“We have to do something to stay informed,” Charlie says.
“Where do you think we found out about your favorite new fish and chips joint anyway?” Eddie adds.
“Was I like this when I was their age?” someone asks from inside the bus.
Ah, one of Bea’s brothers is working with her today.
The younger one.
Hudson, I believe she called him. The one with the same eyes as Bea and darker curls that he’s let grow wild on his head. His apron is covering a matching tie-dyed T-shirt.
“You would’ve been if there’d been two of you,” Bea replies.
She’s smirking, but it’s not an arrogant smirk.
More of an amused-with-an-edge smirk.
Her bright emerald eyes meet mine. “First time raising teenage boys?”
“First and only.”
She chuckles. “Relatable. How’s Lana’s mother?”
“Dad. Dad. There’s an ice cream truck over there. Can we get ice cream instead of burgers? We can have Butch’s burgers for dessert when we get home. His burgers really are the best.”
“A little worse than expected,” I tell Bea. “Apologies for my demon spawn. They’re generally far better behaved.”
She leans her forearms on the ledge and looks at each of my boys in turn. “Are you close with your grandma?”
They freeze as one, and my heart squeezes in sympathetic misery.
Lana’s mother is my third-biggest critic—right behind my own two parents—though I fully understand and appreciate her being hesitant with praise for the man who knocked her daughter up and then couldn’t provide as well as I should have over the years.
However, she’s always been there for the boys.
And I am more grateful for that than I suspect she would ever believe.
Charlie lifts a shoulder. “I guess.”
“Sometimes,” Eddie agrees.
Bea gives them a soft smile. “It’s hard watching someone you love slip away.”
Both of them eye her warily.
I clear my throat. “Yes, well, the boys wanted to?—”
“It’s not fair,” Eddie says. “She’s not even seventy yet. She promised us she’d live to a hundred and four so that she could see our kids get married too.”
Charlie’s hands are balled into fists. “I don’t want to have kids, but if she lived to a hundred and four, she could see me win a Nobel Prize for solving dementia. And now she won’t.”
“You like science and math?” Bea asks him.
“I will for her.”
“He’s trying his best,” Eddie chimes in. “That’s all Gramma ever said we had to do. Just do our best, and nothing would hold us back.”
“She used to visit us in the city all the time, but she hasn’t been in two years. She missed seeing my art project win first prize at school.”
