Stonebird Read Free Page B

closeto her face and peers at it as if she’s trying to find Wally. She opens her mouth wide, making a big black hole, then she shoves the drawing in her mouth and chews, biting biting biting. Jess squeals and jumps back, not knowing what to do, and I laugh, even though I know it’s mean, even though it’s wrong. I laugh, and I can’t help it.
    “No!” says Mom. “You can’t eat that! It’s for your birthday.” She snatches the card away from Grandma and holds it up for her to see. The edges are soggy and gnawed. Part of the writing’s smudged and wet, so all you can read is HAPPY .
    “Oh, how lovely!” says Grandma. She reaches out a bony hand to try to grab the card again. Her mouth opens and closes, opens and closes.
    “No, you don’t want to eat that,” Mom says, more gently this time.
    And all of a sudden I see a fish, a big goldfish with Grandma’s face, flapping around out of water, and have to chew on my T-shirt to stop from laughing. Jess shoots me a look that says STOP MESSING AROUND , and it’s in capitals because she looks serious, but I know she’s just upset about her drawing.
    “Liam’s got some chocolates for you, Mommy. Do you want a chocolate?” Mom says, changing the subject.
    Grandma’s face lights up. “I’ll have two!” she says. “What good’s a birthday if you can’t have two chocolates?”
    I look down at the box in my hands. Mom said a Belgian Milk Selection would be good because none of the chocolates will have wrappers. We brought chocolateslast Christmas, but they were individually wrapped, and Grandma ate everything, even the plastic.
    I loosen the tape on the wrapping paper so Grandma can easily rip it open. Then I pass the box to her, and she holds it right up to her face.
    “Here,” says Mom. “Let me help you. It’s upside down.”
    Mom opens the box. As soon as she takes off the lid, the smell of chocolate fills the room and covers up the smell of old dusty clothes and books.
    “White chocolate,” says Grandma. “My favorite!” She takes one and pops it in her mouth, and for a moment she’s having the time of her life. She chews for about a hundred minutes, then picks another one. She beams at us, and the sun shines from the wrinkles on her bone-white face.
    Mom pulls up a chair beside the bed. “How’re you doing?” she asks.
    Grandma looks at her, and just like that the sun’s gone. Her lip wobbles and her eyes rim with tears. She seems so far away, as if she’s gazing up at us out of a big cave that we can’t go into.
    “Get me out of here,” she says. “I don’t like it,” she whimpers, over and over and over. “I don’t like it here.”
    Mom grips her hand hard. Grandma’s so small, and her eyes are so big, and they lock onto Mom as she leans in closer. My eyes find Jess, and we both look away and stare straight at the floor.
    How can she change so much from one minute to the next?
    “It’s okay,” Mom says.
    Tears trickle down onto Grandma’s nightgown, mingling with the toast crumbs and jam stains. I rub my hands on my jeans to dry the sweat and move over to the window. The garden’s full of color, red and blue flowers and the yellow do-you-like-butter? buttercups in the grass.
    “It’s a nice day,” I say, trying to change the subject. I smile again even though my cheeks ache.
    “It is,” Mom says, picking up on my thought. “And look at that garden. I wish ours was half that pretty.”
    Grandma blinks. For a second I think she’s going to smile too, mention the flowers, maybe, or the sun. But she doesn’t smile. Her wrinkly face twists and pulls, and she jabs her finger like a dagger in the direction of my heart.
    “GET OUT!” she screams, high and cold and so wrong coming from someone so frail. “GET OUT! I’ll kill you! I’ve killed before!”
    “No!” says Mom, moving toward her, but Grandma’s words ring in the heavy silence, and her clawing finger does not waver.
    I’ll kill you!
    I’ve killed before!
    I