Chapter 2: The third finger. (Patreon)

Nan held the soft sponge under the bathtub faucet, and checked again to make sure that the water wasn't too hot. It was perfect. Her granddaughter took the sponge and squeezed warm water all down Nan's spine. She felt her shoulders relax and sink down into comfort.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Clara," she said.

"Well, you'd almost certainly ruin your sheets," Clara said. The blood hadn't outwardly phased her at all. She was used to it by now, maybe. But Nan liked to think it was more than that.

She liked to think that Clara needed this familiar and caring routine just as much as she did.

Clara squeezed the sponge again so that the water ran down Nan's back to the plastic shower chair she was sitting in. Clara was sitting beside her. Most of Nan's skin was clear and clean now, except for a dried bit under her breast that they were letting the heat soften up. When Clara had tried to scrub it, Nan flinched in pain. The heat, the water, and a bit of patience would do the job.

There was a bit more blood on her inner thighs, and pooling just a bit underneath her, but they didn't need to deal with it right now. That would come last.

Clara's own hair was tied back, and she was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans for school. She'd been on her way out the door when Nan finally got home. And without any question, or hesitation, she'd taken her by the arm, and helped her up the stairs. And then up the stairs again to the attic bedroom where Nan lived.

Clara's parents kept saying that at her age, she should be on the ground floor. What if something happened? Did she expect them to carry her down two flights of stairs? In an emergency? It wasn't practical.

To which Nan always replied that for living rent free in her home for decades, they could carry her up two flights of stairs and then right back down again every day, for all she cared. Poor them.

"Can I have the shower head again?" Nan said, and Clara took the shower head down off the hook, and pushed the button so that she could run the warm water all over. Finding the last bits of soapy lather and washing them away.

"I was so cold," she said.

"I know. But you're home now," Clara said. "I've got you."

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Nan said again.

"Do you still want me to stay home tomorrow?"

"What?"

"Your Birthday," Clara said.

"My birthday." There was a sick feeling of recognition in Nan's stomach. "Yes. I want to spend the day together."

"How are your fingernails?" Clara turned off the water and hung the shower head. Nan offered up her hand, and Clara lifted it to look at the nails. Some were broken and jagged. They would not be gentle enough for this next part. "I'm going to have to do this part for you. Is that okay? You aren't going to be weird about it are you?"

Nan rolled her eyes.

"I wasn't weird, I was embarrassed," she said. "You don't have to be so matter-of-fact about the whole thing."

"You never have to be embarrassed in front of me," Clara said. "And anyway, I'm used to it by now." She reached behind her to where the latex gloves sat on the counter. "Do you know how many I'm looking for?"

"Two, I think."

Clara's nails were neat and filed round. And the latex added another layer of softness. Clara was still careful though, and she opened Nan's legs and began the slow process of peeling away dried blood from her public hair, and from the soft skin below. When there was enough cleaned away, Clara reached down and inside her grandmother's vagina to see if she could feel the first bit of flesh or bone hidden away. There. She got hold of it, and twisted as she pulled. A man's index finger, coated with blood. Hairy on the knuckle, with dirt under the fingernail.

It had a slick film of half congealed blood that Clara washed off under the tap, and she set the finger on the counter beside the sink.

"That's one," she said.

In the end, there were three index fingers hidden up inside Nan's vagina. Two fingers from different men and one from a woman. Clara had almost missed the woman's finger entirely, until a small white gold ring had slipped out. It didn't belong to one of the men.

"I'm so sorry about this," Clara said, and she went deeper, trying to find and then to get hold of the thin, long finger.

Nan stared straight ahead, like she was on the table at the doctor's office. You didn't get to be her age without getting used to people prodding and digging around in your most private parts.

"I think that's everything." Clara washed the last finger off in the sink, and set it beside the other two. Nan didn't even look at them. Always the index fingers. Clara set the ring on the other side of the sink. Jewelry wasn't part of it.

"Thank you, Clara."

Clara leaned down and kissed her grandmother's cheek.

"I'll come right up after school, and we can play a game of chess," she said.

"I'd like that very much."

And then Clara was gone, leaving Nan alone with three index fingers and a white gold ring.

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