She softens and smirks at me. “Thanks for the warning.”
“You ready to head next door?”
“Not really.” She deflates and gestures to the screen. “Can’t I just sit here and read through all her lifestyle column articles? There’s one about hydrangeas blooming, The Nest Box Inn, and even some on BudgieFest. Where should we start?”
Someone’s procrastinating the inevitable.
“Those articles will be here when you get back,” I say as I reach for the laptop and gently shut it. “We have a ta-da list to get through.”
Her face brightens and she flashes me a wide grin. “You said it.”
“Ta-da,” I mutter in my grouchiest voice ever. I toss the laptop on the bed beside her. “We’re burning daylight, Everhart.”
Fifteen minutes later and we’re staring at the cluttered living room in her grandma’s hot house. Nora was smart to wear shorts and a tank top today. I’m in my usual—jeans, boots, and a plain black T-shirt—which means I’m sweatingeverywhere.
Dad and his great ideas.
“I’m going to tackle a lot of this trash that’s piled up everywhere,” I say motioning to the kitchen area where brown paper grocery bags are piled haphazardly on every surface. Not sure why an old woman would need a thousand of them, but here we are.
“I’ll, uh, work on stuff in the back,” Nora says, shoulders hunched.
I have the sudden urge to take her by the hand and guide her back to my house where she can avoid the pain. But isn’t that what she already did once this past week by missing Goldie’s funeral? I’ll be an enabler at that point, and I refuse to be that person.
“Open the windows wherever you go,” I instruct, voice firm and authoritative. “Can’t have you passing out on me.”
She shoots me a withering glare which I view as progress from the mounting despair moments prior. After she hightails it to the back, I dive in on all the garbage that I can safely dispose of without having to actually involve Nora. If I thought I was sweating fifteen minutes in, I’m about to stroke out two hours in.
I swipe the dripping sweat off my brow by raising my shoulder and using my shirtsleeve. Time for a break. I saunter through the house until I find Nora. She’s on the other side ofGoldie’s bed, near the window, sitting on the floor with pictures, newspaper clippings, letters, and postcards all strewn about.
“Come on,” I tell her. “Break time.”
“I’m busy,” she says absently as she stares at the piles around her.
The material of her tank top on the back is soaked right through with sweat. Neither of us will make it very far if we don’t cool off and hydrate.
“Bring them with you. You’re melting.”
I snatch a laundry basket out of the other room and return with it for her to load up her things. Once she’s piled them into the basket, I carry it for her out of the house. As soon as we walk onto the porch, a breeze dances over my slick skin, and I nearly groan with relief.
We head inside my house, and I’ve never been more thankful for air conditioning in my entire life. I set the basket on the bar in the kitchen. Nora disappears to her bedroom. While she’s gone, I make us a couple of glasses of iced tea. She returns not too long after, wearing fresh, clean clothes, and Clo sitting on her shoulder.
“Here,” I say with a grunt and thrust her a glass.
She takes the glass and chugs a quarter of it. Then, she cries out in disgust. “Where’s the sugar?”
Just like her grandma. Sheesh.
I snatch a small mason jar from the cabinet, dump in some sugar and some water, and then microwave for a bit until it starts melting. After giving it a stir, I cook it for just a few more seconds.
“You could have just dumped some in my glass,” she says, voice softer this time. “Seems extra.”
“Goldie used to say it blended better with the tea this way.”
She sets her glass down on the counter and watches me intensely as I scrape some sugar sauce into her tea. I add a bit more tea and then give it a stir.
“Now try it,” I instruct.
Her bright blue eyes lock onto mine as she sips the tea. Then, she grins. “Ohhh. This is really good. Thank you.”
