“Busy yesterday and last night?” I ask David as he pulls on his coat.
“Quiet.”
“That’s the way we like it.” I go upstairs and toss my bag on my bunk. I don’t bring much with me except my laptop and usually a book to read. There’ve been days when we’ve been too busy for a cup of coffee and others where there’s nothing to do but work out. I’m always prepared for the down days. If yesterday was quiet that means a lot of stuff got done around the fire house. None of us like just sitting, so the place pretty much stays clean and supplies stocked.
“Work out and then breakfast?” Dylan asks.
Neither one of us eats before we come in. I usually can’t eat that early in the morning. As long as I have coffee, I’m good until eight or nine. “Might as well.” I’d rather get the weights in early.
We change into workout clothes, but make sure our gear is ready to be put on if an alarm goes off and then head to the workout room. A couple of guys are already in there and we begin stretching and warming up.
“Did you get Jenna home okay last night?”
“Yep, delivered her straight to her door and took her back to get her car this morning.”
Dylan stops stretching and narrows his eyes on me. “Tell me you didn’t spend the night with her. She’s my friend. Not another conquest for you.”
I step back and hold my hands up like I’m under arrest. “I dropped her at her apartment and went back for her this morning.”
Dylan relaxes and saunters toward the weights. “Spot?”
He adds weight to the bar and lies down on the bench. Dylan probably knows Jenna better than anyone, but I’m not sure I should ask him questions. Not after his reaction when he thought I slept with her. “Do you still hang out with her a lot?”
“Not as much as I used to. We’re both pretty busy.”
Dylan’s side job is painting. Usually interiors of homes. One thing about working twenty-four hours on and forty-eight off is that it’s fairly easy to have a second job.
He benches a few times and then lets the bar rest back on the bracket. “Add more.”
I put another weight on each end and stand above Dylan, ready to grab it if it’s too much. “How’s her grandma doing?”
He doesn’t answer right away but presses twelve reps before letting the bar rest. “She’s getting on in years.”
He sits up and grabs a towel and wipes his face.
“I’m thinking of asking her out.”
Dylan looks up at me out of the corner of his.
“Jenna. Not her grandmother.”
“I assumed,” he answers dryly and then stands. “Jenna doesn’t have the highest opinion of you.”
“She doesn’t even know me.” I take some of the weight off the bar before lying down on the bench.
Dylan leans in over the bar. “I’m going to let you in on a secret and if you tell her, I swear, you’ll regret it for as long as you live.”
I grab the bar over my head. “I swear.”
“She had a huge thing for you.”
My jaw nearly drops. I had no fucking idea. “When?”
“Freshman and sophomore year.”
“Why the hell didn’t you ever say anything?” What would I have done with this knowledge in high school? Would I have asked her out or stuck with my comfort zone?
I was such an idiot; I probably would have avoided her. I knew who she was, but Jenna didn’t really start bleeping on my radar until senior year. Not that anyone knew but me.
“I promised her I wouldn’t.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“That was then and this is now. She no longer has the highest opinion of you.”
Shit.
Nine
As usual, Nana’s telling me where to park at the grocery store, as if I couldn’t find a spot on my own. “There. There. There.” She’s pointing to an empty spot near the front.
“Food. Food. Food,” she announces as I grab a cart after we enter the store.
What’s it with repeating words three times? She does it a lot, and has been for a while. “Let me have your list.” I like to know what she intends on buying, though I don’t know why I bother. The woman never mixes it up and gets the same thing every time.
“White stuff over sink.” What the hell is that? The only thing above her sink is a smaller cabinet, which holds vitamins, ibuprofen and prescriptions. “Paper towels!” There is a holder for them right under the cupboard.
The next item is green stuff. Hell, that could be anything. The rest of the list makes little sense. They get worse each week. I pocket it. Other than knowing that she needs paper towels, it isn’t doing me any good.
I push the cart and follow. I already know what she’s going to get and could do her shopping for her, but this is the only time she ever gets out of the house anymore.
First, a bag of precut greens for salad. Then, four packaged baking potatoes, five apples and three bananas. She stops beside fruits. “What’s this?”
“A grapefruit.”
She purses her lips and looks at me as if I just said the most senseless thing in the world. “No, it’s not.”
Yes, it is, I want to say, but I’ve learned not to argue. It doesn’t do any good. But, when did she forget what a grapefruit is?
I rein in my patience and follow her down the aisles. She grabs bread, after squeezing half a dozen and then stops at the magazine rack. “This. This. This.” She grabs People magazine and tosses it in the cart. She’s read this since it first hit the newsstands and doesn’t miss a week.
“Meat. Meat. Meat.” She stops and stares at the pork chops. She pokes a few of the packages and then puts one in the cart. I don’t get the recent need to poke everything either.
The shopping takes over an hour because she’s fascinated with every baby and small child we see. I take Nana by the arm and try to distract her when parents start giving us worried looks. It’s not like Nana is going to hurt a kid or try and take off with them, but I get that they’d be concerned that a stranger is suddenly fixated on their child.
I can feel myself begin to relax as we come to the end of our shopping and enter the deli. Only a few sections to go and I’ll be home free. I really shouldn’t feel this way, but taking Nana to the grocery store lately is more of a challenge than an adventure.
She wants fried chicken, which she always does. We stop and wait for the clerk to finish with the current customer.
“I want those.” Nana points to the fried chicken thighs.
“She wants two thighs,” I clarify for the clerk.
“It’s cheaper to get a meal.”
“Nana, do you want any sides?”
“What?”
I point to the coleslaw, potatoes, and other items she can add.
“Don’t want that.”
“Just the chicken,” I tell the woman.
“It’s cheaper to get a meal.”
“She doesn’t want a meal.”
The woman ignores me and talks directly to Nana. “Ma’am, it’s cheaper if you get a meal. We’re running a special.”
What the hell is it with this woman? Nana turns to me, her face a mask of confusion. “What?”
I take a deep breath. “She thinks you should get mashed potatoes and coleslaw.” Maybe listing specific items is easier for Nana to understand.
“I want that,” Nana demands and points to the thighs.
“She just wants chicken.” I smile tightly at the clerk.
She gives me a dirty look. “But ma’am there is a special today. See?” She points to a sign.
Nana frown and looks at me. “That!” She points to the fried chicken and I can tell she is at the edge of a fit and will storm out of the store any minute. I’ll have to leave the groceries behind and go after her.
“My grandmother just wants two chicken thighs,” I say as calmly as I can. It isn’t for the clerk’s benefit because at this point I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. Doesn’t s
he get that Nana’s not understanding, and the woman wants what she wants? I keep my tone calm to keep Nana from having a meltdown.
The woman has the gall to open her mouth. So help me if she’s going to continue to argue.
“The lady asked for two thighs, only.”
I whip around to find Cole standing behind me. He’s dressed in his uniform. Firefighters go to the grocery store?
“But…” the woman starts.
“It think it is clear what she wants.” His tone is even and strong. He’s not smiling either.
The woman blows out a sigh and bags the chicken then prints out the price and sticks it on the bag.
“Thank you,” I say to him. Cole may be the last person I want to see, but I’m grateful for his interference right now.
“No problem.” He smiles at me and then turns to Nana. “How are you, Mrs. Ferguson?”
“Who are you?”
“It’s been a long time.” He’s still smiling as he introduces himself. “I was a student at Gilmore Middle School.”
“Where?”
He repeats the name where Nana had been a lunch lady for years.
“Never heard of it.”
The woman behind the counter hands Nana the chicken with a frown.
“Goody.” Nana grabs the bag and puts them in the cart. After I have Nana settled I might very well return to this store and have a talk with the manager. Couldn’t that woman understand that the more she argued the more confused Nana became? What the hell difference did it make that she wasn’t getting a meal?
The woman behind the counter gives Cole a flirty smile. “What can I get for you?”
“Five pounds of slaw, Five pounds of potatoes salad, two pounds of roast beef and two pounds of turkey.”
I raise my eyebrows. That’s a lot for one guy.
“Firehouse. We’re on grocery duty.”
That explains the large quantities.
“Dylan and I don’t feel like cooking lunch.”
“Do you all take turns?” It was something else I hadn’t given much thought to. They’re there for twenty-four hours so they’ve got to eat at some point.
“Yep. He’s getting the stuff for dinner.”
Without a word, Nana turns and wanders into the pharmacy area. I can keep an eye on her from here, but I don’t dare let her wander too far. Beyond that is the alcohol. I’ll have to catch up to her before she gets there because with the way she is swinging her purse, not paying attention, she’ll probably knock over an entire display of chardonnay.
“How’s your head?” he asks with a grin.
“It was better until I came to the deli,” I say loud enough for the lady to hear.
He chuckles. Who knows how long we would have stood there arguing if Cole hadn’t walked up.
“I should get Nana before she breaks something.”
“Dylan’s with her.”
I glance back over. Dylan is standing in the aisle with Nana, who’s shaking a finger at him.
“Oh dear!”
I don’t even tell Cole goodbye but hurry over. I can already guess what Nana is saying to Dylan.
“I’ll come by and try again soon,” he promises.
“Today!” Nana insists.
“I can’t. How about tomorrow?”
I hate that he has to keep coming by to pretend to try and fix a car. I just need to get the damn thing towed to my house, get the distributor back in, then put it up for sale.
“What’s tomorrow?” Cole asks, joining us.
“Fixing my car.” Nana is poking into Dylan’s chest in a way that has to hurt.
“I’ve been trying.” He steps back.
“I’ll come by and see what I can do,” Cole offers.
Both Dylan and I whip around and look at him. I sure hope he can tell by the look in our eyes that we don’t want that car fixed.
“Yes. Tomorrow,” Nana announces then marches off to the checkout counter. She always goes to the same one for her final purchase.
I blow out a sigh and follow with the cart.
“One of those.” Nana’s pointing to the cigarettes behind the cashier.
“What brand?”
Nana fishes a pack out of her purse and shows the woman.
The clerk opens the case and takes out the cigarettes Nana requested.
“No! Not that!”
The clerk looks at me, clearly confused. She’s new. I’ve never seen her before. This should be an experience. “She wants a carton.”
“Oh,” she says as understanding dawns and replaces the pack for a carton.
Another clerk, who has worked here forever hurries over and begins to bag Nana’s groceries. Nana takes out her checkbook and waits for the total. I fill out the total, like I’ve been doing for weeks and then slide the book to her so she can sign her name.
Shit, I’ve been writing her checks! No wonder the damn bills aren’t paid. Why didn’t I realize that if she can’t write a check in the store, she sure as hell can’t write them for her bills?
“We aren’t supposed to take checks,” the new clerk says.
Can this day get any fucking worse?
“We take hers,” the older clerk says.
“But….”
“We take hers,” she says firmly.
The young girl shrugs and then turns to the register and appears a little lost. Much like Nana lately.
Dylan and I pull up in front of Mrs. Ferguson’s house. I’m holding the pizza and Dylan is driving. Jenna’s car is in the drive. It was stupid of me to offer to help with the car and if I had been thinking, I would have realized their ruse. All I could think about was that it’s a chance to spend some time with Jenna and prove to her that I’m not a complete ass. I got the whole of what was going on from Dylan after they left the store. It also confirmed that Jenna’s grandmother has slipped further than I thought from the conversation I overheard.
“I’ll tell her that I’m taking the car to my garage to work on.”
“The tow truck is coming, right?” Dylan asks. Jenna had called him last night asking if there was any way to get rid of the car.
“Let’s just hope she takes it well.” He gets out of the car. “Don’t argue though.”
“I might have only been a kid, but I remember how my grandpa could be.” I follow him to the door. “Trust me, I know all about defusing a situation.”
Jenna opens the door after we ring the doorbell and ushers us in. I’m used to being around smoke. I am a firefighter, but Mrs. Ferguson’s house smells like bars used to, when you could still smoke indoors. She’s sitting in the living room, smoking and watching television. A grey cloud hangs in the air around her.
“Who are you?” She barks and then smiles when Dylan steps in. “My car.”
“We’re going to try and fix your car, Mrs. Ferguson.”
“Oh goody.”
“Why don’t we eat something first, Nana?” Jenna suggests.
“Smells good.” She leaves her cigarette in the ashtray but it’s tipped away. I hand the box to Jenna and go put Nana’s cigarette out before it falls on the floor. There are burn holes in the carpet and the furniture. She’s lucky she hasn’t burned the place down.
“I know.” Dylan shakes his head and walks further into the room. “I keep expecting to be called to this house.”
“Come eat!” Mrs. Ferguson yells from the kitchen and I follow Dylan down the hall.
Paper plates and paper towels are on the table and the box of pizza sits in the middle.
“What would you like to drink?” Jenna asks as she opens the fridge. There’s hardly anything in there and it shines as if it’s barely used. “We have soda and water.”
“Water is fine,” Dylan says.
“Same for me.”
She hands us each a bottle before pouring Mrs. Ferguson a cup of coffee.
Jenna already has a soda on the table. She puts a slice of pizza on her grandmother’s plate and then nods to Dylan and me. Her mouth is pul
led tight, even though she tried to smile a few times. Stress and tension practically radiate off of her.
We each take a piece and slide the box toward her.
Mrs. Ferguson moans after taking a bite and swallowing. “Where’s it from?”
“Antonio’s.” Dylan answers.
“Never heard of it.”
“Sure you have. We used to have it almost every Friday night,” Jenna insists with a smile.
“We did not!”
Jenna closes her eyes and takes a deep breath through her nose. It’s a look I recall my dad having, often.
“So, do you think you can fix the car?” Jenna asks with a warning tone.
“I’m going to try, but Dylan says it may be beyond me.”
“My car!” Mrs. Ferguson announces. “Go!”
I have the slice of pizza halfway to my mouth when she takes my plate away.
“Sorry.” Jenna grimaces.
I grab a napkin and stand. “No problem.”
“The garage is through that door.” She points behind her and I make my way out there, finishing the slice as I go. I turn the light on, lift the hood and pretend to tinker around in case Mrs. Ferguson comes to check on my progress. I note the time and when it’s been thirty minutes I return inside.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know a guy who can come get it and fix it at his shop.”
“You’re not taking my car.”
“It’s just so he can fix it and then it will be back,” I try to explain in a calm voice.
“No. Stays here.”
“I can’t fix it here.”
“Idiot!” Mrs. Ferguson stomps down the hall and goes back into the living room.
“Sorry,” I apologize to Jenna.
She just shakes her head sadly. “It was worth a shot, though I should have anticipated this.”
“I guess we’ll keep tinkering with it,” Dylan offers.
“I hate to have you keep coming over here.”
“We’ll do what we can,” I offer.
Jenna studies me with a frown. “Why are you here?”
“Your grandmother expected me,” I remind her.
“She didn’t remember.”
“I didn’t realize how bad it was,” I finally admit.
“Neither did I until Friday.”
Shadows of Memories (Baxter Academy) Page 5
