On Second Thought
Page 63

“For our anniversary,” Eloise said. “The party.”
“We’re still having that?”
“I told you, deah. Remember? Because of the scholarship fund?”
“Right, right.”
“I’ll make it as painless as possible,” I said, faking a smile.
And so I told them where to sit, adjusted Mr. Coburn’s collar under his crewneck sweater and saw something I’d never seen so clearly—Nathan’s parents loved each other. They’d never recover from their son’s death, but they had each other. They’d love, honor and cherish each other for the rest of their lives, and the magnitude of their loss had brought them closer together.
“You’re a beautiful couple,” I said, and my voice was husky.
“We’ve been blessed,” Mrs. Coburn said, her voice trembling a little. “We’ve been very blessed.”
Mr. Coburn covered her hand with his and smiled at her, his eyes full of tears. She smiled back and touched his cheek.
Sometimes, a smile was the bravest act of all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ainsley
On Sunday, I left the fairy presents in the little houses Jonathan’s daughters and I had made—two flower beads, and two tiny glass figurines of a snail and a cricket. I spent far too much time agonizing over what the fairies should leave, but I loved picturing the girls finding the gifts.
And imagining their dad smiling when they showed him.
I was visiting my grandmother that day, and it just so happened that Gram-Gram’s apartment had a nice view of the side lawn, and yes, I found myself lingering there, glancing out the window.
Gram-Gram was trying to remember her computer password. Ollie sat on her lap, helping by putting his little paws on the keyboard occasionally. Chances were strong he’d figure it out before she did.
“Do you want a sandwich, honey? I made a ham this week.”
“I love ham!” I said, always happy to eat.
“Sniff it first, in case it’s just about to go bad.”
“Roger that.” I went into the kitchen and sniffed; there was probably enough salt in that sucker to kill any salmonella or E. coli anyway. “Smells good enough to me!” I took a knife and started hacking away.
“Thanks, sweetheart. Your mother is so fussy about these things.” She gave me a squeeze. “Don’t use that knife, honey, it’s sharp. I’ll do it for you.”
Dear Gram-Gram. She did love having someone to fuss over. Candy treated her like she had a foot in the grave, raising her voice so Gram-Gram could hear her, even though hearing loss wasn’t one of her problems.
“How is your mother?” Gram-Gram asked, reading my mind.
“Oh, fine,” I said. I went to the computer and started entering random passwords. LettieCarson. lettiecarson. lettiecarson1. Gram-Gram.
A few days ago, Candy had been on the local television lifestyle show, where she was a regular for parenting issues. The host asked her how many children she had and she’d said, “Two children and one stepdaughter.” The truth, but still.
I tried Gram-Gram’s birthday, her anniversary to her late husband, the date of his death.
Nothing. “Did you have a pet when you were little?” I asked.
“I did,” she said. “Blacky the cat. Oh, he was wonderful!”
Blacky. BlackytheCat. blackythecat.
“I’m going to throw that thing out the window!” Gram-Gram said. “I hate technology! What happened to the good old days when people could just talk to each other? Here you go!” Gram-Gram said. She handed me a sandwich, which had at least half a pound of ham on it, and beamed.
I typed in SeanKateAinsley.
And I was in.
“Aw, Gram-Gram,” I said. “Your password is us. You’re so sweet! Here, I’ll write it down, okay?”
“What if the terrorists find it and hack me?” she asked.
“That’s a chance I’ll take.”
“Well, you’re a genius. Thank you so much, honey! Now eat your sandwich before it spoils.”
Mmm.
“Do you remember my mother, Gram-Gram?” I asked, taking a bite. Oh. Okay, maybe the ham wasn’t so fresh. I discreetly spit it into a napkin and fake-chewed.
“Candy? Of course, honey! I’m her mother!”
“I meant Michelle.”
Gram-Gram frowned. “The one who died? No, honey, I never met her. I don’t think I did, anyway. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I just wondered. Now, let’s check your dating profile.” I’d finally found SunsetYearsDating.com. I set my sandwich aside and pulled up the site. “Oh, look! You have five men interested, you hussy!”
“I do?” She clapped, delighted.
“Here’s StillGotIt25. I wonder if that’s his birth year.”
“Then he’s only in his nineties! Is he handsome?”
I clicked, then flinched. “Okay, it’s best not to go with a guy whose profile picture is of him in tighty-whities.”
“Not so fast,” she said, putting on one of her many pairs of glasses and peering at the screen. “Oh, dear, no. That’s some serious droopage. Looks like a turkey wattle in there. Next.” She picked up my sandwich and took a bite.
“Oh, Gram-Gram, that’s my sandwich. And you know what? I’m pretty hungry.” I’d also have to figure out how to get the ham out of there so she wouldn’t get food poisoning.
We clicked on the next picture. It showed a collage of pictures—an elderly man, nice-looking, smiling. Another of him holding a toddler. And the most recent one, lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed. Good God. His interests were listed as custard night. Yes. He looked like a soft diet kind of guy. I glanced at my gram.
“Is that Bill Parsons?” she said, blinking at the picture. “I think it is. He died a few weeks ago. Next.”
The next profile had no photos. It just said I’m looking for someone to take care of me. Must not be squeamish about bowel rinses. Also, my daughters do not approve of this, so you would have to leave or hide when they visit.
“Charming,” I murmured.
An announcement came over the intercom, which was in everyone’s apartment. “Good afternoon, residents! A reminder that our salsa dance class starts in ten minutes.”
“Shall we go to that, Gram-Gram?” I said. “A lot of times, meeting someone in person is best.”
“Only women go to salsa dancing.”
“Maybe you should become a lesbian, then. It would solve that pesky life expectancy problem.”
“Oh, you’re such a hoot!” She laughed. “Sure, let’s go. This is getting us nowhere.” She paused. “I’m just lonely, honey. Your grandfather’s been gone so long I can’t even remember what a hug from a man feels like, let alone sex. I hope you don’t mind helping me.”
I wrapped my arms around her little shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. “I love helping you,” I said.
I’d never met my grandfather—well, Candy’s father—who died before I was born. Pictures always showed a smiling, bald man with Malcolm X–style glasses. I remember how jealous I used to feel, seeing the old home movies of him carrying Sean on his shoulders, holding Kate as an infant.
Dad had been raised in an orphanage, back in the days when they had orphanages here in the United States. My mother’s parents had never met me, according to Candy. They’d sent birthday cards until I was about ten. Otherwise, Gram-Gram was it.