The blacktop is new, she thought, not having noticed if it had been re-done the last time they were there. We're here. Grandmother's house. Sure, it was Grandfather's house, too. Or, at least he lived there, but everyone knew that she called the shots.
The property held such promise at first glance, as a place where lots of fun could be had. The serene drive down the lane was misleading, however. The experience of visiting there -- the reality of life on the lake with those people -- made Jan on edge just thinking about it.
As they continued down the blacktop past the tennis court and cherry trees, she felt her stomach tighten. In the distance she could see the dirty lake lapping on the beach. She imagined flecks of rotten foliage washed ashore. Once settled, they would always insist she go down to the beach, but she hated it. It smelled like dead things, and the water, always a murky grey, was uninviting. It's waves seemed angry, no matter what the weather. Five minutes on the beach and she was ready to be anywhere but there. Most children love visiting their grandma, but Jan dreaded the very thought of it, the thought of her. The mere mention of going there caused her to experience a physical reaction, much like the one you get at the top of a roller coaster, in that split second between rising and falling, between thrill and panic, when the cart you're in starts down the hill before you do and your stomach is left behind.
No one talked much about Grandmother in the day-to-day, except when it was time to schedule an obligatory visit. They certainly weren't scheduled for fun, And she couldn't imagine living there. And yet, her poor cousin had to. She couldn't decide if he seemed to like it or not. It was an odd family arrangement. Grandmother at one end of the house; Grandpa at the other. And His mother in the basement. He always seemed upbeat upon their arrival, but then he would retreat, even hide, it seemed, until it was time to tell them goodbye.
Her Mom and Dad were silent as they pulled up at the top of the circle drive. Grandfather was tending the roses but he didn't stop his work, even though he hadn't seen them in a while. He didn't even look up to wave at them. But no one else seemed to notice, or at least they didn't seem to mind. Mom said, "I wonder what we'll have for dinner." An insincere question, since she knew the answer. We were no doubt having lamb. We always had lamb. We hated lamb, and Grandmother knew it.
"Hello, Father!" Dad called down to him and waved.
"Stuey." He returned a brief acknowledgment with a nod of his head.
In single file they made their way up the brick steps. Iron railings surrounded the porch. Even the entry was cold and uninviting. Her Mom and Dad exchanged a reciprocal glance that was at the same time one of dread and reassurance.
Her father opened the door for them as they stepped inside. The door made its usual hissing sound as it closed behind them. Dad said it was poor hydraulics, but Janny had convinced herself the house was evil, and this was its way of greeting them.
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