“Little did we know that Grandpa was a collector.” Jessie read, wiping tears.
“Would you believe we only did it once?” Grandma, drunk, smacked her lips. “That’s how we got your Mama.”
I didn’t want to tell her to shut up, but we were on the front pew, and Bishop Jorge kept looking our way.
“He left his screwdriver in my panty drawer once.” The whisky was hot on her breathe. “I thought it was one of those toys you kids fondle yourselves with.”
“God, Grandma, too much information!” I shrieked.
Bishop Jorge stood and tapped Jessie on her shoulder. “Mrs. Winklestaff, is there something you’d like to add?”
“Sure do!” Grandma’s legs wobbled as she walked to the podium. Jessie glowered at me for interrupting her eulogy she’d spent all night writing.
“Hubert was good with his hands.” Grandma’s lips nearly touched the microphone. “But I wouldn’t know. He spent all his time working on his damn trucks.”
word count: 150