It was jab after jab, and then they’d end up on the couch cry-laughing over episodes of Judge Mathis.
I dialed my grandma’s number, and she picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, my sweet baby,” she said. Her voice was a familiar song, her thick Southern drawl like honey. “How’s everything goin’ up there, baby? Your mama said you was goin’ up for the summer to some place called Rhinebeck.”
I stood and walked into the hallway. “Yes, ma’am. We’re here. But Mom fell into a patch of poison ivy.”
“She did what now?” She let out a deep, throaty laugh.
“Granny, she’s jacked up. She was wearing shorts and a tank top. She’s got welts and blisters everywhere. Mo got her some calamine lotion, but she’s still hurtin’.”
“Calamine lotion ain’t gon’ do it, baby.”
“Can you tell me what you put on her last summer? The stuff for the bug bites?”
“I made that myself. Little bit of this, little bit of that.”
I glanced toward the apothecary. “I’ve got a bunch of herbs and stuff here. I could probably make it if you tell me how.”
“Hmm,” she said. “You know, your auntie Leti was always real good at puttin’ together salves and balms and such. Your mama tried, bless her heart, but she never really took to it. You got a mind to do somethin’ yourself?”
“Maybe,” I said, honestly.
“You need to get you a dish, somethin’ wide to put everything in.”
I went into the apothecary and put Grandma on speaker. I found a large glass bowl on the shelf and set it on the counter.
“Got it,” I said.
“Baby girl, you not gon’ have all the things you need.”
“I might,” I said, looking up at the wall of jars. “I’ll write it down if I don’t have it.”
“You need calendula flowers, a little jojoba oil, salt, lavender oil, and some clay.”
I pulled the ladder over and found jars with everything she’d mentioned. There were two larger jars labeled Clay. I opened their lids and peered inside. “Grandma, is clay supposed to look like powder?”
“Yes, baby,” she said. “You need some that’s a sandy color and smells like outside after it rains. You got that, baby?”
One of the jars was full of a light brown powder that smelled damp and earthy. That had to be it.
“I got it, Grandma.”
“Really?” she asked, sounding surprised. “What y’all getting into up there that you got everything you need right in front of you?”
“It’s an old house,” I said. “But there’s a shop with all kinds of natural stuff in here.”
She huffed. “Wait till I tell your auntie. She gon’ be on the first flight out to visit.”
I gathered up the other ingredients she’d mentioned. “How much do I use?”
“Just put a little in at a time. You’ll know when to stop.”
I laughed. That’s the way she did everything, by feeling, by her gut.
“When you got everything together, mix it all up in the bowl. Use your hands though, not no spoon or nothin’ like that.”
“I have to use my hands?”
She laughed. “Can’t be done no other way. You fixin’ somethin’ for somebody you love, for healin’. Gotta do it with your bare hands and your whole heart. Understand?”
I didn’t need to fully understand to know she was right. If that was how she would do it, I’d take her word. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I gotta go, baby,” she said. “Tell your mama to sit her narrow behind down somewhere, and tell Mo I said Judge Mathis moved to eleven in the mornin’.”
“I will,” I said.
“You take care. Be careful. I dreamed about Mama Lois. She only comes around when there’s about to be a problem. Nothin’ strange goin’ on up there, is it?”
My heartbeat ticked up. Mama Lois was Grandma’s grandma, and she’d been dead since way before I was born. When Grandma dreamed about her, it meant something was off. “Not yet, but I guess we’ll find out.”
There was a long pause. “I love you, baby girl. Call me on the weekend, okay?”
“I will. Love you more.”
I hung up and finished mixing the herbs and oils together in the bowl, pressing them together with my bare hands. I added the ingredients until they formed a sticky paste that resembled the thickness of the batch my grandma had made for my mom last summer. As I sank my fingers into it, warmth bloomed in my palms. The dried calendula turned from brown to vibrant yellow and the pungent, earthy aroma of the petals wafted up. My grandma was right. Everything came together