Beautiful Lies by Jessica Warman

Author:Jessica Warman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Social Issues, Emotions & Feelings, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Depression & Mental Illness, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Siblings
ISBN: 9780802735430
Publisher: Walker
Published: 2014-10-06T22:00:00+00:00

Today, Kimber and I find my sixty-year-old grandmother standing in her kitchen, her clothing covered in blackberry juice, her hands stained a deep shade of purple. Her counter-tops are lined with empty mason jars. A huge silver pot filled with dark-purple goo simmers on the stove. The room smells so sweet that it’s almost overwhelming. She’s making jelly, I’m guessing, which is an extremely uncharacteristic thing for my grandma to do. She barely cooks at all; even though she never stays to visit, my aunt usually brings her over a casserole or something every Sunday, and it lasts pretty much all week. My grandma is rail-thin, and I’ve heard her complain more than once that her medication takes away her appetite. It could also have something to do with the fact that she chain-smokes and drinks coffee all day.

“Hello, ladies,” she says, smiling graciously, almost like she was expecting us. She’s wearing an apron, which is also out of character; I’m surprised she even owns one. Underneath it, she’s wearing a pale-pink nightgown, which is really more of a slip. Her feet are bare. Her hair, which she’s been dyeing red ever since it started going gray, falls past her shoulders in gentle waves. It’s the hair of a much younger woman, and it might look ridiculous on anybody else her age, but somehow she pulls it off. Her face is wrinkled but still beautiful, her eyes sharp and deep blue, her makeup subtle except for her lips, which are painted a bright red. In her right hand, she holds a lit cigarette between her index and middle finger. Every few seconds she takes a dainty puff, blowing smoke rings into the air. I’ve never heard her say anything about wanting to quit.

After I’ve made the introductions between my grandmother and Kimber, I take a harder look around the kitchen. It’s a huge mess; she’ll be working for days to get it cleaned up, if she bothers to clean it up at all. She might just wait for my aunt to come over, notice the mess, and take care of it for her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” my grandma says, dragging on her cigarette, “but I had no other choice. I had all these berries in the basement freezer. Jack Allen’s wife, Louise, grew them in her garden.” My grandma gives a little snort of amusement. “Louise passed away two weeks ago. Jack is moving to Pine Ridge—that’s an assisted-living facility—so he’s cleaning out their house. Now here I am, stuck with a dead woman’s berry stash. How the hell am I going to eat them? I’m not a bird. So I thought, well, I’m an old lady. Aren’t we supposed to do things like this?” She winks at Kimber. “But it’s my special recipe. Medicinal jelly. I should put up a stand outside the senior center downtown. What do you think I could charge—forty dollars a jar? Fifty? I won’t go lower than thirty-five. I need the money. I’m on a fixed income, you know.

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