‘My mom’s family is out there,’ he answered. ‘They wanted Mom and Dad to take over their business.’
‘Which is?’
He wove his fingers together and flexed his hands.
‘They own a chain of local fried fish restaurants called Fanny’s Famous Fried Fish.’
One corner of Myrna’s mouth flickered.
‘How charming.’
‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘Now they want me to come back and help out too.’
‘And you don’t want to be a …’ Myrna paused, took a breath, then proceeded: ‘Restaurateur?’
‘Not really. I worked there all through high school and believe me, nothing says homecoming king like a teenage boy who stinks of fried catfish twenty-four-seven.’ Ren gestured around the living room, the heavy oak beams, the tiled fireplace, the stucco walls. ‘I’ve always wanted to build things, like my grandpa. Restoring this place is the best job I’ve ever had. Going through the original plans, seeing how it all fits together, how things used to be done. I feel like I’m getting to know Grandpa in a whole new way.’
Until he caught my gaze, I didn’t even realize I was staring at him. I looked away, a fierce heat burning in my cheeks as I studied the grain of the wood in the floorboards. It was painfully awkward, sitting so closeto him, behaving so politely and not mentioning the fact he’d laid the greatest kiss of my entire life on me exactly fifteen hours and fourteen minutes ago.
‘When my husband passed away, Joe and Rosa took very good care of me,’ Myrna said, filling the uncomfortable silence. ‘They brought me food, opened the curtains, answered the telephone. All the things I wasn’t doing for myself. Some days we didn’t even talk; Rosa or Joe or both of them would come by and sit with me. Most people don’t know what to say when you’re grieving, but all you really want is nothing at all. Just someone. They understood that. They were such a comfort in those days, I’ve never forgotten. The very definition of good people.’
My eyes prickled, already warmed up and ready to go after Suzanne’s supermarket weep. I felt the same way when we lost Gran. Lots of people trying to fill the sad, empty space with well wishes and platitudes but it was all noise.
‘That’s how I felt when I lost mi abuelo,’ he said softly. ‘Thank you. Again.’
‘Stop thanking me; they’re facts, not gifts. Although I do have something for you.’ She reached into her Chanel bag and pulled out something small and square, wrapped in tissue paper. ‘Rosa painted this to remind me there would be better times. I’ve kept it by my bed ever since, but I think you should have it now.’
He accepted the parcel and gently, carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a canvas stretched over a frame and on the canvas was a painting of a bird, soaring through the sky.
‘She loved to paint,’ Myrna said, rising to her feet. ‘I can’t begin to count the number of afternoons I satin that backyard of yours, watching the birds fly overhead with Rosa sketching while your grandfather banged away in his workshop.’ Her eyes wandered around the room and she smiled at things that were no longer there. ‘It would be a sin to sell this house to someone who might knock it down, even more so than mine. We built our house with money, but Joe and Rosa built this house out of love. It’s bedded into the very walls – can’t you feel it?’
The three of us were quiet, Ren and Myrna lost in memories and me in dreams. She was right, there was something special here. Even though I’d only just walked through the door, I felt so at home.
‘Enough nostalgia for one day,’ Myrna announced, shifting the energy of the room back to the present day. ‘As always, I have things to do.’
‘Thank you for coming by, Ms Moore.’ Ren propped his grandmother’s painting on the mantelpiece before taking Myrna’s arm in his and walking her back to the front door. She leaned all her weight against him and looked back over her shoulder to tip me a wink.
‘For as long as the house is still ours, you’re welcome here any time. I’d love to see your home sometime, if that’s possible?’
‘It’s Myrna, darling,’ she insisted. ‘And you’ll see my house at the party tomorrow evening, won’t you?’
‘Party?’ Ren repeated. ‘What party?’
‘Phoebe didn’t tell you?’
‘Sorry,’ I said as she turned back to flash me a despairing look. ‘Might have forgotten to mention it.’
‘I’m having a gathering Friday evening at eight, you are expected,’ she said, accidentally on purpose crackingmy shins with her cane as I sidled past out the front door. ‘Not that you don’t look entirely charming in this ensemble, but dress is evening attire, if you don’t mind.’
‘I’ll be there,’ he promised, accepting an enthusiastic kiss on each cheek. ‘I think my grandpa’s tux will still fit.’
‘Don’t tell me I need to take you shopping as well?’ Myrna replied with a withering look. ‘I despair at your generation, I really do.’
‘God help her when she gets an eyeful of Gen Z,’ I commented as she took herself off to visit the apple trees, leaving me loitering on Ren’s doorstep. ‘Thank you for … I was going to say humouring her, but that’s not the right word, is it?’
‘I don’t think they came up with a word to describe a visit from Myrna Moore yet,’ he said. ‘What a trip.’
‘Can someone please explain how to work this thing?’ yelled the woman herself from across the garden where she was striking at the Garcias’ rusted old gate with her cane. ‘It’s easier to break out of Alcatraz. What are you trying to do to a girl?’
