Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way by Rohn Federbush Page B

to. “About those cookies, Grandma.” She retrieved the milk carton and placed it on the oilcloth covering of the table.
    “Get that off of there.” Grandma spanked her behind. “Pour the young man a glass of milk and put the rest away.”
    Sally poured three glasses as Grandma briskly went down the narrow hall between the parlor and the front room out to the giant freezer housed on the front porch. Returning with plastic containers balanced up to her chin, Grandma went to the cupboard corner next to the sink and set out an array of cookies on a green glass platter. “You drink coffee?” she asked, pouring Sally and herself each a full cup.
    “Not yet,” Art said.
    Grandma put her hand on Sally’s arm, a warm gesture making Sally feel a part of Grandma’s life.
    Art devoured the plate of cookies with appropriate “oohs” and “ahs” of appreciation. “They’re the best.” Art turned in his chair to ask Sally, “Can you bake these?”
    Grandma laughed. “She’s a third daughter. Marie, her mother, got tired of teaching by the time Sally was old enough to learn. All this child does is stick her nose in books. But we love her.”
    For an hour they traded gossip about the four generations in the family. Who married, gave birth, died. Art moved around restlessly. “We better head home,” Sally finally said.
    “Well, use the bathroom at the head of the steps before you leave, while I pack up a few cookies to take back with you.”
    “Could I have a few for my mother?” Art asked. “She doesn’t bake.”
    “He’s a sweet boy,” Grandma said as Art headed upstairs. “You make sure he takes those catechism lessons, like your daddy, before you agree to marry him.”
    “He hasn’t asked.”
    “He will.” Grandma gave her an extra good-bye hug. “I’ll call Marie; tell her you’re on your way. No sense worrying her beads.”
    As they got on the road with Art driving, he said, “That’s the kind of mother I want my kids to have!”
    Sally caught a sob in her throat. “Me too. I miss her already.”
    Art didn’t notice. “My grandmother lives in Florida. Grandpa has Parkinson’s, but she’s fine. She plays tennis and bridge every day. She says I’m the cat’s pajamas.”
    “Grandmothers love us best.”
    “Yeah, we don’t have to prove our worth to them,” Art said, somewhat restored from his college trauma. “They’re just happy we’re alive.”
    ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
    First Thursday in January
    Tuning back into her husband’s one-way conversation about the merits of the various modern art pieces hanging in their front room, Sally asked him, “What do you think caused you to fixate on me, fifty years ago?”
    “You didn’t even know I existed, did you?”
    “I remember you as part of a pair of identical twins. You were both on the football team. The truth is, unless one of you told me your name, I couldn’t keep you apart.”
    “But you can now,” John said with a hopeful tone in his voice.
    Sally laughed. “I don’t really know. I’ve not seen James without that horrid hairpiece.”
    “I told him. But he won’t listen to me. Betty likes the thing, I guess.”
    “Her wig is a bit odd.” Sally noted John’s surprise, so she added, “for her age.”
    “ Nevertheless, it is a good question. I mean about fixating on another human being when we’re teenagers.”
    “Almost like a duckling out of an egg.”
    John characteristically rubbed his bald head to stimulate his thinking. “Must be all those hormones let loose in a rush. I remember feeling as if I might crack.”
    “Tony certainly did.”
    “He didn’t believe in the power of tomorrow. Mother always said when I was down, “just wait until tomorrow.” When I looked at the problem again the next day, somehow something would be altered, not always diminished, but I could find another angle to the problem.”
    “If Tony waited for the day after the wedding, he might have survived.”
    “Being here, in St. Charles