Earlier in the novel you learn that Stella considers her grandmother to be her mother figure. But she’s been sent home from the nursing home in hospice care for end-stage cancer.
Grandma asks for Stella, and she rushes over, hoping for a last bit of guidance about this dangerous new man in her life, Dane, and a bit more time with the one person she considers family.
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Stella’s mother opened the door to Grandma A’s house, her face twisted into a warning. “This is probably going to be her last good day. Don’t upset her.”
Stella pushed past, pissed as hell. Like she would be the one to ever bring a moment’s grief to Grandma. That was her mother Vivian’s job. Vivian, who had screwed half the population of Holly while Stella’s father watched television. Vivian, who hadn’t paid close enough attention to one of those men, and he tried to get in Stella’s sister’s pants. Vivian, who decided Bible beating was better than dealing with her real issues.
Grandma A was sitting up, surrounded by TV trays full of beads.
“Grandma! You’re jewelling!” Stella set her bag on the floor, then picked it again, extracting a felt bag. She’d kept the pieces of Grandma A’s broken bracelet with her until she had a chance to restring it. She didn’t have all the parts.
“I am.” Her hand quivered as she tugged a tray to her lap, the beads nestled in the flocked partitions. “I have all my favorites.”
Stella perched on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers on the edges of the tray, the flecks of felt wearing thin. The colored rows of square boxes were filled with crystals, seed pearls, bone beads, spirals, balls, and shells.
Grandma A grasped Stella’s wrist as if divining a secret from her bones. “A new boy.” She always knew.
“Yes.”
“Have you made a bracelet yet?”
Stella reached for a spool of fine wire. “I was waiting for you.”
“Aaaah.” Grandma ran her hands across the rippling surface of the beads, as though she were reading Braille. “Usually you do them alone.”
“This one’s different.” Stella heard the words and wondered why she’d said them. Dane couldn’t be all that different. Cheated on his girlfriend already. Bad news. Totally bad news. She should stay away.
“He torments you. You are not in control of this one.”
True. “I thought I could use your help this time. For this bracelet.” Stella made each bracelet for each boy, just like some people compiled mix tapes. Each bead had its significance, an observation or a hope.
And when each relationship ended, she smashed them to pieces.
“Let’s start with the clasp,” Grandma A said. “Box clasp, subtle, gentle?” She held up a gold ball.
Stella shook her head.
Grandma’s fingers fluttered through the largest partition, full of metals. She showed Stella a silver loop on a hinge. “Lobster claw? The most secure, more functional than beautiful?”
“Nope.”
Grandma nodded knowingly. “I didn’t think so, not for you.”
She knew Grandma was thinking of Stella’s father. They had often talked about Vivian’s choice of husband, especially during the tough years, when strange men, not realizing Vivian was married, would show up at the house. Stella practically lived with Grandma A then.
“Toggle?” Grandma held a braided circle and a matching t-bar in antique gold.
“Too risky,” Stella said.
Grandma tucked the toggle away and laid three ornate clasps on the flat panel of the tray, where finished pieces could be admired. “S-clasps,” she said. “The most beautiful, simple, strong.”
Stella run a finger along each of them, two silver, one gold. “Possibly.” One of the silver ones had an edgy look, rows of tiny balls encircling the center of the “s.” She touched it again. “Especially this one.”
“I have one more,” Grandma said, reaching behind Stella to tug a tiny velvet bag from another box. “I have never used one like it. Unusual. Strange. Strong.”
She pulled the clasp from the bag. “I’ve had it a long time. I bought it on a vacation, from an old woman selling bone jewelry near the Grand Canyon. An Indian woman. She had the most beautiful Wampum belt.”
The clasp was a slide lock, one of the more elaborate types. Intended for bracelets with multiple strands, the slide lock had two pieces that fit together perfectly, creating one slender bar.
“Most slide locks are plain silver or gold,” Grandma said. “But this one is actually done by a silversmith.” She rolled it out of the blue velvet. “See?”
The slender clasp was still apart, each rod with three small hooks. Carved on each side were four stylized swirls, like the form a woman’s body might make if she curled up on a bed.
Stella picked up the pieces and fitted the slots together. They slid in place as smoothly as a caress, locking in with an almost imperceptible snap.
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