I’ve put night-lights in her bedroom and throughout the cottage so you can both move around safely in the dark.
I also shuffled stuff around in the kitchen so that day-to-day items are easy for her to reach.
This place gets hot as balls. There’s a fan in your grandma’s room but let me know if you need one. I have a spare.
Boat is in. Gas tank is full.
There’s a Tupperware container of cheese and potato pierogi in the freezer in case you need an easy dinner tonight.
(How impressed are you right now? Text me a picture of your face.)
—Charlie
On the reverse side, there’s a list of odd jobs he’ll be doing for John: replacing a loose step to the lake and adding a railing, cutting back some of the brush, re-staining the dock. He’s left info about the fireplace, the Wi-Fi, and the water (drinkable, from a well). And then a final note:John asked me to take care of you and your grandma, and I promised I would. Lucky you: We’ll be seeing a lot of each other this summer.
I stare at the letter. Even his sloppy penmanship seems flippant. This man isverysure of himself. I feel a tiny pinch of envy.
“This is ridiculously detailed,” I mutter.
“I’d say we have a guardian angel,” Nan says, sounding brighter than she has all day.
I scan the letter again and snort. A fallen angel, more like it.
How impressed are you right now? Text me a picture of your face.
“I’d say our angel has a big opinion of himself.”
We do have the pierogi for dinner. They’re homemade, and they’re obnoxiously delicious.
“You know I made those curtains over the sink?” Nan calls as I’m washing the dishes.
The kitchen is tucked to one side of the cottage, a little closed off from the rest of the space, but the window has a great view of the woods. I’ve cranked it wide open, along with every other window in the cottage. Charlie was right: It’s hot as balls in here.
“It looks like your handiwork,” I say to Nan, examining the yellowing eyelet fabric strung on a tension rod.
“Joyce’s sewing was dreadful. Couldn’t even mend a seam. I hemmed all of John’s pants.”
