Nana had always used herbs and varying flowers to treat every ailment. Whether it was a sore throat or a bout of insomnia, her grandmother had a cure. Even before she’d graduated from high school, Catrina had known she’d pursue her education in alternative medicine.
Her plans had been to open a small herbal shop in town, where customers could come and purchase whatever tincture or tea they needed. Catrina closed her eyes as a painful memory clenched her heart. Nana and she had spent countless lazy afternoons discussing the possibilities.
She knew Nana would want her to continue the dream. But right now, Catrina felt too depressed to do much else but piddle-paddle through each day until night came and she could escape heartache with sleep. The house seemed so lonely now.
Catrina carried the dustpan into the kitchen and deposited her swept up load into the trash. She looked about the small room, taking in each minute detail that reminded her so much of Nana—the faded cornflower blue window valance dotted with white daisies, the old-fashioned metal table with its yellowed ivory top and silver legs, the Whirlpool stove with its dated black dials and gas burners, and the matching fridge with its obscenely old-fashioned, latch-type handles.
A strange question popped in her head. How had Nana managed to keep this stuff running?
She knew the appliances had to be at least as old as she was, but she could never recall anyone coming to fix anything. It was as if nothing in Nana’s home had ever broken.
Catrina walked back to the living room. Her gaze went directly to the television. It was one of those old floor models with the wooden shell and false handles, making it look as though it held two small drawers.
She pulled out the “on” knob. A commercial for a local car dealership instantly sprang to life on the old screen, perfect in color and detail.
“This thing has to be at least thirty years old.” And yet, its picture was as sharp and clear as any brand new model’s would be.
She pushed in the button. The screen immediately turned black. Catrina’s brows furrowed. Maybe Nana just had really good luck when it came to appliances.
Her thoughts shifted to the turquoise Chevy parked in the garage. The white leather seats were still as smooth and perfect as the day they were manufactured. The paint still glistened in the sunlight without a hint of rust or wear. The damned thing looked brand new!
Who changed the oil? Who waxed the paint? Who checked the engine?
Catrina’s shoulders slumped and she let out a long sigh of despair. What does it matter? However she did it, Nana is gone. Now it’s up to me to keep things together. Not only did she need a job, it looked as though she needed a man as well.
