“It was all that early training I gave you.” Pop elbowed me in the ribs when I set down a pile of plates. “You make me proud, Deacon.”
“And the two of you give me a headache,” Gram grumbled. “These are the days when I wish I had a granddaughter who might take my side on occasion. Or at least I wish there was another woman in the family who would commiserate with me.” She leveled a particularly pointed stare my way.
I chose to ignore the reference to Emma. Conversations about my ex-girlfriend who was also a close friend to my grandparents never ended well. Nor did I necessarily want to think about Emma right now. She was scheduled to return to work next Monday, and I was both looking forward to and dreading seeing her again. Looking forward to it, because being around Emma always made me buzz a little higher. She possessed that indefinable something that lit the fire in my soul. Dreading it, because knowing she was off-limits was excruciating.
I’d managed to avoid asking Gram or Jenny about how Emma was enjoying her time away from the hospital, even though I found myself wondering what she was doing more often than I cared to admit. I was just in the midst of patting myself on the back for that victory when Gram spoke up again.
“Speaking of Emma . . .” She quirked an eyebrow that let me know she was well aware of the direction of my thoughts—I wasn’t fooling her a bit. “Can you do me a favor, Deacon?”
“Possibly.” I was cautious, given the line of her questioning. “Depends on what it is.”
“So suspicious,” she teased. “It’s not a big deal. Pop and I promised Emma that we’d look after her garden while she’s away. Today’s a water and weeding day, and I haven’t gotten over there yet. Could you stop on your way back into town? Otherwise, we’ll have to haul our cookies over there, and it’ll be dark by the time we finish.” She slid a glance toward Pop, who was still absorbed in the dishwashing. “I try not to have either of us drive once the sun goes down.”
“Oh.” I picked up the last glass remaining on the table and set it down next to Pop. “I guess I can. I’m not that great with plants, though. I might pull up something that isn’t supposed to be yanked.”
“She doesn’t have much this time of year,” Gram assured me. “Just about four rows. She’s got some Everglade tomatoes that might need to be picked—you can take them into the hospital with you to distribute, if you want, because Emma told us to go ahead and use them before she got back—and she has some kale, too. You can leave that.”
“All right.” I smothered a sigh. Stopping at Emma’s place was really not something I wanted to do, but if it saved my grandparents a trip, I’d suck it up. “Anything else I need to know?”
“There’s a shed in back of the cabin, and that’s where the buckets for picking are. The hose is next to the shed—it’s already hooked up to the spigot there.” Gram looked down at her watch. “You should probably go now, so you can see what you’re doing.”
“Don’t you want me to help Pop finish the cleaning up?” The usual routine when I ate with my grandparents was that Gram cooked while Pop and I handled the dishes. I didn’t want to shirk my duty.
“Oh, he’s got it.” Gram waved her hand. “Don’t you, Jimmy?”
Pop turned his head to look at Gram, the expression on his face one of patient amusement. “Sure. But Anna, honey, don’t you think you should—”
“Let me give you directions to Emma’s cabin, Deacon,” Gram interrupted, completely ignoring Pop. “It won’t be hard for you to get there, but I’ll sketch out a map since she’s not really on GPS. Give me just a minute.”
My grandmother darted into the living room to grab a pen and paper from her desk. Pop dried his hands, glancing my way with a resigned smile.
“You’re not going to change her. That woman’s headstrong and stubborn. But she’s got a good heart.”
“I know that.” I leaned against the counter, my arms crossed. “I just wish she’d give this thing with Emma a rest. I understand that you’re friends with her, and that’s fine, but Emma and I are never going to have more than a professional relationship. Not anymore.”
Pop held up one hand. “Your grandmother and I both understand that, son. We don’t mean to push. Gram’s just . . .” He heaved a deep sigh. “We had a message from Ted the day before yesterday. Nothing unusual, just his normal bullshit—pardon me, Deacon.”
In spite of the heaviness I felt at hearing my father’s name, I had to suppress a smile. Pop might have been a farmer, but he still possessed the genteel manner of a Southern gentleman, and that required that he apologize for his vulgarity, since it pertained to the man who’d donated half my DNA.
“Don’t worry about it, Pop.” I lifted one shoulder. “You know I don’t exactly have sensitive feelings when it comes to Ted. I don’t have any expectations about him, either. But I’m sorry that he upset Gram.”
“Oh, you know, I think it’s just that she’d like to believe her son can change. She holds out hope for that.” Pop studied me silently. “Plus, I think with Sissie’s passing, your grandmother is feeling her age. She doesn’t say it, but in her heart of hearts, she’s wishing for a family reconciliation before she and I go to our reward.”
“I wish I could say that’s possible, but I don’t see it.” I stared at the floor between us. “I never felt the loss of a father, you know. I miss Mom, of course, but it’s been so long since she died that I can’t really remember what it was like when she was here. You and Gram have always been more than enough for me.”
“Deacon.” Pop took a swift step forward and braced a hand on my shoulder. “Never think for a minute that you’re not enough for us. You’re the best grandson any two people could hope to have. Gram’s heartache over Ted has nothing to do with any lack of feeling for you. I hope you know that.”
I smiled at him. “I do. Most of the time, anyway. I wish I believed Ted would change—that he’d come to his senses and visit the farm, maybe try to make up for some of the lost years. But I don’t. I think at the core, he’s a selfish son of a bitch, and he always will be.”
“There’s room for redemption in every heart, son.” Pop squeezed my shoulder. “If there wasn’t, then there wouldn’t be much hope in this old world. And I happen to think hope is what keeps us going.”
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Gram sailed back into the kitchen, holding a folded piece of notebook paper.
“We’re not whispering, old woman. You’re just sore that you might be missing out on something.” Pop could give as good as he got. “This is grandfather-to-grandson talk. None of your never mind.”
“Hmph.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
I had a feeling poor Pop was in for the third degree. A better man might have hung around to give him a hand with that, but I was smart enough to get out while I could. Reaching for the directions, I stuffed the paper into my pocket.
