“I wouldn’t call being buried under a thousand feet of leaves a little problem.” WARREN WAS BREATHING THROUGH his open mouth, and his throat was getting so dry he didn’t think he would be able to speak when his turn came. He shifted uneasily. His brow wrinkled with a troubling thought. If his turn came. “Well, Grandma had a stroke,” Weezie was saying, “and she was in the hospital about ten days … no, she was conscious, she asked for us, for you.” Weezie had not paused once since she began talking. She was going on as if she had all evening to talk. “No, Ginger didn’t get here while Grandma was in the hospital, but she came for the funeral. She’s still here … no, Pepper’s moving into our apartment. She’s painting Grandma’s room tonight. It feels so funny to see it empty.” Warren pulled at Weezie’s coat sleeve. She moved her arm away. Her expression was intent. Warren pulled at her sleeve again. Weezie shrugged him off. It was as if she were trying to rid herself of a fly or a mosquito.
What do You think about Two-Thousand-Pound Goldfish?
