Bethany Williams

The Little Black Book

The Little Black Book Bethany Williams That damn black book. He corrected himself, that darn black book. Even with his grandma dead and buried, standing in her house, he felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. She always had a newspaper ready to whack him and his brothers with—for cussing, for being too noisy, too dirty, too alive. And later she would smile and point to it. Her little black notebook. She was always writing in it. For twenty-eight years Alan had watched her. She would point to it and say, “Someday this will be yours, Alan. Someday you’ll understand everything” And he would say, “Yes, Grandma Baker.” Never Granny or Gran or Maw-Maw. She was always Grandma Baker to her grandchildren.