Again, I could only pretend to comprehend his obscure comment, so I just grinned and tried to keep up. For a little man, he walked at breakneck pace. It was late, and the evening air was cool. I pulled my collar up tight around my neck and wrapped my arms across my chest in an effort to insulate against the unexpectedly cold climate.
“Cold?”
Clever. He must have been tapping in to Chaseyn’s special talents.
“I just thought it would be warmer, that’s all. Isn’t Texas a southern state?”
“You know, that’s what a lot of people think,” he started. “Well, technically, it is, but Amarillo…”
That’s when I stopped listening. Mr. Bethsby muttered on for the next fifteen minutes about the climate in this particular part of the state—barometric pressure, cloud cover, average precipitation, nothing was off limits. Occasionally, I interjected with a polite, “oh” or “I see,” but truthfully, if he had asked me to repeat anything he had said—even the most recent comments—there was no way I could recall a single word. I wanted to feel guilty, but I was too exhausted to put in any effort. That’s when I noticed we had come to a stop in front of the 24-hour supermarket.
“Well, hon, you ready for our first task as nursemaid?”
I looked around, but I was definitely the only person in earshot. Clearly, there had been some sort of misunderstanding, only I had the distinct impression I was the one who had misunderstood.
“I’m sorry. What was that,” I asked, trying to sound polite but failing miserably.
“Your grandma insisted we stop and pick up a few things on the way home, and who am I to deny an ailing woman her innocent commands,” Mr. Bethsby explained. “She gave me a list of your favorite things—pop tarts, rolled oats, tomato soup, gumdrops. Just a few things she though would help make you more comfortable during your stay. She said I should get you anything you want.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that gumdrops and pop tarts had failed to make my list of favorite things since I was twelve. Instead, I figured I could manage to choke them back for a few days or at least hide the evidence of their remains before leaving. As we made our way through the aisles, I managed to augment his acquisitions with a few of my favorite items of late—pretzels, pizza pops, and seedless grapes, to name a few. At the check stand, I dropped a handful of tabloids onto the conveyer, realizing I had no idea what sort of digital entertainment would be available at my grandma’s house. In the potential absence of cable television and Internet access, the week would feel like an eternity. Not to mention, the less time I spent engaged in one-on-one conversation with my grandma, the less likely she would have an opportunity to confront me about Chaseyn. I was reluctant to provide any ammunition for her already overactive imagination.
“Well, here we are, sweetheart,” Mr. Bethsby announced as we rolled to a stop in front of my grandma’s familiar bungalow. I had spent many a summer here as a young girl. When my dad died, the extended visits stopped. My mom needed to focus on school first, and later, her career. It had been at least five years since I had been to Amarillo. Due to a lack of impenetrable commitments, my grandma usually came to us.
“Thanks, Mr. Bethsby,” I said, grabbing as many grocery bags in my hands as I could manage. Foolishly, I thought he would leave me be to carry our purchases and my belongings inside. How wrong I was.
“Drop those. Now,” he ordered, pointing toward the bags that were dangling from my wrists, cutting off my circulation and overflowing from both hands. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I continued hobbling up the path, leaving only my luggage—one carry-on bag—curbside. Quickly, he scrambled to grab the handle and follow me up the path. In one swift motion, I pushed open the door and called to my grandma.
“Grandma? I’m…we’re here. Where are—,” I shouted. Before I could finish the sentence, she popped up from the sofa in the sitting room just inside the front entrance.
“Lia, honey. I’ve missed you so much,” she said, pinching my cheeks tauntingly before planting a huge, wet kiss smack on my lips. She looked the picture of health, with the exception of the fact that she was using a wooden cane to help her balance as she sauntered about.
“Grandma? I thought mom said that you had broken your hip. Where’s your cast?”
“Let’s discuss that later, shall we,” she said, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and steering me toward the kitchen. “First, let’s eat. You must be parched. Hank, you will join us, won’t you?”
Something was crooked in Amarillo, and I had a feel it was a lot more than just my grandma’s right leg. It was painfully obvious that she had taken advantage of her situation and concocted a scheme to get me to come to her. I had a pretty good idea of her motivation, but I had no clue what she had in store.
A feast of my favorites was spread out on the dining table. Tall tapers stood amongst an array of fresh cut flowers in the center of the long table. Hank took a seat at the head, and my grandma sat to his right. She pulled out the chair beside her, indicating I should make myself comfortable there.
“Grandma, you’re not well. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble just for me,” I stammered. While I was still upset that she was up to some crazy antics, I was touched that she had put forth such an effort.
“It was nothing. After all, how often does my sweet little girl come to town?”
Just then, there was a rap on the back door.
“Hank, would you mind,” my grandma asked.
As if on cue, Hank rose to his feet to greet the unexpected arrival—likely a canvasser of some sort, I figured. Moments later, he returned with an olive-skinned, strong-jawed boy who appeared to be about my age.
“Eli! It’s lovely of you to join us,” my grandma said, beaming as the handsome teen—clad in designer jeans and a starched shirt—stepped into the room. “Lia, this is Eli, Hank’s grandson. He lives next door with Hank, and we thought it might be nice if he could show you around Amarillo while you’re here. He has this week off, too.”
“Grandma, I’ve been to Amarillo a million times. I hardly need the grand tour.”
“Well, you haven’t been in years. A lot has changed,” she countered.
“What? There’s a new shrine to the cattle industry on Main Street?”
“Lia,” my grandma snapped. “Be polite.”
She was right; I had overstepped. It wasn’t Eli’s fault that my grandma and his grandfather had cooked up some sort of ridiculous matchmaking scheme. I stood up and took a step toward the startlingly attractive young man, my hand extended.
“I’m sorry, Eli. My grandmother’s right; that was rude and uncalled for,” I said sincerely. “Please. Let’s start over. My name’s Cordelia, but everyone—well, almost everyone—call’s me Lia.”
“Hi, Lia. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, taking my hand in his firm grip. Under any other circumstances, I would have been fawning all over such a strapping show of masculinity. With Chaseyn in the picture, I wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in anything Eli could offer, other than friendship—for the week, anyway. “I’d be happy to show you around. It gets pretty tired hanging around here with these guys all the time.”
Though I had reconciled to be courteous to Eli, I wasn’t ready to do my grandma and her shifty friend the same justice. I shot her a glare as we returned to our seats and began passing around the lukewarm roast beef and fixings.
Casual dinner conversation revealed that Eli’s parents had died in a car wreck when he was three. He had lived with Hank ever since. Before I could question why I didn’t remember meeting him when I would visit as a young girl, I learned the answer. Each June, Eli would travel to Pennsylvania to spend a few months with his mother’s parents—sort of a joint custody arrangement. Not once had our paths crossed as children as a result of these circumstances. He appeared to be nice enough—well groomed and seemingly intellectual—so, by the end of the evening, I had concluded spending the week palling aroun
d with him would be a more pleasurable experience than lazing around my grandma’s house wallowing in my own self pity.
“So, I’ll swing by around eleven, okay,” Eli stated as he and Hank pulled on their jackets and prepared to leave.
I nodded in agreement.
“It’ll be fun. I promise,” he added, obviously sensing my skepticism. Maybe Chaseyn wasn’t the only one with a supernatural sixth sense.
When they were gone, I retreated to the dining room to begin clearing the table—doing my best to avoid my grandma. Seconds later, I heard the heavy thud of her cane on the wooden floors. We were alone. There was no place to hide, except under the table, and even I wasn’t stooping that low—literally and figuratively.
“Lia?”
“Not now, grandma. I’m not pleased with you.”
She seemed to understand that I was serious because she smiled a toothy grin then turned on her good leg, and hobbled out of the room and down the hall. When I heard the door hitch shut, I was grateful. It appeared she would leave me alone for the evening, but I knew tomorrow would be different.
Alone in my room, I pulled the small white note card from my bag. I needed to be near Chaseyn—emotionally, at least—for just a brief moment. I lay atop the bed and read his words.
Cordelia,
Miles may separate our physical beings, but no distance can come between our hearts. You are with me always.
C.
Nineteen words. That was all it took to calm my nerves and heal my soul.
Chapter 24 - Day One
Clanging. The piercing sound of chiming bells resounded through the tiny room.
“Agh,” I groaned loud enough to be heard down the hall. “What is that racket?”
And, that’s when I saw it sitting there on the bedside table. Someone had gone to the liberty of providing an archaic two-bell alarm clock and setting it to bellow out an excruciatingly painful sound at an hour so early even roosters would wince at the thought of rising.
“Stop. Just stop,” I shouted in a raspy voice, my mouth still dry with sleep. Reaching across the bed, I managed to pound the top of the silver gadget and put an end to the drilling din. Something I hadn’t noticed before knocked to the floor during the commotion. Its featherweight made no sound as it hit the floor. I rolled on my stomach to the edge of the bed and fumbled around the ground with the tips of my fingers until I felt the crunch of crisp paper against my skin. With a bit of awkward manoeuvring so that I was facing upright with the sheets twisting like licorice around my body, I pulled what appeared to be a recipe card to my face. My eyes—still adjusting to the dim light of dawn and blurry from sleep deprivation—required coaxing to read the clumsy scrawl. With the note just inches from my face, I poured over the words.
Lia,
By now, you have learned that your grandma is not suffering to the extent that you had believed. Nonetheless, her hip is not completely well, as evidenced by the cane she uses to aid her walking ability. She wouldn’t say why, but she really wanted to have you here this week. Her heart is in the right place, so go easy on her. She is in pain, but she’ll never let you see how much. Anyway, she is going to need your help with a few things, which is why I have set an alarm to wake you at the crack of dawn. Your grandma rises early. Have a fresh pot of coffee brewing for when she awakes. That’s your first task. Further instructions will be found in the kitchen.
Hank Bethsby
“Ugh,” was all I could manage to utter as I rolled toward the edge of the bed, landing feet first on the floor before thrusting the rest of my body upward. Heavy footed, I clopped down the hall to the kitchen. A second note card rested atop the coffeemaker.
Lia,
Kudos for finding this note before your grandma. She said you were a sweet girl, and it seems she may be right since you appear willing to play along with my little charade. Your grandma would be very upset if she knew I had put you up to this, so let this be our little secret. I’ve laid out everything you will need to supply her with the morning essentials. Follow the instructions below, and you should have no trouble.
1. Fresh-ground coffee can be found on the third shelf from the bottom in the pantry. Place two scoops in the filter, and add four cups of water. Once it is done percolating, pour it into the tall zebra mug found in the cupboard above the sink. It’s her favorite. She takes one drop of cream and two sugars.
2. Grab a tray from the cupboard beside the stove. You can use it to carry breakfast to your grandma when you first hear her stir. This should happen around 6:45 a.m.
3. While the coffee is brewing, take a bagel out of the brown bag on the counter, and put it in the toaster. Strawberry cream cheese in the fridge.
4. The newspaper should be laying on the front step. Bring it in, and place it on the tray with the other items.
One last note card is waiting for you in the bathroom. Together, we can make sure your grandma is comfortable. I’m sure you want that as much as I do.
Hank
It was then that I realized Mr. Bethsby and my grandma were more than just friends. I wondered how long their affair had been carrying on and if my mom knew. I figured not, or she likely would have been less insistent that I spend the week here against my will.
I wasn’t sure if I should be happy that someone cared so deeply about my grandma’s welfare or if I should be concerned about the fact that he had sneaked throughout the house in the night leaving little clues about how to keep my grandma comfortable. I jumped back and forth between the two options while I prepared breakfast according to Hank’s instructions, finally landing on the former. So long as Hank’s intentions were pure, I had no problem with him playing caretaker to my grandma.
Before my grandma could wake, I dashed down the hall to the bathroom adjacent my room and began searching for the final message. It took a minute—pulling back the shower curtain, checking under the sink, and lifting the tissue container proved fruitless. However, inside the medicine cabinet, there was a small, thick envelope. This time the message was much more detailed. Hank had taken the time to write down all of my grandma’s idiosyncrasies. From her favorite television shows to the time of day she would take a walk, he had listed everything. He said I should use the information to plan accordingly. There were no specific instructions, just suggestions. I folded the papers into a wad and stuffed them between the mattress and box spring in the guestroom bed where I had set up shop.
Despite the anger I had felt the night before—and was still harboring this morning—I knew I should appreciate the fact that my grandma was healthy and able. After I had given her a chance to explain her intentions—and I had given her a piece of my mind—I would spend some quality time with her.
From down the hall, I could hear stirring in the master bedroom. I dropped the mattress corner and tiptoed into the corridor.
“Grandma, are you up,” I called just above a whisper. I hoped that if she was awake she would hear, but if she wasn’t, I didn’t want to wake her unnecessarily.
“Lia, sweetie, what are you doing up,” she said in a thick growl that ended in a coughing fit.
“Stay where you are,” I called as I ran down the hallway to the kitchen. After all of my hard work preparing her a breakfast in bed, I was not going to let her get up before she could enjoy it. “I mean it grandma. Don’t move. I’m already furious with you for whatever little ploy you have going on here. You don’t want me to tell my mother do you?”
The last part was uncalled for, and I knew it. I could tell that she had stopped making an effort to crawl out of bed, so there was no need to cast threats. Still, I wanted to take advantage of the fact that I had a captive audience. She needed to know I was keen to her plot and unhappy about the situation.
Like a toddler caught with her hand in the cookie jar, I wracked my brain in search of an excuse for committing such a kind act as making breakfast in bed when I was supposed to be so angry. My mind drew a blank. I paused for a moment outside her bedroom door, balancing
the unstable tray atop my knee as I struggled to palm the doorknob. I still hadn’t figured out what I would say once inside.
“Grandma,” I nodded as I shuffled to her bedside and laid the tray across her lap.
“This is very nice,” she said, fiddling with napkin and cutlery.
“Um hm,” was all I could muster in response.
“You’re mad,” she said, stating the obvious.
Standing so that only part of my body was facing her, I twisted my head in her direction and narrowed my eyes. Suggesting I might be mad was a gross understatement.
“Okay, so maybe you’re furious, but Lia…” her voice trailed off as I started to walk out of the room.
Breathless Page 19
