Play It Safe(21)

I nabbed a cup, turned it on its bottom on the butcher block counter and grabbed the pot. Then it hit me and I turned to the table.

“Does anyone need a warm up?” I asked, lifting the pot.

Gray looked at me and answered, “Thanks, I’m good, Ivey.”

“I could use a warm up,” Grandma Miriam said.

I nodded, moved to her, warmed up her cup then moved back and got my own.

I barely had my bottom planted in the seat by Grandma Miriam before Gray offered, “Least have some toast. You gotta try Gran’s preserves.”

I looked to the pot of jam.

She cooked eggs.

She made jam.

In a wheelchair.

I thought this was very interesting.

“That sounds great,” I murmured and before I could protest, Gray was out of his seat, in a cupboard and he came back with a small plate that had frilly edges and flowers printed on it, leaning across the table to put it in front of me.

The toast was already buttered, perfectly toasted, light and golden. I grabbed a slice, tagged the jam and prepared it. Then I splashed milk in my coffee, spooned in a sugar. Silently I went about eating and sipping.

Great coffee. I was right about the toast, perfect. And the jam was amazing. Jam, I thought, was jam. But I was wrong.

Granny nightgown. Homemade preserves. Strawberry wallpaper. Wilted flowers here and there.

I loved Grandma Miriam and it was just my life that she would never love me.

“So, how old are you, Ivey?” Grandma Miriam asked and my eyes slid to her.

This was not good. If she wanted to affect a third degree, I was sitting at her table. I was drinking her coffee. I’d slept in one of her beds. I was eating her preserves. And her grandson had bled for me.

I couldn’t avoid it.

Darn.

“Twenty-two,” I answered.

Her eyes moved over my face before coming back to mine to compliment, “You have very pretty hair.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“And unusual eyes,” she went on. “Lovely.”

“Thanks,” I repeated on a whisper.

“Did you get those from your mother or your father?”

Steel slid down my spine and I had to do the impossible, give in at the same time fight it.

“My mother with the eyes. I don’t know where I got my hair.”

She held my gaze, unwavering.

I pulled mine away and ate my toast.

I didn’t look back at her when she asked, “Where do you hail from?”

“We moved around a lot,” I evaded.

Silence then, “I see.”

Yep. I was sure she did.

I finished the toast, sat back, eyes to the table and sipped coffee.

Moments slid by then again from Grandma but not to me, “Best get Ivey into town, sweetheart. I’ll do the dishes.”

I didn’t eat breakfast but I figured I should at least offer so I chanced looking at her again. “Why don’t you let me do that? My way to say thanks for toast and preserves, coffee,” my eyes slid through Gray to the window as I finished, “and everything.”

“That isn’t necessary, Ivey,” Grandma Miriam said and I looked at her.

She wanted me in town, out of her house and hopefully, as soon as I could manage it, out of her grandson’s life.

“It isn’t any trouble. I’m sure I could have it done in a few minutes and be out of your hair.”

“Got nothing else to do, child,” she replied quietly. “Now, you get on into town with Gray.”

In other words, get on wherever just get on.

I nodded and stood.

In short order I had my jacket on, my scarf on, my purse strapped on, Gray had my bag in the back of his truck and we were on our way to town.

It was very early morning and still dark so I still couldn’t figure out what it was, where he lived. Ranch or orchard. But it didn’t smell like ranch though I couldn’t say I knew what that smelled like. Still, if there was livestock close, it had to smell like something.

What I did see was that his truck was not only beat up it seriously needed a cleanup. Someone had a sweet tooth if the plethora of candy bar wrappers were anything to go by. They also had a taste for salty if the big, empty chip bags were any indication. There were also crunched pop cans, wadded what looked like receipts and gum wrappers, the car mats were caked with mud and there was a thin layer of dust everywhere.

I took my mind off what I was certain in a weird but fascinating way would be cleaning up his truck and the fact that I really, really wanted to do it and I pulled myself together.

“How’s the cut?” I asked.

“Not the first. In this town, probably not the last. I’ll survive,” Gray replied again intriguingly and again I wanted to ask and again I wouldn’t.

“You stick around, she’ll come around,” he said quietly and I looked from the road to him.