Читать книгу Miss Lamp - Christopher Ewart - Страница 14

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Half-Pint.

Young Young Miss Lamp learned to wink at age eight.

Grandma drank vinegar. Grandma yelled at Abby for using Windex and paper towels for the windows instead of old newspapers and white vinegar. Grandma belched, ‘One part to two, Abby dear. One part to two. Don’t use malt either, white is best.’

Sliding her bum down the wooden steps one typically sunny morning when there was no school bus to catch, Young Young Miss Lamp saw Grandma chug half a pint of white vinegar, pouring the rest in the window bucket. Stuck for words, she climbed her bum back up the well-worn stairs. Abby was making the beds, folding hospital corners, sheets still warm.

‘Mom?’

‘Yes, dear?’ Abby pulled the sheet taut.

‘How do I talk to Grandma?’

‘Is she drinking vinegar again?’ Abby folded over the bed covers with ample room for the pillow.

‘Yes, Mom.’

‘Well, wait till she’s finished the windows, then wink at her.’ Abby replaced the pillow, fluffing it up in one, two, three. ‘She likes winks.’

Then, with one hand over the other, Abby’s finger rolled out in a tremor. Malpracticed nerves.

With a furrow in her brow, Young Young Miss Lamp helped Abby pat wrinkles out of the bed. ‘How?’

‘How what, dear?’

‘How do you do a wink?’