I was disappointed when Joe answered without a New Jersey accent. Grandma Dean continued to tell me about Joe’s heritage, which reminded me of Hattie. Apparently once you got to a certain age, you automatically became interested in people’s backgrounds.
He must have noticed the look of disappointment on my face. “My family moved here when I was ten. My accent only slips in when I’m tired.” His face lit up with a smile, causing mine to do the same. “Or when I eat pizza.” I had no idea what he meant by that, but it caused me to break out in nervous laughter. Grandma Dean’s look of embarrassment finally snapped me out of it.
“Well, Miss Dean. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, call your insurance company. I’m sure they’ll get you in touch with a good fire restoration service. If not, let me know. My brother’s in the business.”
He handed her a business card and I saw the name in red letters across the front: Clean-up Guys. Not a very catchy name. Then suddenly it hit me. A fireman with a brother who does fire restoration? Seemed a little fishy. Joe must have noticed my expression, because he chimed in. “Our house burned down when I was eight and Alex was twelve. I guess it had an impact on us.”
Grandma Dean took the card and put it in her back pocket. “Thanks, Joe. I’ll give Alex a call this afternoon.”
They said their good-byes and as Joe walked away, Grandma Dean turned toward me. “What did I tell you about calling me ‘Grandma’ in public?” Her voice was barely over a whisper. “I’ve given you a list of names that are appropriate and I don’t understand why you don’t use one of them!”
“I’m not calling you Coco!” My mind tried to think of the other names on the list. Peaches? Was that on there? Whatever it was, they all sounded ridiculous.
“There is nothing wrong with Coco!” She pulled away from me and ran a hand through her hair as a woman approached us.
“Geraldine, I’m so sorry to hear about the fire!” The woman hugged Grandma Dean. “Do they know what started it?”
“No, but Joe’s on it. He’ll figure it out. I’m sure it was wiring or something. You know how these old buildings are.”
The woman nodded in agreement. “If you need anything, please let me know.” She hugged Grandma again and gave her a look of pity.
“Bev, this is my…daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”
I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t even say granddaughter. I wondered if she would come up with some crazy name to replace
that too.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Bev said without actually looking at me. She looked worried. Her drawn-on eyebrows were pinched together, creating a little bulge between them. “If you hear anything about what started it, please be sure to let me know.”
Grandma turned to me as the woman walked away. “She owns the only other antique store on this block. I’m sure she’s happy as a clam that her competition is out for a while,” Grandma said, almost with a laugh.
I gasped. “Do you think she did it? Do you think she set fire to your shop?”
“Oh, honey, don’t go jumping to conclusions like that. She would never hurt a fly.” Grandma looked around. “Where’s your luggage?”
I turned to point toward Hattie’s car, but it was gone.
Grandma let out a loud laugh. “Hattie took off with your luggage? Well, then let’s go get it.”
Thanks for reading the sample of Up in Smoke. I really hope you liked it. You can read the rest at:
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