Path #1: ​The Grandmother’s Encounter 

Sarah Gorbatov 
This is the first (unfinished) path of my “A Good Man is Hard to Find” Choose Your Own Adventure. Enjoy! 
 
The grandmother didn’t want to go to Florida. 
 
... 
 

“Now look here, Bailey,” she said, “see here, read this,” and she stood with one hand on her 
thin hip and the other rattling the newspaper at his bald head. “Here this fellow that calls 
himself The Misfit is aloose from the Federal Pen and headed toward Florida and you read here 
what it says he did to these people. Just you read it. I wouldn’t take my children in any 
direction with a criminal like that aloose in it. I couldn’t answer to my conscience if I did.” 

The next morning, as Bailey loaded the bags into the car, the children’s mother rid the kitchen 
of all egg and bacon residue, and June Star bid her farewells to Pity Sing, squeezing the thing so 
hard its eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, the grandmother waltzed down the stairs with a 
handkerchief held to her cheek, an indiscernible object in her left hand, and a half-baked 
apology at the ready. 

Making her way to the porch, she announced, “I’m so sorry, Bailey boy. But I’ve made my 
decision. There’s no way in Hell I’m going down to Florida. I ain’t letting that Misfit get 
anywhere near me.” 

“What about us, momma? You gonna feed us to the wolves?” he chortled. 
“Well, you leave me no choice, buttercup,” she replied in a melancholy tone that disagreed 
with Bailey’s light-heartedness. “It’s not your ma’s time just yet. Besides, with Christ by your 
side,” she said as she unclenched her left hand and revealed a rosary, “you’ll be fine and dandy.” 

“I’m sure,” Bailey grinned and, in an act of both deference and acquiescence, bowed his head. 
The grandmother quickly untangled the beads and swung them over Bailey’s neck, holding the 
cross to his chest and muttering a prayer.  

“Godspeed, Bailey Boy.”  

“Right back at you, momma… Alright. B-bye.”  

“Bye, butter—” 

“Wait. I never did ask. Whatever will you do with yourself while we’re gone?” 

“Oh, nothing much. I’ll probably take the train down to Tennessee and visit your sister to 
congratulate her on the news. Really nothing much.”  

“You tell Bessy I’m happy for her and give her my best.” 

“Will do, love.” 

“And Momma—” 

“Mm?” 

“You look after yourself too. Don’t go asking for trouble.”  

“What does that mean?” 

“You know. Just–how do I say this? Don’t say certain things and be a certain way.” 

“Certain things? A certain way?” 

“Momma, what I’m trying to say is that, well, things are a little different nowadays.” 
“You mean, because of The Misfit? Don’t you worry, darling. That God-awful son of a—” 

“No, Momma. I mean times... they’ve changed. You might as well change with them.”  

“Noted, boy.” The grandmother’s undying smirk had faded, and she looked aggrieved. “Now 
get.”  

Soon, the grandmother was standing in the gravel contrails as the family drove off into a 
bluegrass-speckled meadow, the luggage strapped to the hood of the car dissolving into noon’s 
pale yellows and oranges. 

“Better get to it,” she exclaimed to no one but herself. 

The train left at two, but the grandmother had overestimated her ability to run a kilometer in 
navy blue flower-print pompadours and with a giant black valise in hand, so she didn’t get to 
the station until a quarter past. Perhaps time waited for the grandmother. Evidently the train 
didn’t.  

As soon as she sprinted onto the platform, a black woman with frazzled silver hair and glassy 
cerulean eyes shouted, “Too late!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re too late. It’s a quarter past.” 

“Christ.” 

“Nome. He ain’t got nothing to do with it. I’d guess your footwear was the culprit.”  

The grandmother smiled but couldn’t bring herself to respond. She didn’t think it possible for 
a woman like this—a woman of this color—to be humorous let alone helpful. Gehenna was a 
small, secluded town. She’d never met one of t​ hem​, but she hadn’t needed to. Her beliefs were 
written in the stars. What great grandmammy fed her, she happily, unquestioningly swallowed. 
Back then, you couldn’t bite the hand that fed you.  

“Where you headed to, sugar?” the woman asked. 

“Tennessee.” This she could answer. She swung her right leg around her left so she was now 
perching like a bird, one with the freedom to tweet or flee as it wished. It was a simple question 
with a simple answer. “Yes, Tennessee.”  

“You don’t seem sure,” she snickered. 

The grandmother just stared at the woman.  

“I see,” the woman nearly whispered, now understanding the grandmother’s hesitancy. 
“You’re a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ kinda gal.” 

“No, no, no—” 

The woman lifted her eyebrow and sneered. They both chuckled. “Well then, why you headin’ 
to Tennessee of all places?” 

“My girl, my Bessy, lives down there, and she’s just been engaged.” 

“That’s wonderful! What’s the lucky boy’s name?” 

“Samael.”  

The woman sighed. “Like the Venom of God,” she said, shaking her head. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Is he a… good man?”   

“That’s what I’m hopin’ to find out.”  

“Well, I wish you luck in your adventures, though how you’re getting all the way to Tennessee 
is unclear.”  

“I’m as lost as you. You wouldn’t happen to know when the next train gets here?” 

“Oh sugar, not until tomorrow.” 

“For Pete’s sake. I promised B I’d be there before the sun set.” 

“Don’t look like that’s gonna happ—” 

“Excuse me. So sorry to interrupt,” said a disheveled, middle-aged man with grime lining his 
fingernails, a mammoth-sized rucksack over his shoulders, and a torn, sickeningly festive Aloha 
shirt tucked into his drawstring trousers, “But I couldn’t help overhearin’ that one of you’s in 
need of a ride to Tennessee. Well, I headin’ there myself to visit the family. Would you like a 
ride, lady?” he inquired, turning sharply toward the grandmother.   

She could now make out his face underneath the flickering, dimly lit gaslamp suspended from 
above. He looked familiar. She’d seen him before—she knew it. It was a small town, after all. 
Perhaps he was a friend of Bailey’s or a mailman or even one of Wesley’s tutors. 

“Why, that would be most kind. What a gentleman you are, Mr...?” 

“Tifsim. Mr. Tifsim.” 

“Well, Mr. Tifsim, I would very much appreciate a lift.” 

“My pleasure.”  

As the grandmother collected her things and picked up her valise, Mr. Tifsim disapprovingly 
eyed the woman. She glared back at him. “Let’s get goin’,” he demanded.  

“Alright, alright. Hold your horses.” The grandmother reached for the brim of her straw 
sailor’s hat, but it crumbled as soon as she laid her fingers on it. “Oh my,” she whimpered. Mr. 
Tifsim scoffed and turned around to light a cigar. The two women stooped in simultaneous to 
collect the fragmented pieces, and suddenly, the woman caught the grandmother by the hand 
and clasped it with all her strength. Her skin was baby soft but her grip mighty strong. The 
grandmother was, once again, at a loss for words—she didn’t know how to react. “Listen... Just 
be careful. I’ve got a feeling about that man I don’t like one bit. Please… be careful.” 

DUN DUN DUN. To be continued...