The Friday I Signed Grandma Out

“It’s almost never a stranger,” she said. “It’s the one who comes every week. The one who signs the book. That’s who gets the chance.”

Brenda read it twice. Then she picked up her phone.

“Nobody signs Ruth out but family I approve,” she said into it. And then, “Get me the forms for the do-not-release list.”

But there was a Friday to get through first.

I did not want my grandmother to spend it as a prize in a fight. I wanted her to spend it the way she should have spent all eleven of them.

So I came early. Nine thirty, before Deb’s ten o’clock. With a reason that was not a bank.

I went to Grandma’s room and helped her into the floral dress. The church one, with the little covered buttons her fingers cannot manage anymore. I did them up for her one at a time.

I put her good shoes on her. I found her Sunday purse and set it on her knees, because she likes to have it.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Her eyes were clear that morning. Clearer than I had any right to hope for.

“The Dairy Bar,” I said. “The one in town. We’re going to get you a dip cone.”

Her whole face opened up.

“Chocolate,” she said. “The chocolate that goes hard on top.”

“The chocolate that goes hard on top,” I said.

I had to turn and fuss with her purse strap so she would not see my face.

The Door

We were in the lobby at nine forty. I had already signed the clipboard.

Marcy at the desk knew, because Brenda had told the whole front staff. Marcy kept glancing at the glass doors like a woman watching weather come in.

At three minutes to ten the doors swung open and Deb came through them.

She had her purse on her shoulder and her sunglasses pushed up in her hair. Her car keys were already out. She was moving fast and easy, a woman who had done this eleven times and expected to do it a twelfth.

She saw me first. She stopped like she had walked into glass.

Then she saw Grandma. Dressed. Purse on her knees. Her hand already tucked into the crook of my arm.

“Alison,” Deb said. “What are you doing here.”

“Taking my grandmother to lunch,” I said. “It’s Friday.”

I watched her understand it in pieces. The dress. My arm. The clipboard already filled in. Marcy standing very still behind the desk with her hand near the phone.

“I take her on Fridays,” Deb said.

Her voice cracked right down the middle of the word Fridays.