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MASON
The clinking of cutlery and loud conversation bounces off the walls in the yellow dining hall. At the next table to Gran and me, two ladies yell at each other. Not because they are angry, but so the other one can hear.
“I don’t like the bladder control pads they use here.” One of them shouts. “I get my daughter to bring in the Poise brand.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek and dare to peek at Gran. “How do you find the . . . pads . . . do they work okay?”
Gran jerks her head and straightens as much as her rolled shoulders allow. “I don’t need them, thank you very much.”
My cheeks heat. “Sorry. I just want you to be comfortable. Make sure the nurses know if anything isn’t to your liking. Or tell me if you need to.”
Gran gives an indignant nod and resumes scooping her custard and slurping each mouthful.
I relax and try to block out the conversation next to me. I drove back to Georgetown after I managed to leave the office by 5p.m, which is a miracle. I made it in time for her six o’clock meal. The staff was kind enough to let me join her last minute. The main meal wasn’t bad. I can’t say exceptional, but better than prison food, I’m sure.
My cell buzzes in my pocket, and the impulse to reach for it is overwhelming. But Gran hates devices at the table. One of her rules. She’d say, “We didn’t have the internet in my day. You can do without the information highway for a little sanity at the table.”
I reach into my pocket and press the side of my phone, so it goes to voicemail.
We finish the meal, and I see Gran to her room. She switches on her favorite Hallmark show When Calls the Heart. But I don’t have the “heart” to watch it with her. Some friends call me a pushover, but I have my limits.
I kiss Gran on the head. “Thanks for dinner.”
Her droopy eyelids lift a little as she smiles at me. “Thank you for coming, young man. It’s nice to see more of you. Bring your girl next time.”
I paste on a smile. “I’ll do my best.” I lower another peck to her forehead. “Goodnight.”
As soon as I exit the building, I retract my cell and check for messages. I have one missed call from Lauren. No voicemail. My heart jolts like it did the last time. It’s not too late to phone her back. Did she call to say hi? Are we friends now?
I click on her name and increase my stride to my BMW. As Lauren answers, I reach for my keys and point the fob to my car.
“Mason. Thanks for getting back to me.” Her voice isn’t chipper. More business-like.
“How can I help you?” I can be professional too.
“I need to know what your intentions are.”
Whoa. I stop in my tracks. She doesn’t mince words. Right out with it. Lauren always appreciated straightforward honesty. This seems like a face-to-face conversation, and I need time. I don’t know what she means by “intentions.” Is she asking if I want to get back with her? Dang, yes. If she’ll have me.
“I’m in Georgetown. I just left Gran’s place. Can we talk in person?”
The line goes silent for a moment.
“Lauren, you still there?”
“Um. Yes. Were you visiting Gran? We saw her yesterday.”
“Yeah. I got off work early and had dinner in the dining hall. Interesting conversations go on there. Quite entertaining.”
She lets out a small laugh, and warmth rushes through my body. I miss her laugh.
“Shall I meet you somewhere? It’s not too late.” My voice sounds too hopeful—a little desperate.
“I suppose we could. I’d like to see your body language when I . . .” She laughs again. “I’d be no good at being a lawyer.”
My gut tightens. She means to interrogate me. I chuckle awkwardly. “I’m up for a little Judge Judy.”
I hear the amusement in her voice. “Good. Come to my house. Cafes are closing soon. You know Georgetown. Sleepy-sleepy.”
