When you lived in the mountains of Western North Carolina, a bear sighting was not out of the ordinary. Usually, bears were shy and more interested in the contents of your trash can than in interacting with humans. This particular black bear had been visiting our property for several years. The chunk out of her ear made it easy to keep track of her. Occasionally, in the late winter, she’d appear with a bear cub or two in tow. But since it was early October, she was alone, and from the looks of things, stocking up on reliable food sources.
My grandma Nola loved this pain-in-the-ass bear. Despite the troublemaking, I knew she’d want to hear about our little visitor.
My grandparents were currently in St. Petersburg, Florida, living that retired life. They usually spent the spring months traveling the country in their RV, returning home to Kirby Falls for the summer and holiday celebrations. Since they were away so much of the year, their house needed looking after. I’d been living in the big farmhouse overlooking the pond at Grandpappy’s since high school. The arrangement worked for all of us. I had my own space—the whole second floor—for nine months out of the year. And when Grandpa Junior and Grandma Nola were home, we coexisted pretty easily. They were fun grandparents, always had been.
I finished watering the rest of my grandfather’s plants and then grabbed my phone and took a seat. The sunroom was large and open. It was glass on three sides but heated and cooled along with the rest of the house. With the afternoon sun streaming in, it was a little warmer than the kitchen it was attached to.
I snapped a picture of the animal still going to town on the birdfeeder and fired it off with a text.
Me: Your friend is back.
My phone vibrated with an incoming call almost immediately, telling me my grandmother wasn’t at dinner with my grandfather or visiting friends in the condo community where they lived part of the year.
“Is my sweet bear having a good dinner?” she said in lieu of a greeting, her voice a soft coo for the giant, furry troublemaker.
“Yes, she’s happily destroying the birdfeeder I just refilled this morning.”
“Speaking of destruction of property ...”
My groan was loud enough that the damn bear looked over from her place in the grass.
Grandma Nola chuckled. “Word on the street is you shot up Judd’s with a paintball gunandan apple cannon. You sure do keep busy, MacKenzie Eloise.”
“First of all,” I replied tartly, “word on the street? Seriously, who says that? And I did not paintball Judd’s Orchard.”
“I noticed you didn’t address the apple-cannon part.”
I shifted in my seat a little before replying, “Okay, I did do that. But I went over the night before last and cleaned up all the exploded apple bits.”
“That’s my girl,” my grandmother replied warmly.
“You should really stay out of that nosy Facebook group,” I advised.
“I know. I love it.”
I fought a smile at that. My grandmother was a wildcard. She was sassy and willful and probably my favorite person in the whole world. She supported and believed in me no matter how much I didn’t deserve it. Of course I loved my parents and my sister and my cousins, but Grandma Nola was my ride or die.
Clearing my throat, I changed the subject. “Shouldn’t you be off playing shuffleboard or something?”
“Nope. Just lying by the pool with a mojito. Plenty of time to call and give you shit.”
I snorted. If I listened closely, I could hear cabana music playing through the pool speakers.
“Braggart,” I accused.
“Jealous,” she retorted happily.
“Damn straight.”
She laughed.
“Have a good evening, Grandma. I love you.”
I heard her straw suck up the last of her mojito and smiled.
“Love you too, sugar. Replace the birdfeeder for my bear.”
My eyes drifted to the beast and I rolled my eyes. “I will.”
