Doris simply couldn’t reach the box on her own, not without the stool, and since her hip surgery, the stool was unreliable. She wound up grabbing the box with tongs, tugging it until it fell into her arms. She sifted through its photographs; vacations she didn’t care to look at anymore, but they would do.
She returned the tongs to the kitchen, then selected her second favorite cookbook, the one with the cookie recipe her grandson Martin loved. She stuffed the book into the second compartment of her pantry, underneath the warped Tupperware. She was tangling the cord to her blinds when the phone rang. It was Martin.
“Hello!” she shouted into the receiver.
“Hey Grandma,” came Martin’s brusque voice, going weary all of two syllables into conversing. “Excited to see me tomorrow?”
“Oh, you know it. I’ve got a box of photos I can’t get back up on the top shelf, and the blinds are all tangled again. You’ll have to fix them up for me.”
“Sure, Grandma. Do you want to go out to dinner when we get there, or can you make something?”
“Oh, I would, but you know, I just lost my cookbook.”
“Again?” The disdain in his voice gave Doris a swell of pride.
“You’ll help me find it, won’t you?”
“It’s always in your cupboard. I bet I even know where you put it this time.” She heard him sigh into the receiver. “What would you do without me?”