My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
“It feels like she wants to see me break,” I said, holding the basket steady as Linda dropped the dry, thorny branches inside.
“She wants to see what stays together when the wind blows,” Linda said, stopping her shears to look at me. Her eyes were quiet, holding back whatever she had discussed on those hushed phone calls with Mr. Bennett. “A soft hand makes a weak stem. She learned that a long time ago.”
“From my mother?” I asked.
Linda did not answer. She turned back to the bush, her shears clicking against the wood with a quick, decisive snap.
“There are things you do not see yet,” Linda said after a long silence, her hand smoothing her apron again. “The way she acts is not always the way she thinks.”
“I have twenty-two dollars in my checking account, Linda,” I said, my voice dropping. “I gave up my apartment because she promised she would care for me. Sometimes I think she is just playing a game.”
“It is not a game,” Linda said, her voice softer now. “It is a preparation.”
