“He’s expecting you, honey. Come on, I’ll take you back.” She stands up from her desk, and I see what can only be the names of all her grandkids on the front of her light blue T-shirt. Without being a weirdo and staring at her chest to count, I’d guess there are seven or eight names. She steps in front of me to lead me down a small hall. The back of her shirt reads#1 Grandma.
I follow her into the warehouse. It smells industrial, but I can’t make out any specific scent.
She stops short and shouts, “Daryl, Dakota’s here for your meeting.”
A man probably about the same age as her steps from an open door off to the side of the space. The receptionist disappears, and Daryl and I introduce ourselves. We talk at length about the project and tile. The entire time we’re discussing size and color, Wes lurks on the periphery of my thoughts.
I choose a large herringbone tile in a muted medium green. The aesthetic is modern farmhouse. I haven’t picked out lighting yet, but I’m picturing something black and copper.
Daryl shakes my hand after he sends the square footage calculations to his assistant. She’ll handle the billing. “I’ve heard a lot about the new building out there in Sierra Grande. My wife Cynthia said it’s going to be a wedding venue/wine bar/restaurant/picnic area/farmer’s market. That’s a whole lot of things wrapped into one.”
I smile. “I guess so. The chapel is an open-air concept, and can be rented out for weddings, large parties, what have you. The wine bar and restaurant will be open the rest of the time, and there will be space between the two buildings for fun lawn games and lots of outdoor dining. The farmer’s market idea is still being worked out, but I’m hoping for one Sunday a month. I want it to be a place for the locals, but also for people from neighboring towns.” I shrug, embarrassed but pleased. I love talking about the project and I can get carried away.
“I think that’s great.” Daryl nods his head excitedly. “To date, the only thing Sierra Grande has been known for is the Hayden Cattle Company. And the oldest Hayden boy was in the paper awhile back, when he returned home from the military. I don’t remember specifics, but it was about his service and return home. My wife would remember. She loves personal interest stories.” He shakes his head and waves his hand. “Anyway, listen to me rambling. Come on,” he touches my elbow as he shows me out of the warehouse and up through to the front.
He goes to stand beside the receptionist seated behind the desk. “We’ll be in touch about a more specific timeframe for delivery.” As he speaks, he lays a hand on her shoulder, and I notice the nameplate on her desk.Cynthia.
This is exactly why I love this project. Supporting local companies means something to me. I want to support Daryl and Cynthia and the children who made them grandparents seven or more times.
We say goodbye, and as I round the building, I get a glimpse of Daryl and Cynthia. She’s laughing at something he said, and he brushes a knuckle over her cheek.
An odd feeling starts somewhere in my body, sharp like a prick then turning dull like an ache.
It’s not that I want a T-shirt with my grandkids’ names on it. But it’s not like I don’t want it either.
18
Wes
As soon asthe morning chores are finished, I hop in my truck and drive to Sedona General.
My dad’s heart attack shook me more than I’ve let on. I sat in the waiting room all night long and during his surgery, wide awake, memories of my childhood clipping by. He was tough, but he was loving. He’s the reason I can throw a baseball, ride a horse, and deliver a mean uppercut. When someone seems larger than life, being confronted by their mortality is like being struck in the face with a two by four.
Dad’s asleep when I get there, but my arrival rouses him. Mom’s sitting on the bench seat near his bed, a book open on her lap. I have the urge to rush to my dad, but I don’t. The display would embarrass him.
Instead, I touch his shoulder and say, “Got some chores for you when you’re ready, old man.”
He eyes his IV in disgust. “Please tell me you’re here to break me out of this joint.”
Mom points a finger at him. “Don’t even think about it.” To me, she says, “He tried to remove the IV about an hour ago. An alarm went off.”
Dad releases a string of expletives. Mom smirks. Her arms cross and she gazes at me with the look that tells me she already knows the answer to what she’s about to ask me.
“Jessie called. Got anything you want to tell me?”
I’m a grown-ass man, but right now I’m feeling more like that time in high school when I tried to hide a beer bong in my closet. Dishonesty has never been my strong suit, and I’m about to tell a whopper.
“Dakota and I are dating.”And also soon we’re going to get engaged, only to be married soon after that. But you’ll learn that in due time.
Mom’s eyes narrow farther. “And?”
“Nothing. I just wanted you guys to know Dakota and I are dating.”
“Jessie said you were putting on quite the display in front of the house last night.” Her gaze is intense, and I feel myself shrinking. I have to remind myself I’m an adult. For a short woman, her presence is formidable.
Dad makes a face and grumbles, “Your dating life isn’t worth this damn drama.”
“No, it’s not,” Mom says slowly, working through it in her mind. “PDA and my son don’t go together. So why make certain to be so public?”
