I MADE A FEW concessions for court. Instead of my hunting jacket and boots, I wore a black skirt, a crisp button-down white blouse, and a pair of old penny loafers I found in the back of my closet. The alternative would have been worse—Cora Mae wanted to dress me.
I thought Blaze would give up this ridiculous hearing after I almost single-handedly brought in a deranged killer and saved Kitty’s life, but he dug in his heels and wouldn’t budge.
He claimed all I single-handedly did was mess up and come close to getting myself killed. Maybe there were a few things I could have done differently, but Chester’s murder might have gone unsolved if it wasn’t for my efforts.
Blaze continued to insist that I haven’t been myself since Barney died and that I needed supervision. Of course I wasn’t the same--none of us were the same after Barney died.
The first thing I did after Floyd’s arrest proved I still have my wits about me. I ripped up the deeded rights to the minerals on Chester’s land. Bill and Onni worked out an agreement to share in the proceeds from any gold found on the land, which, they discovered through a survey, didn’t amount to a whole lot. They’d never be rich, but their lives would improve.
Blaze’s spiffy lawyers sat stiffly next to him in the courtroom. I took my table alone with my friends right behind me. Cora Mae, Kitty, and Star sat in a trim line.
Kitty leaned forward and whispered to me. “Impugn their case. You can do it.” And she patted me on the shoulder.
I don’t know how she’s figuring out what my word for the day is. She must be sneaking a peek at the scraps of paper I write them on. It’s the only explanation. From now on, I’m committing them to memory.
The judge wasn’t too happy with me for ignoring his advice about legal counsel. After complaining about it, he read the letter from the psychological evaluator. It blah-blahed along, with the final paragraph saying it all. “While Mrs. Johnson tends to be unorthodox in her methods and eccentric in her behavior, I saw no signs of incompetence as defined by the laws of our state.”
My fans clapped and shouted until the judge threatened to remove them.
Heather, my disloyal daughter from Milwaukee, was a witness for the other side.
“She’s always been like this,” Heather stated. “So what’s the big deal now?”
Apparently, as it was explained to me later, that comment helped our side a lot. I could tell Blaze wasn’t happy with Heather’s testimony when he dropped his face into both hands.
I told the judge about the murder and how I had saved Kitty. I told him I had spray-painted Blaze’s truck and I had bored screws into his hall floor out of love and caring. And finally, I showed him a brand new savings book from the Escanaba bank where I had returned my money after digging it up. I even let him see the balance.
The judge cleared his throat and began. “Mrs. Johnson is not incompetent simply because she knowingly chooses to do things most of us would consider foolish. We all have the right to make mistakes. Mrs. Johnson just makes more than her fair share.”
He glared at the opposing side.
“Anyone,” he continued, “who takes on her own case without legal representation and argues it as effectively as Mrs. Johnson has can’t possibly be incompetent to manage her own affairs.”
“Guardianship denied.” He slammed his gavel on the bench.
My fans went wild.
__________
Grandma Johnson was waiting in my living room, A large suitcase next to her chair.
“Where you been? I’ve been sitting here pretty near all day. And look at this place. What a dump!”
I eyed the suitcase. “Who brought you over?”
“I called George for a ride. Don’t know where my family is half the time. Avoiding me as usual. Nobody’s answering their phone. Nobody’s home at Blaze’s. Star’s gone. Someone said Heather’s in town visiting and she hasn’t even stopped by. Everybody’s forgetting about me again.”
I plopped down on the couch and pushed off the penny loafers.
“What you all dressed up for? It’s not like you to look decent for a change.”
“What’s the suitcase for?” Maybe Grandma Johnson was finally packing it in and checking into a nursing home. Hurray. No more going over there to help clean or to make her meals.
“I’m movin’ in with you.”
I almost swallowed my tongue.
“It’s only temporary to see how I like it.”
I pried my tongue out of my tonsils. “You sure you want to give up your freedom,” I stammered.
“All’s I’m giving up is loneliness, if you ask me. And if you ask me, this place needs some work. You git a bucket of hot water and we’ll scrub up the spare bedroom so I can stand to sleep in it. And hurry up about it.”
At ninety-two, Grandma Johnson still has a lot of vinegar left in her. If you ask me.