Nana Howard

Frank did have a best friend though: his grandmother. They could talk just about anything. She was interested in his opinions and what he did. This never seemed forced or phony. Certainly, she loved discussing the books he was reading and, in fact, picked up a P. D. James novel to share with him. They often went to the movies at the Anthony Wayne and watched Masterpiece Mystery! every Saturday evening. Frank would sit on the sofa in the den, in the spot where his grandmother used to sit awaiting the return home of her husband. His grandmother for months sat in a wing-backed chair, apparently because she could stand more easily from it than the sofa. A few months later, she replaced the wingback with a chair equipped with a lever than raised the back of the seat to help raise her up. With increasing frequency, his grandmother would fall asleep in the chair before the show ended. Frank would make some noises to wake her because he did not want to embarrass her; she persistently refused to acknowledge that she had fallen asleep. She also began using the cane in the house. His grandmother did ask him on several occasions whether he was dating. He countered that his schoolwork gave him little free time, but he lied that he had been out once or twice. She laughed about how he had often gone by the lifeguard stand to appraise the bikini-clad girls. She doesn’t have a clue, Frank thought, smiling to himself. Actually, she was whistling in the dark. Frank himself sustained an air of denial. Not about his sexuality, which he had come increasingly to accept, but to the condition of his beloved grandmother.