Granger's Threat. Teresa Pijoan

the black mesas against the blue sky went on to infinity. One single raven flew carelessly in the high wind. Sybil was reading her dragon book in the backseat. Donna was relating a rhyme she had read at school about a boy named Sam who had a dog that ran and ran. Sophia turned on the windshield wipers to clear the windshield of dirt smudges. The smudge smeared across the whole of the windshield. Sophia sighed for now not only did they not have a home, but the old vehicle was aging faster than they could afford right now.

      At the corner gas station, the van got a full tank of gas. Sophia washed the windshield with the gas stations squidgy and wiped off the crud with the blue paper towels. The girls received a candy bar with a bottle of juice. Slamming the van’s door, Sophia watched the girls share their candy bars. “Remember no mention of this candy to your Grandmother Margaret, all right?”

      “Yes, Mom,” Sybil sighed, “We know. If she hears we ate a candy bar she won’t take us out to dinner. We’ve been here before.”

      Sophia smiled. Her girls were street smart when it came to their grandmother. No worries about these two, they would go far. The road through Rincon this afternoon was busy with traffic. Many families were going to the Range Café for dinner. A lot of vehicles had inner tubes tied to the top. They had appreciated the mountain snow. The horses in the fields were standing with their butts facing into the setting sun. Grazing Herefords with their dirty faces were huddled against the south fence on the Santa Ana reservation where remnants of alfalfa lay scattered on the ground. Their water tank had dirt dancing across the top of it. The cottonwood trees spread their naked fingers up to the evening sky as the western horizon turned a soft orange.

      Following the Camino Real of the early Spaniards southward, Sophia turned onto Fourth Street. The girls became quiet. They were nearing their grandparent’s farm. There was a feeling of oppression that came over Sophia whenever she turned onto Calavera Road. The life she knew and believed in was now going to shift into her mother’s dimension of reality. Her mother’s mantra was a child’s primary duty was to their parents. This belief was above all else. Margaret’s hold on this concept was pursued primarily with huge doses of guilt and spoonfuls of manipulation.

      Sybil put down her book to help Donna count horses and Mustang cars as they turned onto Calle Aspen. The van bumped down the corrugated road. Cottontail rabbits hurried across in front of the van while the field to their left was densely populated with sand hill cranes pecking through the dead alfalfa stalks.

      Sophia turned into the mother’s driveway. Granger’s Mercedes sat front center of the big double gate. She sighed. Another confrontation was certain to happen and Geoffrey was far, far away. She parked under the drooping Tamarisk tree. The girls begrudgingly unhooked their seat belts to stare at the house. Overnight it had become a grimy place of despair. Stucco chips stuck out by the fire wall on the roof. Discolored warped window frames sat framed in the stucco cracked walls. Morbid lilac bushes stuck skeleton-like fingers around the house as if pushing away anything life-like. The pasture fences were askew in the shifting sandy terrain. White paint curled and fell from the long boards between fence posts as if they were grieving tearfully. Most of the wood revealed their long boards to be gray and cracked in their uncared for and unattended demise.

      Sybil kicked the back of the driver’s seat, “Mom, Granger is here. He hates us. Why is he here? I thought it was going to be just us and we could feed Geordie. What is he doing here?”

      Donna glared at her mother in the rear view mirror, “Mom, let’s go home! I don’t want to see him! Mama, please, can’t we eat at Wendy’s or something? Let’s get out of here! Uncle Granger the salamander will spit his tongue out at us. Let’s go home!”

      Sophia picked up her leather purse, put the strap over her head, turned to the girls and said, “Onward! We’re a team and as a team we can confront them! Come on, team. Let’s go see what else they plan to throw at us. Maybe we can convince them to leave us and our home alone. We outnumber them three to two. If nothing else we can feed the horse and leave.”

      Just as Sophia opened the driver’s door to get out, the entryway wrought iron gate opened. Halting at the gateway for a few minutes, Granger appeared absorbed in his meeting with Sophia and the girls. He held open the gate for them as if it were his diplomatic duty. Donna jumped out of her car seat to scoot over to Sybil’s side. They both cautiously stood behind their mother as they approached Granger.

      Granger’s eyes had an element of distrust. In a raptor-like manner, he spoke softly, “Girls, why don’t you go and feed Geordie before it gets dark. Be careful with the stall gate for I do believe it sticks some.” Sophia pushed them around Granger, giving them the freedom to race to the barn.

      Granger cinched his arm around Sophia as she went through the gate. “Well, it is good to see you, my little sister. After yesterday, I wasn’t sure if you would still be speaking to me. Mom said you were rude to her on the phone this afternoon.” Granger’s voice was purring in her ear, “Sophia, there is no need to be rude to your mother. She is very upset after losing her husband and dealing with all of this is difficult for her.”

      “Granger, she didn’t lose her husband. He died. She knows exactly where he is and why he is there.” Sophia grabbed his hand from her shoulder and turned, pushing him away from her, “Granger, please stop touching me. I don’t like it and I don’t touch you. Please give me some space.”

      He glared at Sophia with a hardened attitude and in a polished voice said, “Ouch, someone is touchy today, huh? I’m giving you brotherly love.”

      Teeth bared, Sophia answered, “Well, don’t.”

      They entered the house from the back porch. The dining room table was covered in Margaret’s favorite red-checkered tablecloth. Italian teacups and saucers hand painted with spring flowers were elaborately placed on the table along with spoons and linen napkins. A plate of tea biscuits was placed as the centerpiece. Margaret was standing by the kitchen stove waiting for the large copper tea kettle to boil. There was no point explaining to her tea was to be made with hot water that had not yet boiled. Margaret was of the old school, water was not distilled until it was well boiled.

      “Sophia, how good of you to come! I saw the girls running to the barn. Geordie will be pleased to have them feed him.” Margaret reached out to hug Sophia.

      Sophia frowned, “Oh, you mean no one else feeds Geordie but the girls?”

      Margaret smacked her shoulder with the dish cloth, “There you go, always being the cynic. We need to all be friends in this time of tragedy, Sophia. Please could we have a truce? Take your coat off, dear. It is nice and warm in here unless you are planning on leaving already?”

      Sophia shook her head, “Mom, I think first I’ll go and see how the girls are doing with the horse. Don’t you think you should listen to the vet and do what is humane?”

      “Good old Sophia,” Granger grabbed his heavy wool coat, “always looking on the bright side of life, aren’t you? I’ll go, too, and find out why everyone is having a fit about the old horse.”

      The two of them walked to the barn, Sophia hurried ahead of Granger. The girls were giggling, sitting on top of the highest alfalfa bale in the barn. When they saw their mother, they started to point at something up on the rafters, but then they saw Granger and flattened their bodies against the bale.

      Granger went to Geordie’s stall gate. Peering over he saw the feed bin was full and the grain bucket was being licked clean by the horse. “All right, Sophia, show me what you were telling Mom about, hurry, it’s cold out here!”

      Sophia opened the stall gate not worrying about stepping in the manure for she had on her old boots, but Granger danced around the manure piles in his fancy leather shoes. Pushing Geordie’s head towards the north side of the stall, she grabbed his tail and pulled it toward her. “There, see?” She pushed Geordie’s rump for Granger’s dissecting eyes.

      “Well, yes, I see the blood. He could have cut himself trying to rub his butt on the fence.” Granger cautiously stepped over a large pile of horse apples. “Whew, it seriously stinks in here.”

      Indelicately,