The Garden of Eden and Other Criminal Delights

by Faye Kellerman

  My family is considered a good one by the staff. We visit Great-granny with prune-eating regularity. Twice a week my grandma, my two great-aunts, and my mom trudge down to the home. It has become such a routine, it’s been ritualized—Tuesday afternoon there are the soaps, Thursday morning is the Monopoly game, and then there’s the bimonthly brunch picnic with all the aunts and cousins, weather permitting, of course. I’m only obligated to go to the picnics, because I’m in school. But this particular Thursday, some kind of teachers’ conference was called at my school, so I’m off.

  Then Mom suggests that I might do a good deed and come with her. In an unusual burst of generosity, I say okay. I put down my book, put on my shoes, and climb way back in the van to make room for Grandma and her two sisters. Since we own a big car, Mom drives carpool.

  My great-aunts have daughters, too, but my mom is the only one who visits Granny on a regular basis. Which gives my grandma lots of brownie points over her sisters. My great-aunts have tried to disparage Mom’s visits, Kate saying things like: “I’m so happy that Allison has so much free time. Connie works so hard as a lawyer.”

  Or sometimes Great-aunt Renee will say, “Allison is such a caring girl. She should really think about becoming a social worker, like my Judy.”

  My mom, who takes a very Zen approach to life, always chooses to ignore the barbs. Rather, it’s like she never even hears them in the first place. Nothing ever bothers her. Not me and my mouth, not my klutzy older sister, not even my hypochondriac father, who has yet to figure out how he got from football hero to middle-aged man. My mom has always been the eye in the swirling storm. All activity centers around her, but she never seems to get caught up by it. Always calm but caring, even if she is a space cadet. It’s better than Emma’s mom, who yells all the time.

  Grandma, on the other hand, is not one to let things pass. Whenever her sisters would throw verbal daggers at my mom, Grandma Lion would get this steely look in her eyes and say things like:

  “Your shmocial worker Judy has time for everyone except her family.”

  Or:

  “And your Connie has plenty of time to go to the gym but not to visit her own flesh and blood?”

  Then Mom would take a deep breath and put on a serene smile and say, “Mom, Connie is Connie, and I’m me.”

  Then Grandma would add, “Thank goodness for that.” Otherwise, Granny would never have any visitors under sixty.

  Of course, Great-aunt Kate would have to defend her progeny. “Connie needs a way to burn up her frustrations at work, Ida.”

  “So let her lead an aerobics class for the people here at the home,” Grandma would snap back.

  Then Guru Mom would say in a calm voice, “Everybody has their own strengths.”

  “Your daughter is very wise,” Great-aunt Kate would state with authority.

  And Renee would agree, and that would be that until the next time. Until the next visit, when Mom would show up again and their daughters wouldn’t. And the whole thing would repeat itself in some variation or another.

  When I show up, well, it’s almost too much for them to bear.

  How sweet for Christy to come.

  Isn’t she a special girl.

  What a little love you have there, Allison. She must take after you!

  Today Grandma wears a pink polyester suit complete with a matching plastic purse. Renee has on a bulky mustard sweater over black stretch pants. Kate has chosen a multicolored caftan and dangling wooden earrings.

  Kate has been married three times. Last time she took the plunge, she wanted an alternative ceremony. My second cousin Sandy, her grandniece, played the recorder as Kate danced down the aisle and threw autumn leaves and dried rose petals from a basket she had made in her junior college art class. She and her husband, Hubert, made vows to the Earth Goddess, Ceres, and prayed for the release of the Mother Spirit. My great-granny had raised her daughters Baptist, but if she disapproved of Kate’s wedding, she never said so.

  This morning both Mom and I wear jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. My T is red, Mom’s is white. Mom made a vow to always wear white in some form or another because she says it symbolizes purity. She got that idea from one of the Eastern religion books on her nightstand. I think she wears white T’s because they’re easy. Just throw on a Hanes special and you’re dressed for any occasion.

  We arrive at the home around ten in the morning, time for Granny’s midmorning snack. Great-granny has her own semiprivate dining room containing four round tables, six chairs per table. Granny is about four foot five and weighs about one fifty, down from her former weight of two hundred plus. She started losing pounds awhile back, and everyone panicked that she was sick. It turned out to be a case of ill-fitting dentures.

  Today the snack is ice cream, so Great-granny’s in seventh heaven. The dining room’s jammed, staff working fast and furious, so we’re expected to give a hand. I take to feeding Mr. Zarapata. Carefully, I give him measured spoonfuls of orange sherbet. But he becomes impatient with me.

  “You feed me like a baby,” he croaks out testily. “Give me more.”

  I give him a bigger spoonful. Of course, he starts coughing. I wipe spittle off his mouth. “Told you so,” I say.

  “You little snot,” he retorts.

  “Yeah, yeah. Open your mouth.”

  He complies, then complains once again that I’m feeding him like a baby. And on and on it goes until he polishes off his sherbet and snack time’s over. By the time I finish wiping his mouth, plumping his pillow, and adjusting the footrests of his wheelchair, Great-aunt Kate has set up the board on one of the cleared tables. Great-aunt Renee wheels Great-granny over, and Grandma pulls up five chairs. Mr. Zarapata asks if he can play, too, but tradition demands that only blood relatives play. He calls us all snots—and worse—until finally, a nurse wheels him away.

  “We have enough tokens for eight,” I say to Grandma.

  “Rules are rules,” she answers.

  “Yeah, but who makes up the rules?” I contest. “We do. So that means we can change them.”

  “Rules are rules,” Renee answers.

  “That’s right,” Kate agrees. “Rules are rules.”

  “Rules are a state of mind,” my mother interjects. “In the universe, there are no absolutes.”

  “I want the thimble,” Renee states.

  “You had the thimble last week,” Grandma says.

  “No, I had the hat,” Renee corrects.

  “You had the thimble,” Grandma repeats.

  “Kate had the thimble,” Renee says. “I had the hat.”

  I reach over and grab the thimble. “Here, Renee.”

  Renee takes the thimble. “I had the hat last week. You’re thinking two weeks ago.”

  “Who wants to go first?” I say.

  “Wait, Christy,” Grandma says. “I don’t even have my token yet. I think I’ll be the iron.”

  “I was going to be the iron,” Kate says. “Why don’t you be the rocking horse? You had good luck with that last week.”

  “No, I had good luck with the shoe,” Grandma says. “Okay, you be the iron, I’ll be the shoe.”

  “I’ll be the race car,” I say. “I’ll roll first to see who goes first.”

  “Wait, wait,” Grandma says. “Your mother doesn’t have her token. And nobody has any money. Who’s the bank?”

  “I can be the bank,” my mom says.

  “Mom, I’ll be the bank,” I say, picking up a stack of apricot-colored five-hundred-dollar bills. “By the time you count out the money, it’ll be dark.”

  My mom gives me a gentle rap on the shoulder. “Have a little patience.”

  “You’re so impatient, Christy,” my grandma chides.

  “It’s because she’s young,” Renee pronounces.

  “I know she’s young,” Grandma says. “But she’s also impatient. Allison isn’t impatient.”

  “That’s because Allison has time,” Renee mutters out loud under her breath.

/>   “That’s because her husband makes a good living and she doesn’t have to work,” Grandma mutters even louder under her breath.

  I start doling out the cash. “Mom, did you choose a token yet?”

  “You choose one for me.”

  I hand her the wheelbarrow. At this point Mom closes her eyes and puts on her Buddha smile.

  “You’re not going to chant first, Allison.” Renee turns to my grandma. “Ida, she’s not going to chant, is she?”

  Grandma reaches out and touches my mother’s arm. “Allison, honey, we don’t have time for the chant today. Renee has a hairdresser’s appointment.”

  Kate says, “Why are you going to the hairdresser’s, Renee?”

  My grandma gets a teasing look on her face. “She’s got a date tonight—”

  “Oh, hush up,” Renee scolds. “It’s not a date.”

  My mother says, “I refuse to play without some acknowledgment of the Higher Spirit.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes!” Renee mutters.

  Grandma says, “Hush up. How about the hands thing, Allison?”

  “The universal hand circle would be lovely,” Mom states. “Let’s all join together and give praise to our spirits and souls.”

  We all take each other’s hands. I’m sitting next to Great-granny. Her hand is dry, knobby, and liver-spotted. I give it a small kiss, and Great-granny smiles. Slowly, she strokes my face with a crooked finger. I kiss her again and admire her nails. They are clean and manicured—courtesy of her daughters.

  My mother closes her eyes and says, “Heavenly Being, we thank You for the opportunity to address You, and for the many blessings You have bestowed upon this family. Please bless the game we are about to play.”

  Mom opens her eyes and says, “Great-granny, do you want to be the hat?”

  Great-granny grunts. Mom picks up the hat and places it on Go.

  “I’ll roll first,” I say. “Just to see who goes first.”

  “Just go, Christy,” Grandma says. “I can see you’re very impatient.”

  I roll the dice. I get a five. I buy a railroad.

  Kate says, “Mom, you can be next.” She rolls the dice for her and says, “Mom, do you want to buy Oriental?”

  Great-granny grunts. Kate buys Oriental. She says, “So, Renee, tell me about this date that isn’t a date.”

  Renee says, “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Kate says, “So tell me the nothing. Who is he?”

  “He’s William the ex-insurance agent,” Grandma says.

  “Not ex,” Renee clarifies. “He’s retired.”

  “Did I ever meet him?” Mom wants to know.

  Renee says, “He insured your house, Allison. Don’t you remember?”

  “I remember someone.” She thinks for a moment. “I’m usually good at faces. What does he look like?”

  “It’s someone’s turn,” I state. “Whose turn is it?”

  Grandma says, “He’s nice-looking. Except for the beard. The beard has to go.”

  “I like the beard,” Renee says.

  “It’s too white.”

  Renee says, “He’s old, Ida. Of course it’s white.”

  Grandma says, “It looks like someone threw a pie in his face.”

  “I don’t think I know him,” my mother says. “But David usually deals with the insurance agents.”

  “Whose turn is it?” I say in a singsong voice.

  Nobody knows. Mom shrugs. “I’ll go.” She rolls a seven and lands on Connecticut. “I think I’ll buy . . . no, forget it. I’ll pass.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because if I buy the property, Great-granny can’t get a monopoly.”

  I stare at her. “Mom, that’s why you should buy the property. You want to block anyone else from getting a monopoly.”

  My mom smiles at me and whispers, “Christy, don’t you know that Great-granny always wins?”

  I frown. “You mean the game is fixed?”

  “We prefer to think of it as predetermined.”

  Grandma says, “You’re upsetting Christy’s bile, Allison. Buy the property. Trade it to Great-granny later.”

  “It’s okay if I buy it, Great-granny?” Mom asks.

  “I don’t believe this,” I say to myself.

  Great-granny grunts. Mom buys the property. It’s Renee’s turn. She rolls the dice and lands on my railroad. I make her pay me the twenty-five dollars.

  “Such avarice,” Renee states, handing me five five-dollar bills.

  “It’s the rules,” I say.

  “I know it’s the rules. It’s just that you ask me for money with such relish!”

  “She’s young,” Kate says. “So where are you and William your nondate going to go, Renee?”

  “Probably the Submarine Station for a tuna sandwich.”

  “That’s your date?” I say to my great-aunt. “A tuna sandwich at the Submarine Station?”

  “I told you, it isn’t a date.” Renee talks to me like I’m a child.

  “Then why are you getting your hair done?” I ask.

  “Because she wants to look nice,” Grandma says as if I’m a moron. “Why are you going to the Submarine Station instead of the Salad Shop?”

  “Because the Submarine Station is closer.”

  “Two blocks closer,” my grandma says.

  “Two blocks is two blocks,” Renee says.

  “Whose turn is it?” I’m dying of boredom.

  Grandma picks up the dice and rolls. “I still don’t understand why you’d want to go to the Submarine Station. I thought you like plate food.”

  Renee says, “I do like plate food.”

  “So do I,” Kate pipes in. “I never could understand the breast-of-chicken sandwich. I like chicken on a plate, with a fork and a knife and a nice glass of tea. Chicken does not belong in a sandwich.”

  “1 can even understand the chicken sandwich,” Grandma states. “But meatballs? Meatballs belong on spaghetti—”

  “Or on rice,” Renee interrupts.

  “I’ll give you rice,” Grandma concedes. “But meatballs definitely do not belong in a sandwich. Like in Gardilucci’s on Third. I don’t understand these Italian restaurants.”

  “I agree that meatballs belong on a plate,” Kate says. “But that’s not true of all chopped meat. Take hamburgers, for instance. I like hamburgers in a sandwich, not on a plate.”

  “Hamburgers belong in a sandwich,” my mom agrees.

  I say, “Grandma, you landed on Chance. You’re supposed to pick a card.”

  She picks a card but doesn’t read it. “So if you like plate food, Renee, why are you going to a sandwich place?”

  Renee says, “Because sandwiches are easier to eat than plate food. I always spill on the first date.”

  Kate says, “I thought you said it wasn’t a date.”

  “It isn’t a date,” Renee says. “But I still don’t want to spill.”

  “You can spill with a sandwich,” Grandma says. “Especially the big ones they make at the Submarine Station. You take a bite and it comes smushing out the other end.”

  I take the card from my grandmother, read it, and pay the fine with her money. “Grandma, you’ve got to roll again. You got doubles.”

  Grandma looks up. “I rolled doubles?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re the boss, Christy.” She rolls the dice absently. She gets doubles again.

  “You want to buy State, Grandma?” I ask.

  “Certainly I want to buy State! What do you think?” Grandma hands me two hundred dollars. “Give me change, honey.”

  Kate says, “You don’t wrap your sandwiches in a napkin, Ida? I always wrap up my sandwiches. When I eat sandwiches. Mostly I like plate food.”

  “Except hamburgers,” I mutter.

  “Exactly,” Kate agrees.

  I give Grandma change. “You rolled doubles again.”

  “Christy, hold on,” Grandma says. “You’re giving me a headache.”
/>   “Just trying to move the game along,” I say with a strained smile.

  “Then what?” Renee says. “We finish and I have to wait three hours for my hair appointment. Ida, roll the dice. You’re making Christy antsy.”

  Grandma gets a ten and lands on Free Parking. “Where’s my money? Christy, honey, you forgot to put out the money for Free Parking.”

  “That’s not in the rules,” I say.

  No one says anything, but I sense hostility. “You guys play with one hundred or five hundred?” I say, taking both bills from the bank.

  Grandma smiles. “Now you’re catching on. Monopoly isn’t life, Christy. In life, there’s no such thing as Free Parking.”

  Kate says, “To me, Free Parking symbolizes stagnation. You don’t go anywhere, you don’t do anything. You just sit there.”

  “Or it could be the elusive respite we’re all looking for,” Mom says. “The opportunity to meditate without interference.”

  “To me, Free Parking is family,” Grandma says.

  “The whole game is a metaphor for family,” Kate says.

  “It is?” I ask.

  Grandma pats my hand. “You’ll understand when you have your own children.”

  I nod as if I understand her.

  “In the meantime, I’ll take five hundred bucks.” Grandma snatches the bill from my hand.

  Renee says, “You know, Allison, if Christy hurries up and has a baby, you can have five generations of Hathaway women.”

  “I’m only twelve,” I say.

  “Say you have a baby at twenty-two,” Kate says. “Not so impossible.”

  “Not at all,” Grandma agrees.

  “That means Mom has to make it to ninety-seven,” Renee says.

  “Mom has longevity in the family,” Kate says.

  “It would be better to have the baby at twenty,” Renee states.