Fiona doesn't look pleased, but she can't really argue with me. Walking over to the desk, she pulls out a pen and a yellowed pad of paper. She spends a few moments writing down what seems like half the products a grocery store carries before holding it out to me.
"Don't take too long," she says. "It's too hot out to leave the dairy and meat out for long. Go to the hardware store first."
"I think I can handle it," I say, snatching the list from her.
I turn and grab my keys from its hook beside the door.
"Thank you!" she calls after me.
Damn, this woman is infuriating.
Chapter Eight
Fiona
Two days later…
"Come and sit with me for a second, will you?" Grammie calls out as I head toward the door.
I've been running around the house all day, and all I want to do is sit down and take a break before making dinner. I was planning on sitting in my bedroom but perching beside her on her bed might be a better idea. If I see my own bed, it's likely I won’t be able to resist its charms and fall asleep. I haven't been sleeping well the last few days. The lack of rest, combined with Grammie working me all day long, has me feeling exhausted.
"Is there something else you need?" I ask, nearing the edge of the bed.
"No," she says, patting the mattress beside her. "I just want you to sit with me and talk a while. I feel like I've barely seen you since you got here."
"You’ve kept me busy," I tease.
"I know," she says. "And I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve been doing. With all the cleaning you've done, and the work Cade's been doing with that nice young man, this house is going to look better than it has since I married Gramps."
I doubt that. Gramps was forever fiddling around the house fixing something, painting something, or building something for Grammie. He was an interesting man, and from the stories I've heard, along with what I remember about him, it seems like he lived enough for about five lifetimes in his years on this Earth. That's probably for the best, though. Marrying someone like Grammie isn’t a great idea for someone looking for a quiet, leisurely life.
"Well, I'm glad we're able to do it for you," I say.
As tired as I am, the sentiment is genuine. It wasn't until I got back here that I realized how long it’s been since I've seen this house, and how much it has changed in my absence. Guilt trickles through me as I think about everything I could have done for Grammie but refused to because I wouldn’t come home. I know she hasn't been languishing here all alone, but there is still a part of me that knows I’ve let her down.
"I haven't heard the two of you fighting as much," she says. "Are you and Cade getting along better?"
There's a note of hopefulness in her voice I can't miss.
Not you too, Grammie.
"Better," I say. "Of course, we haven't really spent a lot of time together. He's been doing a lot of work outside, and when he's inside, I'm usually in other parts of the house cleaning."
"Oh," she sighs. "I didn't realize that's the way it was going to be.”
"Jace seems to be a pretty good worker," I say, trying to change the subject as rapidly as possible. "I think Cade would prefer if he never spoke, to be completely honest, but they’re getting a lot done. I'm surprised you let Jace come, though. I thought Cade was the only person you trusted to do any repairs on the house."
"He's the only one I trust to manage them," she explains. "I guess I didn't really realize just how much work needed to be done around here. I can't expect Cade to do it all by himself. That would take him months, and I know he has a business to go back to. If he thinks this young man is trustworthy and can help him get things done, then I will accept it. I will admit, though, it does make me feel a little bit uncomfortable to know he's in the house. I'd rather it just be the two of you."
There’s a sudden shift in her expression, and she looks sad again.
"Are you alright, Grammie?" I ask. "Is something bothering you?"
"No," she says, shaking her head. "I'm fine. I have just been thinking so much about you two children since you came home. It feels so good to have you back under the same roof, but it hurts me that you’re barely talking to one another."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but I can't help but shift uncomfortably. On some level, I knew this was coming. Honestly, I’m surprised it has taken her this long to mention it.
"Grammie, stop. We are not children anymore. We haven't been for a long time. We’re under the same roof for no reason other than taking care of you. You know that. We've been over it a few times now. Speaking of which, why is there a big hole in the middle of the living room floor?"
"Good job on trying to change the subject," Grammie says, a defiant tone in her voice. "You're not going to get out of this that easy, though. I know the two of you aren't children, Fiona, but I'm always going to see you that way. And as the inseparable pair Gramps and I used to keep an eye on so closely. We were sure one of those days we were going to catch the two of you in an uncompromising position."
The way she keeps saying 'the two of you' seems purposeful. She's trying to keep us linked together, even while she's only talking like she hopes it will pass as a subliminal message. Right now, I'm just mortified by the thought of my grandparents talking about finding Cade and me together.
Covering my eyes with my hands, I shake my head.
"Stop, Grammie. No."
"What? It's only natural we'd think that. Both of us were positive you'd end up together. We never wondered what your future husband was going to be like because we already knew him. It was just a matter of when. We worried you were going to end up getting pregnant back behind the tool shed and would have to throw you a surprise wedding that wasn't a surprise to anyone."
Oh, my god. Hell, thy name is Grammie Talking About Sex.
"Grammie, pleaseeee stop. I really appreciate you and Gramps planning out my life for me, but that's obviously not the way it worked out. Cade and I never ended up... behind the tool shed. And we're not going to. I know a lot of people thought we were going to end up together, and it just seemed like a sure thing, but that's not the way it worked out. He and I have lived completely separate lives for ten years now. We're not the same people anymore."
"I don't know if that's true, Fiona," she rebuts. "Years come and go, but nothing can change who you are deep inside. You know that the two of you share a special connection. You always have. I don’t think that’s changed either.”
I stand up and look down at her, trying to show as little emotion as possible.
"OK, Grammie. Is there anything else I can get for you? A snack? A drink? Another pillow? Anything?"
She looks at me with a resigned expression and sighs deeply.
"No, I’m good. I guess.”
"Fine," I say. "If you don't need anything, I'm going to go shower and change my clothes because I splashed dishwater on me earlier. I could use a little break. You know how to find me if you need me."
She nods, and I walk away, her words weighing heavy in my heart. I want to walk directly across the hallway into my bedroom, but a night of restless sleep is catching up to me, and I know I’ll need something to get me through the rest of the afternoon. I turn for the steps and follow my old, tried-and-true path down into the kitchen.
The coffee pot is sitting in place, and I can see some of the dark brew in the bottom, remnants of the pot I brewed for Grammie an hour ago. I could pour it out and go through the effort of making a fresh one, but I just don't have it in me right now. I'm not above drinking hour-old coffee. I can just toss a couple of ice cubes into it, and it'll be just like one of those ridiculously expensive cold brews Esme buys in the lobby of the office. I pour the coffee into my mug, add in far too much cream and sugar for the average person, and carry it back up the stairs into my room. Even though I didn't get to go to the grocery store and pick out everything myself, I have to admit it's nice looking into the refrigerator and seei
ng actual food instead of empty shelves. It makes me wonder what was sustaining Grammie in the days before I showed up.
As soon as I go into my room, it seems all of my remaining energy is drained out of me. I only close the door halfway to make sure I can hear Grammie if she calls me from her room, and I down half of the syrupy coffee before resting the mug on top of the dresser. I once read that it takes about fifteen minutes for caffeine to get into your system, and if you're feeling tired, you should drink coffee and then lay down for a nap. By the time you wake up, the caffeine will have taken effect, and you will feel energized and ready to go. I'm not sure how much validity that has, but right now, I'm willing to do whatever it takes. As I strip off shorts and a t-shirt soaked with soapy water from dropping a pot when Grammie shouted down to me, I wonder why I'm feeling this way. Grammie has been running me ragged, but it's more than that – the sense of listlessness I was experiencing before coming here is still dragging me down.
Down to my black bikini underwear, the crisp, clean sheets I put on my bed earlier today call out to me. I slip into them and sigh as my head sinks down into the pillow, and the cool cotton of the sun-dried sheet settles over me. Then... nothing. I sigh again, trying to convince my brain it's time to calm down and savor however many minutes of silence I might be able to steal. No matter what I do, however, the vibrant sunlight pouring through the window, and the thoughts rushing through my mind, are making it impossible for me to fall asleep. I finally let out a frustrated groan and roll out of bed.
"Least satisfying nap ever," I grumble to myself as I grab my coffee mug again and toss the rest down my throat. "Come on, fifteen minutes is up," I say. "Wake me up."
Not ready to head back out into the rest of the house again, I walk over to the window and move the gauzy curtains aside. Staring out over the grounds has always been one of my favorite things to do here. There usually wasn't much to watch. The world beyond the house is a picturesque landscape –mostly fields and trees, with only the occasional flutter of a bird, deer, or gust of wind to create movement. Within a few seconds of peering outside, however, Cade and Jace step into my line of vision. I look down and see that Cade is shirtless again, his incredible body glistening with sweat in the bright sunlight. I remember the power and confidence he exuded when he first came into the house a few days ago. The combination of that intensity with his strong body makes my knees feel weak, and I lean against the windowsill to watch him. I can't pull my eyes away as he picks up a piece of wood and sets it onto a stump, swinging a huge ax up and over his head to split it into two. My stomach jumps, and I bite down on my bottom lip as Cade picks up another piece of wood. I don't have any idea why, but I want to keep watching him. The halves of the piece tumble to either side of the stump as Jace steps up to move them out of the way.
The younger blond man has been flirting with me every chance he gets – meaning whenever Cade isn't in earshot. I admit I haven't exactly discouraged him because it makes Cade squirm, but for all I care right now, Jace could be one of those chopped pieces of wood. My eyes are locked on Cade as he cuts through another of the pieces of wood. I see him say something to Jace, but I can't hear him. Jace nods, and Cade lowers the ax to the ground and walks out of view. Assuming he's fetching more lumber to process, I turn my attention back to the fields beyond the trees at the edge of the yard. I'm so lost in my thoughts I don't realize Cade is back inside the house until I hear the heavy sound of his boots echoing down the hallway toward my room.
Whipping around and away from the window, I look at my door, realizing with horror that I left it partly open. This means as soon as Cade makes it down the hall, he’ll be able to look in and see me standing here, where I was just watching him in my bra and underwear. Without even thinking, I fling myself down onto the floor. By the time I hear Cade's voice from the direction of the doorway, I am lying flat on my stomach, my head turned away from him.
"Fiona?" he asks. "Is everything OK?"
Everything is fine. No big deal. Just hanging out on the floor in my underwear.
I look over at him, trying to look as casual as possible.
"Hey, Cade. I'm good. I'm just looking for an earring I lost when I was getting dressed."
"You're already wearing two earrings," he says.
I act like I'm surprised and roll onto my back so I can feel my ears.
"Would you look at that? I didn't lose one after all. I could have sworn I felt one fall down my shirt."
Cade's eyes drift down to my chest. I glance down and see my nipples taut and pressing against the white cotton of my bra. I tell myself it's in response to the cold of the air conditioning, and not Cade's sweaty, muscled body just across the room from me. I quickly flip back over onto my stomach and rest my chin into my hands as I prop myself up on my elbows.
Perfect. Just keep lying on the floor in your basic bitch cotton bra and underwear. Good choices happening all over the place.
"What are you up to? How's your wood?"
Oh, dear Jesus.
"Um...good. I was just coming up to let you know I’m leaving for the hardware store. They just called to let me know one of my orders has come in. Jace is staying here. I won't be gone long."
I contemplate being defensive and telling him I don't care where he is, and that I don't need a babysitter, but realize I’m not exactly in the position to be indignant. Instead, I shoot him a grin that’s probably a few shades too close to Gacy territory, and nod.
"Sounds great. I'll probably just stay up here."
"That’s probably a good idea."
He backs out of the room and closes the door, and my forehead drops down to my folded arms.
Why the ugly cotton bra? Why? Why couldn't it have been something cute? Why didn’t I make an effort? I could have worn something colorful. Sexy. Polka dots. Even just a nice pastel. Anything but an ugly, basic cotton bra.
* * *
Cade
Shaking my head and fighting back a smile, I close the door to Fiona's bedroom and head back down the hallway. I notice Grammie's door is partially open and decide to stop in and see if she needs anything while I’m in town. I look in quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she's napping or falling asleep. Instead of seeing her reclined back in her bed the way she has been for the last few days, however, Grammie is all the way across the room. I step back from the door, disappearing from her view, but where I can still see into the room.
"Grammie?" I call out.
She grabs the TV remote from the stand and scurries back to her bed. Hopping in, she flings a blanket over her lap, drops back against the pillows, and assumes her best feeble expression.
Oh, she got us good.
"Yes, dear?" she calls out weakly.
Never in all the time I've known Rose has she ever called me dear. I push the door open and step inside.
"I wanted to check on you before heading into town," I say. “Do you need anything?”
"That's so sweet of you," she says. “I don’t think so, though.”
Grammie gestures for me to come closer. "Come let me see you for a minute."
I do my best to hold back the grin threatening my lips as I walk over to her. I'm half expecting her to reach up into the air and dramatically inform me she's staring into the light. As it is, she grasps my hand and looks into my eyes meaningfully.
"Have I told you recently how much I appreciate you?" she asks.
"Yes, Grammie. Many times."
"I just don't know what I would do without you," she sighs. "You're just so strong."
"No, Grammie," I say, doing my best to keep a straight face. "You're the strong one. Look at you, facing this injury so courageously. Barely even a peep or complaint from you. You truly are an inspiration. How is your leg feeling?"
"Oh, you know," she says, releasing my hand so she can pat her leg through the blanket. "Bones don't heal quite as well when you're as old as I am. I'm just so glad for this boot. I can't imagine how long it would take for my leg to mend witho
ut it."
"It would be a struggle," I say with an understanding nod. "Tell me again, Grammie, how did you hurt your leg?"
A slightly panicked look crosses her face, and I immediately know Rose has already forgotten the story she told Fiona.
"How did I hurt myself?" she asks, stalling for time as she tries to remember the right story.
"Yes," I say. "I don't think you ever actually told me. I think Fiona said something about gardening?"
Grammie nods enthusiastically.
"That's right," she says. "I was out toiling away in my garden, and I got my foot caught in a vine. I must have laid out there in the hot sun for hours before anyone found me."
I narrow my eyes at her.
"That's funny," I say. "I could have sworn you said you wanted me to make sure I fixed the stairs because you hurt yourself on them."
"Right," she says, nodding even harder now. "I hurt myself while I was gardening, but then when they helped me inside…"
"Alright, that's enough, Sophia Loren. The jig is up. I know you're faking it."
Grammie sags against her pillows, her bottom lip sticking out in defeat.
"Damn," she mutters. "How'd you know?"
"I saw you running across the room. But changing how you got hurt really didn't help."
"It was the gardening that did it, isn't it?"
"Yeah. That's story is suspicious as hell, considering there's only one tomato plant in your garden, and it has a single tomato on it."
"Oh," Grammie says, brightening up a little. "Harvest time."
"Time to fess up. What is going on?"
Grammie sits up higher in bed and lets out a sigh.
"Alright, I'll be straight with you. I really did hurt myself."
"Grammie…"
"No, really. Seriously. I did. It just wasn't as bad as I thought."
"Did it happen on the stairs?"
"Kind of."
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