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Something gold, he’s almost sure of that. A bracelet? Maybe a watch? Jewelry of some sort, anyway. He could certainly pawn that. The only jewelry he sees his grandmother wear are small gold hoop earrings and the wide gold wedding band she never takes off, probably because it’s buried so deep inside the folds of her flesh, she likely couldn’t remove it if she tried. Would she even notice anything was missing?
He stares at the closed bathroom door. The shower is still running. Can he risk opening the damn box again to check things out? How long does the stupid music last?
He balances the box on his knees, cradling it to his chest and surrounding it with his arms to muffle the sound. Then he closes his eyes, says a silent prayer, and lifts the lid, the music vibrating against the cotton of his black T-shirt.Shit, shit,shit,he thinks, opening his eyes and staring at the delicate gold-and-diamond bracelet inside a tangle of thin gold chains. He lifts the items into his hands, understanding that it will take hours to separate them. Hours he doesn’t have.
Which means it’s all or nothing.
Obviously, his grandmother doesn’t wear any of these things. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t look at them, or that she might not notice them missing. He might get away with taking one gold chain. Maybe even two. But not the whole damn thing. He needs to untangle them, which means he needs time, time when his grandmother is out of the house. Which isn’t often. Since he moved in, there have been maybe half a dozen times when she’s gone out without him.
“It’s so nice having someone to go grocery shopping with,” she said to him just yesterday inside Publix. “Your grandfather always refused to go.”
To which he’d replied, “It’s my pleasure, Nana.”
And, to his great surprise, it was.
So, what’s he doing squatting on her bedroom floor, going through her belongings, looking for stuff to steal? “Some grandson you are,” he says, realizing that not only has the music stopped, but the shower as well.
“Shit!” He shoves the music box back inside the drawer and pushes the drawer shut, clambering to his feet as the bathroom door opens.
“Mark!” his grandmother says, clearly nonplussed by his presence. She is wrapped in a towel and surrounded by steam, giving her a vaguely ghostlike aura. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing’s wrong. When I got downstairs, I realized I dropped my phone.” He pulls it out of the pocket of his skinny jeans and holds it up. “Found it right here on the floor.”
“You kids and your phones,” Julia says, shaking her head. “Good thing I put on a towel or you would have had a very nasty surprise.”
Good thing I’m such a good liar,Mark thinks.
“I saw this birthday card once,” she continues in the next breath. “It said ‘Happy Birthday! You have the body of a thirty-year-old.’ Then you opened it up and it said, ‘Give it back. You’re getting it all wrinkled!’ ” She laughs.
“I like your wrinkles,” he tells her, one of the few truthful things he’s said all morning.
“Thank you, darling.”
The phone rings.
Julia walks to the nightstand beside her bed and lifts the phone to her ear. “Hello?” Her expression quickly changes from curiosity to fear. “What? Who is this? What are you saying?”
“Who is it?” Mark asks.
Julia lowers the phone to her chest, her face awash with worry. “Some man. He says he’s with the IRS and I owe all sorts of money, and if I don’t pay up immediately, I’ll be arrested.”
“Give me that.” Mark grabs the phone. “Listen, you asshole—” He stops abruptly, then slams down the receiver.
“Oh my goodness! Should you have done that?”
“It’s a scam, Nana.”
“A scam?”
“And it was a recording. Couldn’t you tell?”
“A recording? No. I just heard this angry voice and I got so scared. You’re sure it’s a scam?”
“Positive. The IRS doesn’t leave recorded messages.”
“Oh my. He gave me such a fright.” She glares at the phone. “Asshole!” she shouts toward it.
Mark laughs. “You tell ’em, Nana.”
She walks to her grandson’s side, burrowing in against him. His arm automatically wraps around her bare shoulders and he feels the dampness of her skin through his thin T-shirt. “What about those pancakes?” she asks.
He hugs her tighter. “Coming right up.”
