Pop exhaled long. “Not a word since he passed through while you were in South America. He wasn’t interested in seeing Gram and me then, not if you weren’t around.”
“Typical,” I muttered. I had no illusions about my father’s motivations. He might not have respected what I did for a living, but he was a master at sniffing out a meal ticket—and I knew he assumed that I had a huge bank account to go along with my medical degree.
“Yeah.” Pop wagged his head. “Doesn’t matter to me anymore. I’m not surprised by anything he does anymore, but I hate that it hurts your grandmother. She claims it doesn’t, but I see it in her eyes. When all’s said and done, he’s her son, and no amount of time or bad behavior changes that.”
“I guess not.” I wished there was some way I could make my father see how much he’d hurt his parents time and again, but even if I could I wasn’t sure it would matter to him. Gram used to tell me that it was my mother’s illness and death that had broken his heart, but I had my doubts.
The screen door behind us screeched as it opened. Gram came out followed by Emma, who was holding an old leather album, grinning at me with a teasing light in her eyes.
“You were such an adorable little boy, Deacon.” She dropped into the chair next to mine and opened the book. “Look at you in your little overalls!”
“Gram,” I groaned. “What have we talked about? These pictures were supposed to be burned.”
“As if I’d ever do that.” Gram patted Pop’s shoulder. “Move your arms, Jimmy, so I can sit down.”
He obliged, making room for my grandmother to get settled on his lap. I was used to the easy affection between my grandparents—they were never shy about kissing or appropriate touching in front of me—but it still warmed my heart to know that after almost sixty years of marriage, the two were still in love.
Next to me, Emma was flipping through pages. “I love this picture, too.” She glanced up at me, compassion and empathy all over her face as she tapped a photo of my mother holding me. It had been taken right here on this porch. I’d been about two, maybe, and it was during one of Mom’s rare bouts of remission. Her blonde hair had begun to grow back, but it was still cut short, accenting her big brown eyes and wide smile. I didn’t remember the picture being taken, but I had some bright memories of that time period, when she’d been strong enough to play with me and to actually walk around the farm without being exhausted.
“Your mother was beautiful. And you can see how much she loved you.” Emma reached over to squeeze my hand. “I wish I’d known her.”
“I’ve never known a person with a sweeter spirit than Lisa.” Gram sniffled a little, reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. “We loved her like a daughter, and I still miss her every single day.”
The pain that I’d hadn’t felt at Pop’s mention of Laurel stabbed through me as I listened to Gram talk about my mother. I wondered how it was that I could still miss someone I barely remembered and had only known for five years.
We sat on the porch together for another thirty minutes, with Emma finding old family pictures and asking us questions about who was who and how everyone was connected.
“I love big families,” she sighed, smiling at a faded black and white photo of a huge group at a reunion that had taken place nearly a hundred years ago. “I missed our family’s huge summer gathering this year, because I was already in Florida.”
“That’s a shame,” Gram commiserated. “But will you get to see them at the holidays?”
“Maybe.” Emma sounded doubtful. “I didn’t plan to take any time off over Christmas this year, since there aren’t that many of us on the staff—all of my work would fall on Deacon and the nurse practitioners. My parents have said something about coming down here. We’ll see.”
“Well, wouldn’t that be nice!” My grandmother leaned around Emma to look at me. “You could meet Emma’s family, Deacon.”
“I could.” I wasn’t going down that road—not now, and definitely not with my grandparents, when Emma and I hadn’t even discussed in any depth the seriousness of our relationship. Clearing my throat, I stood, stretching my arms. “Emma, are you about ready to head out? We’ve both got busy days tomorrow, and I want to check in on Donnie Crew tonight.”
“Oh, sure.” Closing the photo album, Emma rose to her feet, too. “Let me just put this back inside and get my purse.”
When the door had closed behind her, Gram fixed me with a piercing stare. “Deacon Girard, don’t you go messing with that young woman, do you hear me? She’s lovely. She’s intelligent, she’s confident, and she’s good for you, too.”
I spread out my hands. “Hey, why am I getting the talking to? I haven’t done anything wrong. I like Emma, too. If I hadn’t, I definitely wouldn’t have brought her to meet you both.”
“Maybe you haven’t done anything wrong yet, but I saw your face when she was talking about her parents coming down. You had that deer-in-the-headlights look. Just because you meet her family doesn’t mean you have to rush into anything. But on the other hand, you’re not getting any younger, and Pop and I wouldn’t object to bouncing great-grands on our old knees before we go to glory.”
“You’re getting way ahead of yourself.” It was my turn to stare Gram down. “Emma and I only just started seeing each other. We haven’t made any commitments. We haven’t made any promises. Hell, we haven’t even—” I broke off what I’d been about to say, amending it hastily. “Uh, we haven’t told anyone at the hospital that we’ve been dating. So don’t plan my bachelor party yet, please. And don’t start naming our kids, either.”
“Hmmm.” Gram exchanged a knowing glance with Pop. “I’m not a fool, Deacon. So let me just say that even if you decide to—uh,tell anyone at the hospital that you’re dating—” She imitated my tone in a way that let me know in no uncertain terms that she was fully aware of what I’d really been trying to say. “You better be sure about how you feel—about your intentions—before you do that, because this woman is solid. She’s special. She’s not like the other fluttery twits you’ve taken up with in the past. Do you hear me, son?”
“Yes, ma’am. Loud and clear.” I smothered a sigh, knowing it might earn me an accusation of sassing back and possible even get me a swat. It didn’t matter how old I got—Gram was always going to scare me just a little bit.
“Good.” She pointed at me. “And don’t you forget it, either.”
Even as I nodded in pretended agreement, I wanted to argue the point. My body didn’t want to wait around until I was more certain about a future with Emma and whether I wanted that. My body—my dick, in particular—wanted sex, and it wanted sex tonight. Commitment and what might happen down the road didn’t mean a whole hell of a lot to that part of my anatomy.
But maybe Gram was right. Maybe we needed to wait a little while, to make sure this wasn’t just a momentary attraction. I’d been burned before, and I had no desire to go down that particular road again. And while a physical relationship didn’t have to mean anything monumental—I’d had plenty of those—I had a sense that nothing between Emma and me was ever going to be casual.
15
