A Bucket of Shells

"You gotta do more than sit in this house, V. It isn't good for you," Grandma Sherry said. "You're too young for that frown you've got on your face." She was tapping her fingers against her glass that was mainly water and vodka now that all the ice melted.

"Grandma, I think I have already seen quite enough," Vanessa said, a sad sort of expression twisting across her face.

Grandma Sherry glanced over to her granddaughter who sat twirling a glass of wine (which was probably warm by now). She did look a bit older than her age, but mostly she looked sad. Grandma Sherry was completely unsure what she was going to do from here. She tried, for the entire week that Vanessa has been here, to convince her to go out and do something. Instead, her granddaughter insisted on reading and hanging out with her. She was thankful for it, of course. She enjoyed time with her granddaughter, but not in this way. Not with the sad shell of her granddaughter.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Grandma Sherry said. "Or you wanna hand me that wine so you don't waste it?"

Vanessa smirked, casting a lazy look to her grandmother. She handed the glass of wine over and Grandma Sherry knocked backwards to finish it quickly. She grimaced a bit and put the glass down beside her rocking chair. They both looked out to the stars twinkling over the beach and the moon that shone across the water.

"Very well," she said. "I'll try again tomorrow."