I have tried my damnedest to like George, be nice, act civilized toward him, but I can’t pretend no more. He’s head of security at LAX, but work for the LAPD. Janelle brag that he got over six hundred people working under him. I ain’t impressed in the least. Now, Shanice, she’s my granddaughter who’s all of twelve, came to spend last Christmas with me and Cecil. That was three months ago. I knew something was different about her but I couldn’t put my finger on it. First of all, she wouldn’t take off that stupid baseball cap, but I know it’s the style these days, so I didn’t say nothing. She wasn’t here but two days before I noticed how strange she was acting. Not her usual talkative self. She seemed nervous. Downright fidgety. Like her mind was somewhere else. Almost burnt up my kitchen frying a hamburger. Forgot all about it. Dropped three eggs on the floor and sliced off a chunk of her finger helping me chop up the celery for the dressing. When she wasn’t the least bit excited after she opened her presents—some ugly clothes she asked for—I said, “Hold it a minute, sugar. Take that hat off and look at me.” She shook her head no. “I know you’re not saying no to me—your granny—are you?” She shook her head no again. I walked over and snatched that cap off her head, and when I looked down I could not believe my eyes. All I saw was big beige circles of scalp and strands of hair here and there. “Cecil, get my spray for me, would you?” But I forgot he went down to Harrah’s right after the game, and I looked around till I saw one on the table next to the couch and I grabbed it and took two deep puffs. Shanice didn’t move and I didn’t take my eyes off her. “Why is your hair falling out?” She didn’t answer. Just had this blank look on her face. “Is it from a bad perm?” She shook her head no. Shit. Then what? I looked at her hand moving up toward a strand and she started twirling it tight. “You pulling it out?” She nodded yes. “Why?” I’m waiting and trying not to cry, ’cause I want to know what the hell is going on here, but that’s when the chile crumpled over all that wrapping paper like somebody had stuck her with a knife. “Tell Granny what’s wrong, baby.” She just kept crying. “You scared?” She shook her head yes. “Scared of what? Who?” She wouldn’t say nothing. “Is it somebody we know?” She shook her head no, then yes. “Talk to me, Shanice. Sit your butt up and talk to me.” She sat up but looked over at the Christmas tree. “Is it George?” She nodded her head yes. “Has he been putting his hands on you?” When she shook her head no, I wasn’t sure if she understood what I meant. I put my arms around her and rocked her. When she finally stopped, she said that George is mean and sometimes he hits her and she’s scared of him. “You got any marks on you?” She shook her head no. “You sure that’s all he’s done is hit you?” She nodded yes, but for some reason I didn’t believe her. “Have you told your mama?” She shook her head yes. “And?” She started crying again, but by now I grabbed my spray and snatched that phone out the cradle and got Janelle on the phone. “Shanice just told me George been hitting her and she tried to tell you and you don’t believe her. Tell me this ain’t true.”