Her warm brown eyes shine with love. “You both protect me. How’s that? That make you feel better?”
“Say it’s just me.”
She grins, “It’s just you, Michael.”
He gives her a brief kiss, just a gentle pressing of their lips as I watch and wonder how you keep something like that alive for over sixty years.
“Wyatt, can I get you some homemade ginger-ale? I just made some this morning before my crossword.”
“Sounds good, Grandma.”
“He can’t have a beer,” Grandpa says, raising a white eyebrow at my gun.
“I know he can’t!”
“About to start his shift.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Give him a shot.”
Grandma’s hand freezes on the refrigerator door. She whips her head around, both of us looking at him.
He smirks, “Gotcha.”
Silent laughter shakes my head as I walk to the back door and look out. Just past their remodeled porch is a large, flat area of land where our Family BBQs are thrown. The only evidence today are poles standing naked, twinkle lights put in storage until next time. Beyond that is an expansive lawn, a fence of tall trees there maybe two hundred years, and winding stone paths that lead to edges I can’t see from here. My gaze rests on the dolphin fountain that dried out long ago, bleached bone-white by decades of intense sunlight and Georgia rain storms.
That’s why I came here.
“You ever have that fountain looked at?”
Grandma Nance puts a cool glass in my hand and I kiss her cheek as thanks. Her warm eyes stare at the fountain as she lets Grandpa answer.
“We had it fixed twice, a long time ago, then never bothered.”
“Is it fixable?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
Enjoying a sip of the best damn drink ever made that didn’t have booze in it, I face my grandfather. “What if I gave you a hobby? Erase some of that boredom.”
Green eyes sharpen with the awareness that we’ve gotten to the reason for my visit. “I don’t want to be tinkering around with fountains, Wyatt.”
“No, you have someone else fix that. I think the family would like to see this one up and running, with all that history. Or maybe Ethan will give you the replica he had made for his office at Wyntech.”
Grandma Nance tilts her head. “Why are you feeling so nostalgic? Everything okay with your father?”
I squeeze her arm. “Dad’s fine. This isn’t about him. He’s good.”
Her worry clears a little, but not completely. Dad had PTSD from serving as a Marine, and I think Grandma will always be concerned for him, since he was her youngest, her baby. “Then what is it, Wyatt? Why are you thinking about that fountain today?”
“That storm the other day…” I notice their faces registering a memory of how severe it was. “You saw it? Not everyone did.”
“We were home,” Grandma nods.
Grandpa dryly adds, “Because we’re retired.”
She rushes over and smacks his chest. “Stop it!”
He laughs, green eyes twinkling as he grabs her fingers and gives them a squeeze. “You’re not retired. You don’t understand.”
“If you think being a mother of six, and then a grandmother of seventeen, and now a great-grandmother of a number that keeps growing more every month, isn’t like having a job, then our marriage is over!”
“I apologize.”
“You better,” she mutters, and leans against his side, facing me with fake annoyance that melts into a smile. “Can you imagine me ending it today?”
“Don’t even say that, woman!”
“Then you be careful, Michael.”
He chuckles and kisses the top of her hair. “Ride me until the day I die.”
“Not in front of Wyatt!”
He and I crack up, and she looks pleased with herself at turning his innocent statement into sophomoric humor. You don’t raise six boys without learning how to joke like one.
Taking a sip of fresh ginger-ale, I lick my lips and offer, “How about you guys raise six more?”
They stare at me, smiles fading. Grandpa says, “Wyatt, I don’t think we have it in us to raise more kids at this age. Are these from Tanner’s place?”
“Not kids. Six ducklings who lost their momma.”
Grandma’s eyes brighten and she looks up at her husband.
His hesitant gaze avoids her. “Birds? We don’t know anything about birds.”
“We could learn, Michael! They have lessons for everything online! Someone’s made a video about ducks, haven’t they, Wyatt?”
“I’ve no doubt.” Downing my glass I rinse it in the sink while I explain, “Wildlife can’t take them. The vet said it’s not her expertise, and nobody is paying her tab so I’m sure she’ll free them sooner over later.” Grabbing a hand-towel I dry off and lean against their clean counter. “But I’m the one who carried their wounded momma in and I feel responsible. With my schedule and my home, it’s not feasible to help them grow up, feed them, watch them. Then I remembered that fountain we used to play in, chase each other around. Climb.”
Grandma asks, voice sharp, “You climbed it?”
“Nancy, that was a long time ago. They all survived.”
She looks out, sizing up how far a fall that could have been. Her expression softens, lines smoothing out. “It wouldn’t hold six ducks, but it could be a nice playground until they get big enough to set free.”
Grandpa stares out the window, too. “We’d keep them inside most of the time. Have to get some kind of container.”
“That’s easy,” she whispers, egging him on.
“Don’t know what a duck eats, but we could find out.”
“The right nutrition, a little love…”
His eyes narrow, sunlight beaming in from outside making them pale as ice. “Hmmm.”
Grandma looks at me and makes a hopeful face, staying quiet. You can lead someone to an idea but it won’t stick if they don’t choose it themselves.
He walks to the refrigerator, his frown deep. “Give me some time to think. Wyatt, will you be staying for lunch?”
Exhaling regret, I explain, “Have to work.”
He turns around, task forgotten. Looking at my uniform, pride and nostalgia lights up his face. “I remember seeing my dad in his Navy uniform. He’d wear it on Veteran’s Day. Memorial Day. Sometimes D-Day, too. You proud you wear that?”
My hands fall to rest on the heavy belt. “Guys give me a hard time at the station for shining my badge before every shift.”
He chuckles, “Do they?” imagining it.
“I just had this cleaned, so I’m wearing it in. Usually I wear civilian clothes and change there.” I glance to Grandma to see if she can tell I wore it for them. To impress them. To feel good about myself and how I’m carrying on the family name. Grandma Nance has a way of seeing through men’s motives, having raised strong sons. Her eyes are sparkling with something, though I’m not sure exactly what she’s thinking.
Smart to keep it to herself.
I walk to give her a big hug. “Love you, Grandma.”
She whispers in my ear, “I love you, too, Wyatt!”
Grandpa walks me out, but she stays back. At the door he whispers, “Bring the ducklings. Shhh.”
I grin, “You sure?”
“Have nothing better to do,” he shrugs. We hug each other and I feel him chuckling as he whispers, “Don’t tell her yet. I’m going to make her beg me.”
Walking out I say, “Someday you’re going to have to tell me your secret.”
He frowns, “To what?”
Strolling to my Jeep I call back, “Staying happily married for that long.”
“It’s no secret, Wyatt. It’s simple.”
I pause, turn around. “Okay, I’ll bite.”
Taking up the doorway, sunlight on his face, Grandpa Michael takes a deep breath, relishing the ability to pass down what he’s learned. “It’s respect. N
ever go to bed angry. Never call each other names. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Have fun with each other. Laughter beats shouting for fixing problems. Give in when it’s not dire. Stand your ground when you need to, but talk it out. Communication is key. Remember that sex is also communication — it’s not a one-man-show.”
I chuckle, “That last one I know. All of that, not so simple, Grandpa. Or easy.”
“It is when you remember how lucky you are that you married an angel,” he smiles and disappears, leaving me staring at a closed door and thinking there’s a story behind it I may never know.
CHAPTER 23
LATER THAT AFTERNOON
DIANA
M y phone rings and I pull it out of the white blazer I’m wearing over a floral dress, my white flats gently limping along tiles that lead to our community room. A smile spreads as I see Wyatt’s name shining back at me, but I don’t answer.
I’m not allowed personal calls while on the job. I can’t take a break now — they’re waiting for me. I’ve set up a dance lesson today.
May and Alice sit just inside the high-ceilinged, sunlit room, large windows bringing the beauty from outside, in. May is comfortably on her two cushions, the long wood bench reaching past her to the far end of this front wall. Our more mobile residents are waiting in the center of the room, ready to get on with it. Alice will join them, as she’s ten years younger than May, and loves to dance.
May used to, so I’ve been told a dozen times, but now she can’t. It doesn’t keep her back from being present to watch, though, while others in wheelchairs have opted not to be here. Mrs. Cocker enjoys the action even if she can’t partake.
Throwing her and her best friend a quick smile, I greet everyone, “Sorry I’m late. There was trouble with the order I made for our Summer party. I got the runaround but it’s handled.”
Hurrying to our music system, I press a few buttons and select my Elvis playlist, jam-packed with oldies but goodies.
Kinda like this room right now.
I cross to the new teacher. “You must be Eleanor. I’m so happy you could make it. My apologies for being late.”
Self-conscious and wanting to do a good job, the sixty-year-old wrings her hands. “I would have started the music, but I didn’t want to break anything.”
On a smile I reassure her, “I understand. You did nothing wrong. Would you like me to change the playlist, or will this do? They like this era. Pretty much any song you listen to, it makes you happy.”
Eleanor nods, “I wake up to the 50s. It’s my alarm.”
“I might have to try that,” I turn to the waiting crowd. “Have a great time everyone!”
Jeff, in his trademark cardigan, linen slacks and smooth tie, raises his voice to ask, “You’re not going to dance with us, Diana?”
Everyone agrees with the idea, some clapping to egg me on. I turn bright red and remind them, “I’m not a very good dancer, folks. I plan these only because you all are amazing dancers and I can’t wait to see you strut your stuff.”
As my comfortable flats limp me to May, I meet her bright blue eyes and ignore the grumbled objections to my wise refusal.
She taps the bench next to her with the tips of her fingers.
Relieved to be with her, I adjust my dress to avoid future wrinkles, and lower my voice to an unobtrusive level while Eleanor begins class.
“Hello Mrs. Cocker. Excited?”
“Diana, it doesn’t matter how well you dance, just that you dance.” Glancing to her cushions she mildly frowns, her drawl slow and measured. “If I could be up there I would be.”
I touch her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. “I bet you were an amazing dancer.”
“Jerald was the amazing dancer. I simply let my husband lead.” Her eyes go distant as she watches the group, seeing another gathering from a far-away time.
I venture, “You miss him today again, don’t you?”
“I miss him every day.”
We watch The Twist become The Mashed Potato, rows of smiles adjusting to new moves.
Not really new for them.
Most know these dances by now.
If they didn’t years ago.
But they’re easy and fun. Not too strenuous. Doing them in a class-setting means nobody has the awkwardness of having to ask someone to dance, and there is no need for even numbers. Every single person is on the floor, save for us, everyone having fun.
Even us.
May moves her hands to the music, mimicking some of the steps, and I lean into the cool wall, let stress fade away as I enjoy everyone’s happy energy.
My phone rings again, loudly. Some irritated glances come my way as I choke down a curse word, offering an apology to the room, “I thought I turned that off before, sorry!”
Tugging the phone out to put it on silent, I see a surprising name staring back. Why is he calling me again?
“I have a great-grandson named Wyatt,” May says, reading the screen.
Inwardly I wince and flick the phone to silent.
How do I explain?
Should I?
Two words slide from my tongue. “I know.”
We hold a look until her sharp, blue eyes flicker. “That’s my Wyatt?”
I slowly answer, “Yes.”
“Are you dating my Wyatt?”
“Um, no Mrs. Cocker. At least, not yet. We haven’t gone on a date yet. I just met him.” My eyelashes drop to the phone in my hands, nervous fingers playing with the dark screen. “I don’t know why he just called again.”
“He called before?” I nod. “Today?”
Again I nod. “Ten minutes ago?”
There’s a smile in May’s voice. “Why don’t you find out?”
I warily scrutinize her expression to discern if this is her approval. “I’m not allowed to accept phone calls here. Personal ones. Unless I take a break.”
She chuckles, “Diana, there’s nothing more personal than one of my great-grandsons calling a pretty girl like you. He would only do that for one reason.”
More courageous now, I quietly ask, “What do you think about my dating him, if I were to say yes?”
White eyebrows rise. “Were you thinking of telling him no?”
“I was. Sort of. Then I want to say yes. And back to no again. I’m not sure.”
She thinks on it, index finger floating up to help. “Wyatt is a funny one.”
“How so?”
“He was a man before he should have been a man.”
Now it’s my turn for curious eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
Keeping her volume private she drawls, “I believe Wyatt joined the police department… You do know he is an officer of the law, don’t you?” I nod, and she pats my hand, staring off to continue. “My grandson Justin is a very persuasive man in this city. He helped him enter the Academy before Wyatt was even eighteen-years-old, simply because Wyatt had his heart set on it. And Jeremy gave in. But that’s much too young to see the things he’s seen.”
“How old was your Jerald when he joined the Navy, and there was a war going on?”
May glances to me, blue eyes shining. “You’re feeling defensive, protecting him. You like him.”
“No, I…”
“It’s alright. What’s not to like?” She stares at the memory of the man she more than liked, and lost. “Powerful men have a powerful hold.” After a moment, she sighs, “But Wyatt comes from a different age. Back when I was a girl, people married as teenagers. Then it was taboo for a girl to be pregnant as a teen—didn’t they have a show about it?”
“Yes.”
“That wouldn’t have existed during my time, because it was perfectly normal. We were brought up differently. Family values were the most important thing. You didn’t run from the responsibility that entailed. That belief raised generations of strong family units, until divorce finally took hold and it became hard for people to work through problems when they had such an easy exit.” Glancing to me she adds, “Oh there we
re many flaws from my era, don’t get me wrong. Racism and segregation is a tragedy I never understood, and I’m glad our country finally came together. Also women not working for themselves, careers frowned upon, was the dumbest thing I ever heard of. But one thing we had was family values.”
“Are you saying Wyatt doesn’t have those?” I ask, confused.
She blinks, a smile tugging. “I’m not quite sure what Wyatt has or does not have. I’d like to know him better. I have seventeen great-grandchildren, did you know that?”
I return her smile. “Yes, you’ve told me.”
“I can’t know every one as well as the others. I only see them at Family BBQ’s and weddings and the odd birthday now and then when it’s extra special. But I have a keen eye, Diana. I can predict if somethin’ will work based on a hunch and a hunch alone. I trust in my instincts.”
Dare I even ask? My heart skips and I take a breath. “That’s nice.”
She stares at me, see-through skin so frail despite the woman inside it. I’m being inspected for the first time by her, our friendly relationship — or professionally detached one — gone. She hums to herself as her wise blue eyes hold mine. “This time I don’t have a hunch.”
My chest falls. “You don’t see it.”
You don’t want it to be me.
She takes my hand, cool fingers tightening so I’ll look at her again. “I care about you, Diana. Wyatt seems to have the Devil in him still. It’s in his smile. Haven’t you seen it?”
“The Devil?”
“Not the real one, Heavens no! But his unchecked and untapped youth, that’s what I’m trying to say. His wild oats, honey.”
A frown settles into my forehead, and I turn my attention to a happier place, the seniors dancing The Hitchhiker now.
I’d like to hitch a ride out of here. “Excuse me, Mrs. Cocker. I have to go to the bathroom.”
These flats aren’t as quiet now, my racing heartbeat their worried fuel. How many people have to warn me against him before I walk away to save myself future heartbreak? Pulling my phone out, I dial.
I have wild oats of my own.
Wyatt Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 23) Page 11
