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Speaking of Grandpa. “Not that I don’t want to take you, but where is Grandpa?”
“He had some errands to run,” she replied.
“Those must be important errands if he left you home sick.”
Grandma coughed up another lung. “Are you going to keep making ridiculous observations or are you coming to help an old woman out? Do you hear how sick I am?”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Sheesh.
“Hurry up.” She hung up.
I stared at my cell phone. What had gotten into her this morning? Normally she was more pleasant. I rolled out of bed and threw on some gray sweatpants and the mustard sweater with the small hole in the armpit. I wasn’t out to win any beauty contests and all my baggy jeans were still in the wash.
“Good morning, Goldie.” I sprinkled some fish food in Goldie’s bowl. “Have a good day.” She looked up at me and I swore she was saying, “You’re going out in public like that? How old are you again?”
“You know what, Goldie? Women should support women.” I wasn’t even sure Goldie was a girl. But regardless. “So maybe I’ve let some things go. I always brush my teeth and wear deodorant,” I added, heading straight for the bathroom to do just that.
I stared in the bathroom mirror. Dani’s sexy black bra hung from its corner next to Kinsley’s cute lipstick stain where she kissed it every day. They had not let themselves go. I leaned in closer to look at my porcelain skin. It was still smooth. That made me feel a little bit better about myself. But then I looked at my brows. Wow, they could use a good plucking. I didn’t have time this morning, though. Maybe later. That’s what I always said. Maybe someday I would do my hair and makeup again, or wear clothes that weren’t two or three sizes bigger than what I really was, but I never did. I wasn’t sure how I got here, but here was comfortable and invisible.
I zipped over to my grandparents’. They lived on the outskirts of Pine Falls in an A-frame house Grandpa had built from a kit he’d ordered on the internet after Kinsley moved out five years ago. I wasn’t sure how practical it was since the entire bottom floor was open and the only bedroom they had was in the loft. I worried about them going up and down the stairs, but they were out to defy the odds. If anyone could, it would be them. They were made of a long-ago generation. They were into composting and growing as much of their own food as they could. And if there was ever a zombie apocalypse, Grandpa was your man. The guy had a stockpile of weapons and could live in the wilderness for days with a pocketknife and some fishing line.
Their house was on the same property as their old white two-story house with black shutters, the house I called my “childhood” home. And by that I meant I’d lived there for three years without the worry of being torn away from it. It was now being rented out by a struggling young family my grandparents were helping by charging them cheap rent.
Every time I looked at the place, I felt safe. It was where I’d always longed to be when I was growing up, living wherever the wind blew my mom and her man for every season. I was happy to see two little girls playing on the tire swing Grandma had put up for me on the big oak tree out front. They were happy and carefree, bundled up in their warm coats. It was as it should be; little girls should always feel safe and warm.
It wasn’t too much longer on the gravel road until my grandparents’ new house came into view. Grandma had the porch decorated in pumpkins and cornstalks. She loved fall and was adamant that no Christmas decorations go up until Thanksgiving had its say. She wasn’t fond of all the Christmas ornament classes I was already teaching at the studio. She never understood why people didn’t want turkey ornaments.
I walked right in the front door. “Grandma, it’s me.”
“Up here.” She waved from the loft. She sounded much better.
“Did you gargle some saltwater or something?”
She leaned on the railing, looking as she always did. She kept her silver hair long and in a perpetual braid. Though her face was lined, it still had a youthful glow. “Saltwater is for sissies. I went straight for the Jim Beam, that will kill anything.”
“It’s not even nine yet.”
She stood there with her hands on her wide hips and laughed. “When did you become such a party pooper? I’m teasing about the whiskey.”
I rolled my eyes and headed for the kitchen, hoping to grab an apple or something. In my haste, I had forgotten to eat.
