Of course I agree. Mrs. Gretchen’s house is just as interesting as she is, and I don’t often get a chance to visit.
There’s always something new to discover at Mrs. Gretchen’s. She’s not a normal grandmotherly type; there may be pictures of her grandchildren and their families scattered about, but there are also the most amazing knickknacks that her grandson Dawson brings back from his travels, covering most of the available surfaces.
My gaze lights on a pile of books on the table beside Mrs. Gretchen. “Really?” I raise my eyebrows with a grin, pointing to the latest E. L. James steamy novel.
Mrs. Gretchen gives me a prim smile. “I’m old, not dead. Besides, I thought I’d give Christian another try. I never loved him in the originals, but every story has two sides and it’s good to hear both. Speaking of which, was the fire the other night a success?”
“I think so.” I should be embarrassed to have my ninety-year-old neighbour catch me in my attempt to purge the bad mojo out of my life, but Mrs. Gretchen was so cool about it that I didn’t think twice about telling her everything. That led to her sharing her schnapps and telling us stories of some of the men who’d crossed her path over the years and how she’d purged them from her life.
She had one actually purged from life, but he was a Nazi sympathizer who betrayed Mrs. Gretchen’s best friend and she—
Long story. Mrs. Gretchen is still fierce despite her age and more than a little bloodthirsty.
“Of course I can’t really tell until I meet someone new,” I add, actually sounding like I look forward to doing that very thing.
Am I? Looking forward to meeting someone new?
It might not be the worst thing. I miss the heady excitement of meeting someone new, of finding out the good, the hidden bits that you only share with someone you have a connection with.
“But since I had to have a bonfire to burn off the bad mojo, maybe I should hang off a bit,” I say slowly. “I have a nasty habit of turning a good, healthy relationship into something toxic.”
“Dear girl, your relationships turn toxic because they’re not the right fit for you,” Mrs. Gretchen says with the wisdom of almost a century of relationships.
“If only it were that easy.”
“Why can’t it be? Take away the silly stuff, like doubt and jealousy, and relationships can be as easy as you and your dog. Now, are you still squabbling with Boen?”
“I’m not—how did you know we’re squabbling?” I demand. “And it’s not exactly a squabble. He plain doesn’t like me.”
“Ah. Well, can you play nice for an afternoon?”
“Why?”
A knock sounds at the door. “That’ll be Boen.”
“Boen!”
“Would you mind getting that?” she asks with a sweet smile. “These old legs...”
To my knowledge, Mrs. Gretchen has never complained about the age of her legs or anything else. I smell a set-up.
Because of this, I don’t manage a smile as I yank open the door.
Boen’s eyes widen with surprise. “Rachel.”
“Boen.”
“You’re… here.”
“You… are correct.”
He hesitates, glancing down the hall. “You didn’t bring your dog?”
“No, but I’m happy to go get him since you’re so concerned,” I say blithely.
“I love the little fellow, but you know, no dogs in the house, Rachel,” Mrs. Gretchen calls from the hall. “Because then I’d have to let Jam and Marmalade in.”
“I thought there was only one dog?” Boen asks warily.
