Tenney's Landing by Catherine Tudish

Author:Catherine Tudish
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2005-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Mrs. Wells, bathed and combed, waits in the sunroom for Allen to arrive. She has been off her meds for six days now, a secret.

When Wanda comes to check on her, Mrs. Wells sees that she’s wearing a clean uniform and pink lipstick. Such effort on the part of the frumpy aide makes Mrs. Wells slightly nauseated. Allen, of course, might feel otherwise. She’s trying to remember something he said last week, a special thing about this Sunday, and she fervently hopes it does not involve Wanda.

The real question on her mind is whether Wanda will mention the word “killer.” Mrs. Wells thinks not, she hopes not. What did Wanda hear, after all?

Up until her husband died, it was understood between them that Allen had ruined their lives. He was a hard boy to love, especially after he started high school and got in with some of those wild country fellows. Her son would come home at all hours, stinking of beer, and in the mornings, fixing his breakfast, she would see his skinned knuckles, his bloodshot eyes.

Then, for reasons she couldn’t know, Allen stopped running around. Though his father had hoped to make him a partner in the feed store, Allen began selling insurance. A few years later, he married that string bean, that temperamental Mindy.

Mrs. Wells sees Allen walking up from the parking lot at last, and feels a flash of panic when she notices the girl with him. At first she thinks it’s one of the Brooks girls, the younger one, Penny. But how could that be? And then it comes to her. It’s his granddaughter. Allen is bringing her to visit; that’s what he told her about last week.

There’s something about Allen’s walk, the way he lists slightly to the left, that makes him look as if he’s always heading against a strong wind. Mrs. Wells first noticed this many years ago, not long after they’d moved back north, when she saw Allen and her father walking together across a hayfield. It was nearly sunset, and they had been out haying all day.

“My boy,” she’d said, “looks crooked.”

Her mother, standing beside her on the farmhouse porch, had merely waved at the two approaching over the stubbled ground before going inside to warm their supper.

Now Mrs. Wells watches the granddaughter laugh as she takes Allen’s hand and skips along the walkway beside him. He looks like a nice grandpa in his thick gray sweater and red wool scarf, his rubber boots. Even at a distance, Mrs. Wells can see the look of anticipation on her son’s face, as if he is bringing her the most extraordinary gift. The little girl swings his hand into the air and lets go of it, then catches it again, leaning close to him as they near the steps of the nursing home.

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