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Zoe
Zoe didn’t want to go to church, and she tried to make that clear to her grandmother without actually saying the words. But Gramma was oblivious. She was bustling around the apartment like she just couldn’t wait to get where she was going. Then, hours before church was supposed to start, she announced that she was leaving.
“What?”
She stopped at the door, purse and Bible in hand. “I’m sorry. I thought I told you. I have to get there early to set up.”
“So what do I do?”
She paused. “It starts at ten-thirty. Just come over any time before that.” She pointed behind her at the wall. “It’s right there.”
She wanted her to walk into church alone? As if this situation wasn’t bad enough as it was?
Gramma must have read her mind. “Do you want me to come back and get you?”
Now she felt like a baby. “No, it’s okay.”
Her body relaxed, and a warm smile spread across her face. “Great. I’ll see you soon. Can’t wait for you to see the inside of the place.” She stepped toward her, grabbed her by the shoulder to pull her in, and then kissed her on the cheek. “Love you, honey.” She turned then and left with more energy than Zoe could ever remember having.
Love. Did Gramma really love her? She hardly knew her, so how could she love her? But she certainly acted like she loved her. Did grandmothers have some sort of default love setting for their grandkids, something that caused them to love them even if they went for years without seeing them?
She sank into the couch and found the remote. She didn’t want to go to church. It would have been one thing if it had been her church, the one she’d gone to with her mom when she’d lived in South Portland. It would be cool to see the old place and to see some of her old friends, though she didn’t think any of them would recognize her, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to speak to them. She didn’t want them to see that she’d turned into a Goliath. She flipped through the channels, but there was nothing on, which shouldn’t have surprised her. Gramma only had twelve channels, and it was Sunday morning.
Leaving the TV on for the noise, she got up and went to the kitchen to root around for a snack. She’d only been there two days, and already Gramma was running low on good food. She had plenty of her kind of food: pot roast, meatloaf, frozen peas, and lots of potatoes. But there weren’t any snacks.
She found some bread, toasted it, slathered it with jam, and then sat down in front of the nameless TV show. What would happen if she didn’t go to church? If she just didn’t show up? How mad would her grandmother be? Would there be consequences?
She didn’t think so. But as she was mulling the option over, it occurred to her that her grandmother might be hurt if she didn’t show up, and she didn’t want to do that. Then, as she forced herself to get dressed and run a brush through her hair, it occurred to her that her grandmother might be embarrassed if she didn’t show up. She didn’t want to do that either.
Shoot. She had to go to church.
Keeping a close eye on the time, she played on her phone until quarter past ten. Then she stepped out of the safety of the tiny apartment and into the hallway, which smelled like mothballs. She passed a few tenants on the way to the stairs, and they looked at her curiously. She avoided their eyes.
Then she was outside, blinking in the bright sunshine. There weren’t many trees along Providence Avenue, but those that were there had turned a glorious shade of orange. It nearly took her breath away. Were trees that pretty in Missouri? She couldn’t remember. They probably were. She’d probably been too miserable to notice.
A bunch of people were clustered on the front lawn. She was going to ignore them, but then she saw that Gramma was one of the people. She was almost to them when the church bells rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
It was official. She hated church.
