“I didn't need to then. I need to now.”
“Fine. There's a service area in about fifteen miles. But we're not spending an hour there like we did at the last one. We have a schedule to keep.”
“What schedule? The babies are already born. It's not like they're going anywhere.”
“The schedule that gets us to Massachusetts before I'm too old to remember why we went.”
Lauren laughed despite herself. “Grandma, you're going to outlive all of us.”
“That's the plan. Someone has to keep this family in line.”
Sarah's phone rang, and she fumbled to answer it. “Hello? Oh, hi honey.” A pause. “No, the fish don't need to be fed twice a day. Once is fine. Yes, I'm sure. Trevor, we’ve had those fish for three years, I think I know—” She sighed heavily. “Fine. Feed them twice. But if they're floating belly-up when I get home, that's on you.”
She hung up and caught Lauren smirking at her.
“Not a word,” Sarah warned.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
The RV fell into a rare moment of silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thump of tires on pavement. Lauren watched the mile markers tick by and let her mind wander to what lay ahead.
It didn't seem possible that Beth had twins. Time had played one of its cruel tricks, compressing years into what felt like moments. Wasn't it just yesterday that Beth was learning to ride a bike in the driveway of the Andover house? Wasn't it just last week that she graduated from law school, so proud and nervous and ready to take on the world?
And now there were babies. Two of them. Alexander and Charlotte.
“You're quiet,” Sarah observed from the back seat.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About Beth. About how strange it is that she's a mother now. I still think of her as the baby of the family.”
“She hasn't been a baby for thirty years.”
“I know. But in my head, she's still six years old, and I’m yelling for her to get out of my room.”
Sarah was quiet for a moment. “I know what you mean. When Mom called to say the babies were born, I cried. Not just happy tears. Something deeper. Like a chapter was ending.”
“Or beginning,” Lauren said.
“Both, maybe. That's the thing about family. Chapters are always ending and beginning at the same time. You don't get one without the other.”
Grandma Sarah's voice was softer when she spoke. “That's the wisest thing either of you has said this whole trip.”
“Don't get used to it,” Sarah replied. “I'm sure we'll be back to arguing about snacks within the hour.”
“I'm counting on it. The bickering keeps me awake.”
The sign for the service area appeared ahead, and Grandma Sarah put on her turn signal with the precision of a military maneuver.
“Fifteen minutes,” she announced. “Bathroom, snacks if you must, and back on the road. We're making good time, and I don't want to lose our momentum.”
“We're in an RV,” Lauren pointed out. “We don't have momentum. We have gentle forward motion.”
“Don't sass me. I'm your elder.”
