Chapter 279: Grandma Penny
Grandma once had a serious talk with Sammi about little Chuckie, the chubby kid.
Chuckie was intellectually disabled—just enough to get by in daily life. He could understand what people were saying, knew how to eat and handle basic routines, but when it came to learning, he was far behind. Even playing games was a confusing experience for him. Outwardly, he came off as simple and a little slow.
That dopey, innocent look of his made him an easy target for bullies—like he was begging to be picked on. In prison, kids like Chuckie were always "popular," but not in a good way.
If Chuckie wanted to avoid being bullied in the future and protect himself, he couldn't let people look down on him. He had to be someone others feared picking a fight with. Building a tough, intimidating body was the most straightforward path to that.
In fact, Chuckie's condition made him surprisingly well-suited for working out. He didn't get distracted by unnecessary thoughts—just followed instructions. The ideal case of "strong body, simple mind."
To Sammi, Chuckie was the apple of her eye—even more than her own father, Frank.
That's why Sammi could feel that Grandma genuinely cared about Chuckie. Slowly, he started developing a bond with her too.
So when she learned Grandma was in the late stages of cancer and didn't have much time left, Sammi was devastated.
"Cancer…" Frank froze when he heard Sammi's words.
Frank couldn't help but feel like cancer was haunting his life. He had cancer. Walter had cancer. Now Penny too?
"My body's fine, don't believe their damn nonsense. What cancer? Bullshit—cough cough!" Penny seemed to guess what Sammi had told Frank and barked out angrily. But her emotions triggered a coughing fit.
Sammi rushed to her side with a glass of water, gently patting her back.
After breakfast, the kids left for school and everyone went about their day.
"Sammi, go to the bar. I won't be going today," Penny waved him off.
"But…" Sammi hesitated, worried about her health.
"I'm fine. Isn't Frank still here at home?" she said impatiently.
Sammi had been taking care of her for a while now and knew how stubborn she could be. The way she was acting now made it clear—she didn't want to be fussed over.
"Dad, these are Grandma's meds. Don't forget to remind her to take them." Sammi handed Frank a small pouch filled with painkillers and other meds she'd sourced through acquaintances.
"Just go already," Penny urged her.
After repeated reminders, Sammi finally left for work.
"Take me out for a stroll," Penny said to Frank.
"The doctor said you need rest," Frank replied.
"Doctor, my ass. He might not even outlive me. Come on, move it!" Penny snapped.
Frank had no choice but to push the wheelchair and take her out.
"You too—come along," Penny said to Pinkman.
"Huh?" Pinkman pointed to himself, confused.
Out on the street, Penny took out a small pouch from her coat, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag. She exhaled, a cloud of smoke drifting into the air.
"That damn medication makes me dizzy and sleepy. This stuff's way better." A few puffs later, her irritation seemed to ease.
The pain from the cancer made her irritable all the time, and the smoking brought her brief relief.
Frank saw the cigarette in her hand but said nothing.
He remembered something Sammi had once told him—Grandma never smoked in front of the kids. Only when they weren't around did she sneak one. She still remembered what Frank had said to her once: "Don't let the kids see you using that stuff."
"Turn left up ahead," Penny directed.
"Where are we going, Grandma?" Pinkman asked, bored.
"Introducing you to some people," she replied.
That whole day, Penny brought Frank and Pinkman all over town, introducing them to all kinds of people.
Surviving at the bottom rung of society and living to old age wasn't easy. Many young punks died on the streets, but growing old itself was a kind of status. Penny had been in this life long enough to know people—people who might come in handy.
Frank said nothing the whole time, but Penny still made a point to introduce her contacts. Just in case they could help him someday.
She kept saying she wasn't dying and that her health was fine. But deep down, she knew her time was running out. This was her way of tying up loose ends.
"Hey kid, I want ice cream. Go get me some," she said to Pinkman.
"Oh… okay." Without thinking much, Pinkman ran off to the nearby market.
"Remember everyone you met today?" she asked Frank.
"Yeah." He nodded.
"Good. I've split up my money. Sent envelopes to Clayton, Jerry, and Wyatt. Left Sammi twenty grand—it's hidden under the couch cushions. As for the other kids, I didn't leave you any money. I figured you wouldn't care about that small change anyway…" She glanced at Frank.
The names she mentioned—Clayton, Jerry, and Wyatt—were her other three sons, Frank's estranged brothers.
She'd figured out what Frank was doing with his life. That's why instead of leaving him cash, she passed on her social network—her connections. They might be of more use than money.
"I was a terrible mother. I know that. Probably the worst. But I am who I am—can't change that now. Honestly, I think I did a pretty decent job with your three brothers. At least none of them ended up in prison."
"You're probably the only one I misjudged. But… whatever." She trailed off.
"Grandma, here's your ice cream. I got one for you too, Frank." Pinkman came back with two cones.
"Shit, I forgot my meds. Must've left them at Riley's place. Frank, go grab them for me," Penny said as she winced in pain, digging through her bag in frustration.
The medicine pouch Sammi had given Frank was handed off to Penny earlier, but now it seemed to be missing.
"Wait here." Seeing her in pain, Frank handed the wheelchair to Pinkman and ran off to fetch the meds.
"Damn it, out of smokes too. Go get me a pack," Penny barked at Pinkman.
"Got it." Pinkman began pushing the wheelchair toward the store.
"Wait. I don't want to go over there—it smells weird. You go buy it and bring it back here," Penny said, grabbing the wheel to stop him.
"But…" Pinkman hesitated. If he left, no one would be watching Penny.