fist against the wooden wall. Peter’s prep school was across the way, and he’d walk over after chess club and watch us play. I couldn’t hear him cheering through the window, but I’d see him, fists pumped in the air, whenever I scored a point. That old gym was almost unrecognizable now; they’d bathed it with windows and called it a greenhouse.
The winding trail of grandparents lingered over every child’s project, sniping and comparing, while their grandchild pulled on their hand, anxious to get to theirs. Ellie and I were no exception.
“No one else has a new photo on the cover,” I noted somewhat gleefully. “Everyone else has old photos.”
We passed by an acre of xeroxed black-and-white portraits of couples, some lumpy and foreboding, some lipsticked and smiling. How alike all these projects looked, as if the children had furtively copied from each other during study hall. And I couldn’t help noticing four other projects cut out in the shape of something—what a merciful accident we’d had, with those failed layers of paper and glue!
When we reached Ellie’s display, several other grandmothers and children stood in front of it.
“It’s awfully new looking,” one of the grandmothers whispered. She herself was old looking, with a teased globe of hair and fat, sensible shoes.
At the next display the same grandmother whispered, “I don’t think a child drew that picture, do you? Who is her grandpa, Andrew Wyeth?”
“You should be very proud, Ellie,” I whispered. “It’s the best one here.”
“I know,” she whispered back with a huge sigh and squeezed my hand. There were no drips of glue, or uneven edges, the signs of haste. We’d taken our time, and it showed.
To celebrate, we went out for dinner to a place where the smell of a wood-fired pizza oven permeated the entire room. I coughed when I walked in; it was a bit like being in a hut where they were about to roast a goat.
“This has always been Ellie’s favorite restaurant,” Tinsley said.
“Really?” I choked out.
Instead of crayons, they gave the children dough to play with. Tinsley reassured me that there was no raw egg in it. “They pasteurize it first,” she said and smiled, as if that made a difference, as if I cared, as if I hadn’t eaten enough cookie and pie dough to kill me ten times over.
“Oh, how lovely,” I said.
“Ann,” she said, fiddling with the rustic napkin on her lap, “have you ever made cookies when Ellie was over and eaten the dough?”
I blinked at my daughter-in-law.
“No, we usually pick wild mushrooms in the backyard and sauté them,” I replied, and Tom, god bless him, laughed.
“An old family tradition,” he added. “Remember when we found the wild onions, Mom? I told you the daffodils smelled funny.”
“Yes, yes, I believe we made soup from them.”
“You made soup from something you found in the yard?” Tinsley said.
Tom and I stared at her as if she’d lost her marbles.
“People generally have their vegetable gardens in their yards,” Tom said.
“That’s not the same thing, honey,” she replied.
Tinsley gestured to our waiter and Tom glanced over at me with a rueful smile. I widened my eyes back at him, but said nothing. It wouldn’t do to gang up on Tinsley in front of Ellie; no sense in blurting out, “You’re insane, it is the same thing!”
When the waiter came over, Tinsley asked for sparkling water, and said that Ellie could have a Sprite if she wanted. Ellie smiled but gave me a sideways glance. I knew what she really wanted: Coca-Cola. Tom and I each ordered a glass of merlot, and the waiter wondered if we’d like a bottle for the table. We looked at each other and Tom squinted, considering.
“Oh, I only want one glass,” I said, and I swear I could hear Tinsley exhale. She was watching me, I knew. Not looking at me, watching.
The drinks arrived and Tinsley raised her glass.
“To our darling Ellie,” Tinsley said. “To a job well done!”
We all clinked glasses and drank and Tinsley asked Ellie if, as the guest of honor, she’d like to make a speech.
“Yes,” Ellie said, standing up and lifting her glass again. “To Grandma! For helping me.”
“Thank you, sweetheart, but you did all the work. All I did was bring out the albums,” I said.
“And the snacks,” she added, and we all laughed.
“I’m sure,” Tinsley said and smiled, “Ann did a lot more than that.”
Ellie started rolling her dough into a long coiled snake as Tom spoke about his firm’s