Memory by Rachel

I stood in the dark kitchen, the smell of meat and gravy filling my nostrils. I could hear the two unruly dogs barking from the backyard. Grandma came through the door from the garage, a place I didn't like to go. That was where Grandpa's workshop was, a place darker than the kitchen, and reeking of smoke.
"Put your finger on this knot, Rachel," Grandma said in her raspy, smoked-for-too-many-years voice. "Push down hard so it doesn't loosen." I placed my finger on the twine knot that wrapped around the box, pushing it down hard. I didn't want to upset Grandma, I wanted her to be happy with me, to smile one of her rare smiles.
Grandma tied the bow above my finger, and at the last moment I slipped it out. "Good girl, good girl." Grandma placed the box on the counter. "I knew you would be a good helper." Then I went and sat on the old-fashioned couch, one of Grandma's hand-sewn afghans on my lap, and basked in her small, wrinkled smile.