O is for ouch. (That's what you say when something hurts. It's safe to say. Unlike some other words...)
I glanced at the picture, taking in the smiling faces of my brothers and cousin and set it back in her car's console. A few minutes later she said, "Hey, what happened to Grandpa Chambery's left index finger?"
I laughed. I hadn't realized she didn't know the story. "He got it smashed in an elevator of some kind on the hill by their house," I told her. "It was crushed so bad that they cut his finger open, removed all the broken bones, and rolled the skin up." (Kind of gives you shivers, doesn't it?) I knew the story from Mom, but I'd never noticed his hand in old photos. In fact, I'd have forgotten about it altogether if Rachel hadn't mentioned it.
On our ride with Tim, Rachel showed him the picture. She asked if he knew Grandpa was missing an index finger. (Apparently there is another photo where Tim is holding his left hand.) I reiterated the story and said, "He probably remembers it better than I do." You should have seen the smile on his face. Maybe that's why I got the kiss on the cheek when we dropped him off again. (Then again, maybe he really does think I'm cuter than Rachel.)
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The Weekend Roundup "P."
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