“Oh,” Heather said in reply.
“After eye doctor, then late lunch. Best steaks in Denver. All you can eat for ten dollars.”
On that, he glanced back.
His grandmother’s cheeks folded into creases with her smile. “My treat.”
* * *
Heather drummedher fingers against the arm of a chair in the waiting room of Cherry Creek’s most esteemed ophthalmologist.
“Ms. Reese?” One of the nurses, the one in the blue scrubs, opened the doorway leading to the back rooms. “Nadzieja had her eyes dilated, so she’s having a harder time seeing than usual. She should be better by this evening.”
“I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” Phone stuffed back in her pocket, Heather stood and gathered her purse.
“She insists she doesn’t need a wheelchair.” The nurse’s expression turned sympathetic.
Of course. She was Babushka, master of her own independence.
“I’ll help her to the car.” Heather followed the woman to where Babushka sat, ankles crossed like a demure debutante instead of a feisty old woman. “They say you won’t use a wheelchair.”
“I am dying. I’m not dead.” Babushka boosted herself to stand and grabbed on to Heather’s arm. “I vill use vheelchair vhen I am dead.”
“Nadzieja, you’re not dying. We’ve been over this.” The soft-spoken nurse was no match for Babushka. Even Heather could see that.
“Vat do you know?” Hand raised in goodbye, Babushka pulled Heather toward the exit. “She knows nothing.”
“The cardiologist agreed with her,” Heather pointed out.
“He knows nothing. Now, ve go to lunch.” Babushka plowed ahead.
Heather had to do a tug-and-yank combination to keep her from toppling over an old man with a cane.
“Vatch vhere you go,” Babushka admonished him. If she’d shaken her fist at the guy, Heather wouldn’t have been surprised.
“Let’s head back to the shop. I’ll order in.” Heather could keep things contained at the shop. Things meaning Babushka.
“No. It is eye doctor day. Ve go to steak. This is how it alvays is.” Babushka nearly stepped into oncoming traffic.
Heather gripped her arm and pressed the walk button. “Hold tight. The crosswalk is still red.”
“Cars vill stop. You go. They stop.”
“Or we can wait for the light to change so we don’t become one with the asphalt. Then we can get in your car, head back to the shop, and I’ll order you lunch.”
“Steaks.” The one word said it all. Babushka was going to get her piece of a cow.
“Yum,” Heather replied. Thumb shoved on the crosswalk button again, Heather contemplated becoming a vegetarian.
* * *
“We cannot go in here.”Heather slumped farther down into the beige leather seat of Babushka’s Buick.
“Vhy not?” The black-sunglass-wearing old woman peered at the building.
The building with the sign that readPistol Polly’sand showcased a vintage-style pinup woman riding a pony in short-shorts and pigtails. The building everyone in Denver knew housed a strip joint—as in poles, VIP back rooms, and topless waitresses. The building Heather was absolutely not taking Babushka into.
“It’s a gentlemen’s club.” Heather slid a side-eye to her…whatever the heck Babushka had become to her. Baker. Grandmother figure.
