east of eden

I could hear her ambling up to the table where I sat in the kitchen, completely engrossed in what would become my favorite book. The shift of light from the afternoon window was barely discernible, but it knew how to make room for her.
"Whatcha readin' there, squirt?" She was on one of her strolls around the house, keeping checks on everyone in our four bedroom space. I never figured out if this ritual was to gain a few steps of exercise or because she was too quiet and she knew it.
"East of Eden." I selfishly did not look up from my book. I didn't want to explain anything else.
I felt her hand rest on my shoulder. I tore my gaze away and looked up at my favorite features - a mole on a wobbly nose, watery hazel eyes, and enough wrinkles to make your bed in. I softened. "Sit down, Grammy. You have to hear this."
I don't remember what passage I read her. I've looked at that book a hundred times to find it. All I know was that she sat there next to me in her Grandma way and soaked it all in. She closed her eyes as if to block out any nuisance that would cause her to lose focus on my every word. And in true Grandma fashion, when I was finished, she exhaled a lifetime of breath and gently asked me to continue.
And so I did. I told her about Adam Trask and his children. I told her all about Salinas Valley. I don't even know if she really liked it. All of a sudden I was eight again, but this time we weren't reading about Sarny in Nightjohn. We read then because Grammy "couldn't see the pages," though deep down I knew it was a ploy to get me to read out loud. This time, Grammy really couldn't see the pages, but she saw them bloom in her mind in a way I plan to ask her about one day.
I couldn't have known then that this was the last book I would read to her; it was the beginning of a multitude of lasts. Last summer. Last time at home. Last time I'd see her close her eyes and see like that.
Thank God Steinbeck is talented and eloquent. Even if that book was absolute trash, it would still be my favorite.