Early the next afternoon, on the day of the Tom Masters Bingo Bash for Charity, Grandma and Grandpa, who had invited themselves to the event, arrived at the lake house in a huge RV.
Grayson, Rebecca, Jo Lynn, and of course, Bean, Frank, and Tater, all came out onto the front porch to watch as the monster bus rumbled down the gravel road to her house. Grandpa was the first out, clumping off-kilter around the front of the RV in his haste to get at his great-grandson, in tan Sansabelt slacks and a Players polo shirt with a single red stripe across the breast pocket, which, Rebecca thought, was spruced up for Grandpa. Grandma wasn’t far behind, wearing tan pants with elastic in the waist that matched her taupe shoes, a pink knit henley top, and a denim vest that said LET’S BINGO! across the back. In addition, Grandma was carrying her bingo bag, which was really a beach bag lined with compartments that looked as if they might hold water bottles to the average Joe, but were actually intended for the brightly colored bingo dabbers. Inside the bag were a variety of tiny stuffed animals that Grandma swore brought her luck while at the very same time complaining that she never won.
When they were through smothering poor Grayson, Grandma and Grandpa came forward to smother Rebecca. She managed to introduce Jo Lynn in spite of the usual Inquisition (Grandma: You’re too skinny, honey, don’t you ever eat? Is that the way you are wearing your hair now? Grandpa: How much did this place set you back? How much did they want for that Range Rover? What the hell is the matter with that big yellow dog? He damn near walked into the porch.)
“Why the RV?” Rebecca asked.
Grandma and Grandpa simultaneously turned and looked at the huge RV, perhaps already having forgotten that they had driven it all the way from Houston. Grandma shrugged. “You just never know, do you?” she said, as if that explained everything, and smiled at Rebecca, her octagonal pink-rimmed glasses making her blue eyes look like enormous fish eyes. “When are we going to get over to the bingo hall? I want to make sure I get a good spot.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, Grandma,” Rebecca said. “The event doesn’t start until seven.”
“Well then, I need to fix you something to eat,” she said, pushing past Rebecca into the house while Grayson took Grandpa around back to see where the dogs slept.
The rest of the afternoon was spent on phone calls to Gunter (what a shame Heather couldn’t make it tonight!), who required several directions from the airport, then barking dogs and trying to keep Grandma from rearranging her kitchen (or Grandpa from rearranging her toolshed), and of course, avoiding the continuing Inquisition. Rebecca loved her grandma, but if she gave her an inch, she’d demand all the details of her life. Fortunately, as Rebecca was on and off the phone, Grandma had to limit herself to quick, short observations about Mom. “She’s just running away from her problems out there in Los Angeles, if you ask me,” she said, shaking her head. “She needs to poop or get off the pot, and decide if she’s going to leave him or come on home.” This, with an emphatic nod of her blue-tinted head.
When it came time to go, Rebecca emerged from her bedroom dressed in a conservative gray Ralph Lauren pant suit. Grandma took one look at her and shook her head. “You don’t play a lot of bingo, do you honey?” Rebecca changed to a slinky long black skirt, black cowboy boots, and a brown suede jacket with fringe, which Grandma said was a little too dressy, but Grandpa said was perfect.
They drove over to pick up Jo Lynn, then on to the Elk Lodge, whose parking lot was full when they arrived a half hour before the scheduled time. “I knew we were going to be late,” Grandma moaned, and was the first one out of Rebecca’s Range Rover, Jo Lynn close on her heels. The two of them rushed forward, their bingo bags knocking into each other as Grandpa, Rebecca, and Grayson hurried behind.
The smell of brisket and beans blasted them as they walked into the lodge, where they were greeted by a veritable sea of nylon and polyester, all beneath cotton-ball heads. A heavyset woman with a pink cotton-ball spotted them, broke away from a group, and came racing toward them astride a motorized scooter at such a speed that Grayson fearfully ducked behind Rebecca. The woman slammed her scooter to an abrupt halt, her dentures gleaming pearly white in a broad smile. “Welcome to the Senator Masters Bingo Bash for Charity!” she exclaimed. “I’m Francine McDonough, the president of the Silver Panthers.”
“Ms. McDonough, I’m Rebecca Lear.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” the woman cried, slapping her handlebar. “E-mail just doesn’t tell you what a person looks like, does it? Honey, I thought you were some old-timer from Lakeway.” She laughed uproariously.