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Ayla had just been hanging out with Preston, thinking of going to Mojave Pointe Park. When Ayla mentioned meeting up with Mick at the Green Valley Ranch Station buffet, however, Preston forgot all about the splash pad.
Twenty-five minutes later, the three of them converged in line at the buffet. Preston swung from Mick’s forearm like it was a jungle gym. Bev had gone off “to the loo.”
Bev was returning from the bathroom when she spotted Preston for the first time. She stopped dead in her tracks as if she’d seen a ghost.
Mick noticed her standing with a hand covering her open mouth, eyes wide.
“Mum!” Mick called out to her. “Over here.”
Ayla put a hand over her mouth and fought back tears. The raw emotion on Bev’s face hit Ayla like a gut punch. Preston, blissfully unaware of what was transpiring around him, imitated a monkey as he swung from one of Mick’s powerful arms to the other.
Ayla moved first, walking the short distance to where Mick’s mother stood. She offered a hand. “Hello, Mrs. Merryweather? I’m delighted to meet you, I’m Ayla.”
Bev made no move to shake Ayla’s hand, but she spoke, quietly. “It’s just like seeing Mickey as a little boy. Saints preserve us.” She turned to make brief eye contact with Ayla, then returned her gaze to monkey boy Preston.
As people moved into line behind them, Mick shifted Preston out of line and walked him over to where the two women stood.
“Preston, this lady is my mommy. Her name is Bev. She’s come all the way from England to visit us. That’s very far away. She flew on an airplane.”
“That’s cool!” Preston said, flashing two thumbs up.
“Do you think maybe you could give Miss Bev a hug, Preston?” Ayla asked.
Bev’s expression softened, and she squatted down slightly to get closer to eye level with her grandson.
Preston threw his arms around her neck, and Mick and Ayla watched as she closed her eyes and choked back sobs, squeezing Preston with all her might.
Bev tousled Preston’s hair when she let go, marveling at him. “You remind me very much of two little boys who used to live at my house,” Bev said to Preston, in a thick Sheffield accent with which he struggled to keep up.
“She says that when I was your size, we looked a lot alike,” Mick explained.
“You were never my size!” Preston argued. “Otherwise, your muscles could never be so big!”
“Ah, but if you eat the right things and keep exercising, you can be even bigger than me!” Mick insisted.
Preston seemed satisfied, and he flexed his muscles as they returned to the line.
The four of them ate and laughed and talked the afternoon away. Ayla found Bev to be charming and sweet, contrary to Mick’s reports of his mother as irascible and argumentative.
Preston had softened her; letting her heart return to a place and time when her husband and both her sons lived at home. Just seeing Preston, watching him eat, hearing him plead for “just one more” slice of pie or scoop of ice cream, just like her Mickey and Frankie had done, thawed the block of ice that losing Frank and Harry had implanted in her chest.
Hugs all around concluded the meal, and the Mick’s amazement, his mum had made no mention of her letter from the Queen.
Bev was exhausted, and Mick knew she needed to get back to the condo and take a nap. Ayla drove Preston back home to watch a movie and digest.
On the way home, Preston posed a question. “Are we going to see grandma again tomorrow?”
Ayla almost drove off the road.
“What grandma, buddy?”
“Grandma Bev. Mr. Mick’s mommy.”
“Is she your grandma?” Ayla asked, turning the radio down.
“Hey, I love that song!” Preston protested when Ayla silenced his favorite song, the new Lia Melody hit.
“I’ll play it for you when we get home. Now answer my question. Is Miss Bev your grandma?”
