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"She's just looking for attention. You've got to show her you're interested in her. Mother."

"What? How can you say that? Look at all I've bought her and all the opportunities I've provided for her. I've sent her on more trips than a travel agent takes. and I can't tell you how many times Grant has had to bail her out of one problem or another.

"She's simply ungrateful,' Grandmother Megan concluded. "Spoiled and ungrateful,"

"You can only blame yourself for that. Mother."

"Nonsense. Some girls are just... inclined to be spoiled. I wasn't spoiled. was I? And I had anything I wanted. My father thought the sun rose and set on my smiles and tears."

She looked at me again, shaking- her head, her lips trembling.

"You poor, poor dear. Your first experience with a man should have been wonderful, romantic, something to cherish in your heart forever and ever. Forget it. Just forget it. You know what you should do?" she said, suddenly animated. "You should go out in the back and bury the memory. I've done that and it's always worked for me."

"Bury the memory?" I looked to Mommy, who only shrugged and shook her head. "How do you do that. Grandmother?"

"I'll show you," she said jumping up. "Get a piece of paper and a pen. Come on. Let's do it." she insisted.

"Mother. please. You're being ridiculous," Mommy chastised softly.

"I am not. Summer doesn't think I am. Do you, dear?"

"Just get a sheet of paper and a pen." she said.

I glanced at Mother who raised her eves toward the ceiling and then I rose, went into the kitchen and fetched the pad and pen that were always by the telephone.

"Good," she said when I brought them back. "Now sit right here." she said patting the chair next to the corner table. She put the pen and pad on the table. "Go on."

I did as she asked and looked up at her.

"Write down what happened as simply and as quickly as you can. Go ahead," she ordered.

"Mother," Mommy protested.

"Just be quiet for a moment. Rain. You don't know everything there is to know. I've learned some things with my added years."

"I don't really want to do this. Grandmother," I said.

"Of course you don't. It's painful, but it's like throwing up rotten food. You've got to get it out of you. Do it quickly. Go on. dear."

She stood over me, waiting, hovering like a grade school teacher insisting her student write the sentence over and over until she got it perfect.

I took a breath, thought a moment and then jotted down the most basic two-line description: / went for awalk with a boy at school. He got me into his van and raped me.

"Perfect," Grandmother Megan said. She tore the page out of the pad and folded it over and over until it was only an inch or so wide. She held it tightly in her clenched hand as if she had caught an annoying fly. "Now let's go get a shovel, find an out-of-the-way place out back and bury it as deeply as we can. Come along," she said energized by the plan.

"Everyone is going to think you're absolutely mad. Mother."

"It's not for everyone to know," she replied. "Summer?"

Mother looked at me, her expression suddenly curious because of mine. I couldn't help wondering if it would work. Maybe there was some magic in it. Grandmother Megan was certainly an expert when it came to avoiding sadness.

"I can't stand this anymore. I'm going to see about Mrs. Geary making us some lunch." Mother said and started wheeling away from us.

"Come along. dear," Grandmother Megan said putting her arm around my shoulders.

We walked out together.

"Now where are the ground tools k