I pull back, sniffling, and look at my grandma. She’s seventy-five, but still acts like she’s fifty. There’s a spring in her step, and her memory is probably better than mine. I hope to hell I got whatever genes have given her this gift of longevity. It’s easy to think nothing could bring her down, not her husband’s abandonment of her and a baby (my mom), or illness. She’s impenetrable, except when it comes to me. I’m her soft spot.
“Ladies, you really need to move on. Other people need this space.” The disapproving voice of the attendant breaks through our reunion.
We both turn to look at the frowning, middle-aged man standing with his arms crossed over his middle.
“Come on,” Grandma says, dropping her arms and walking around me to my suitcase. She gives it a push and watches it roll only a few inches.
“Did you bring everything you owned?” She winks at me.
The man walks away, probably to bug someone else for breathing too heavily.
I grab the handle and tug it over to the Jeep. Together we lift it into the back, but I’m careful to take as much of the weight as I can. Grandma may be healthy, but she’s still seventy-five.
We climb in, and as I’m buckling my seatbelt, I say, “I packed everything because I’m staying forever.” Probably not, but right now it sounds good.
Grandma pats my knee, then puts the car into drive. “If only that were true,” she says, searching for something over my head. Her eyes light up in recognition, and she raises a stiff middle finger high in the air. I don’t even look to see who she’s flipping off, because I’m certain I already know.
She gives me a mischievous wink as she lowers her hand, then she looks over her left shoulder and pulls out into airport traffic.
* * *
“Home sweet home,”Grandma announces when we park. She stretches her arms out toward the large house before us.
It used to resemble a giant Lincoln Log cabin, but three years ago my grandma renovated the entire place. She got rid of the log-style and brought in large wooden planks instead. The stone columns give the place a sophisticated look. The large front door has a copper metallic finish, and the two lights on either side of it look like large lanterns. It’s more modern, while still maintaining that outdoor camp vibe.
The place screams comfort and luxury, and immediately makes me picture a glass of red wine and thick, comfy socks pushed down over buttery-soft leggings.
Too bad it’s the start of summer. I’m in the mood for snow and freezing temperatures.
I heave the suitcase from the trunk of the Jeep, roll it over the sidewalk, and hoist it up over each stair.
We get inside, and I stare around in shock.
“When did you redecorate?” My head swivels left to right, taking in the new rugs, the cognac-colored leather couches, the large painting of a wild stallion over the stone fireplace.
“A few months ago,” she answers, hanging her purse on a hook behind the door. “I told you I was hiring someone.”
“I know, but…” I keep looking around at the little touches, like the stack of coffee table books.The Illustrated Oregon Trail. Coast to Coast. Getting Lost to Find Yourself.
“It’s warm and inviting.” It’s everything I need. It’s exactly why I came.
Growing up, this is where I spent my summers. Mom and Dad brought me here as soon as school let out in June, and they came back at the end of August. They traversed the globe while I explored the woods and canoed on Lonesome Lake. They called weekly to report their explorations, and I happily told them about the tide pools I’d found and the bonfire Grandma and I had built on the beach.
It sounds bad to leave your kid for the summer, but I was so happy at Sweet Escape with Grandma, I hardly missed my parents.
Now my parents are settled in Florida, and we don’t talk all that much. They know what happened to Warren, but not much more. I saw them last Christmas, and there was nothing new to share. I didn’t tell them about the bakery. I’m sure I will at some point, but who wants to constantly be the bearer of less-than-stellar news?
“I’ll let you get settled in, okay, hon? A new guest is arriving in an hour, and I still have a few things to do.” Grandma walks out of the living room and around the corner. From there she will either go into the kitchen or the master bedroom. My bedroom, plus two more, are upstairs. One is used as an office, one is a guest room, although I don’t think it gets any use. My grandma is too busy taking care of all her B&B guests in the cabins to host a guest in her home.
It takes all my arm strength, but eventually I get the suitcase up the stairs and to my room. When I’m done unpacking, I lie down on my bed.
I don’t know why, but I scroll through videos on my phone until I find the one I’m looking for. With a deep breath to steady my rolling stomach, I press play and watch Warren’s face come to life.
He smiles, reaching forward to try and bat my phone away, but I step out of his reach and he misses. He’s wearing the shirt I gave him from the football game we went to when my Alma Mater crushed his. It was such a good, fun day, filled with beer-flavored kisses and nachos.
“Addy love, turn that thing off.” My heart twists at the sound of his voice.
Warren leaps for me, taking me by surprise, and the phone drops, capturing nothing but the carpet and my giggling pleas as he tickles me.
