“Well, you can get this durned walkamajig outa my way. I don’t really need it. Handy on the plane, though. One look at this puppy and I was the first to board.”
Mom moves the walker against the wall, not too far from where I’m standing. “Mom,” I whisper, trying to keep from being noticed, “who is that?”
Either I’m terrible at whispering or the old lady has really good hearing aids. Stepping through the door in my direction, she cackles softly and peels off her shades, revealing two bright blue eyes and more wrinkly skin. “Who else? It’s me! Aunt Bev!”
Great-aunt Bev, to be exact—my great-grandmother’s sister. That’s about all I know about her, other than that she lives year-round in Florida. I don’t remember where, exactly, but I know it’s within an hour’s drive of Disney World, because my parents took us there like three years ago, and we stayed with Aunt Bev and all the other old people in her retirement village rather than getting a hotel for the week. That was back in the good old days before anyone knew Ann had a heart condition.
“Wow,” I tell her. “You look really different.”
Aunt Bev tussles the back of her hair playfully. “Yes, well, I got a little bored in Cannon Beach, and a beautician there said dusty red is the new gray for old women. It may grow on me yet. If not, I can correct it in Florida.”
A lightbulb finally turns on in my head: Aunt Bev flew out to Oregon to visit her big sister—my great-grandma—in Cannon Beach. She’s been there for like six weeks, mostly just taking care of the house and spending time at the nursing facility looking after her big sister. Now that we’re heading to the beach and can help with Great-grandma, she’s on her return trip to the palm trees of Florida.
“Out of the way, coming through,” says Dad as he steps through the doorway. Each of his arms is weighed down with one of the woman’s two large suitcases. He sets them down to close the door, then lifts them again and steps around Bev. “We’ve got a room all made up for you upstairs. I’ll leave these there.”
“Bless your heart. Drive all the way out to the beach to pick me up, and then carry my luggage to boot.” Turning to my mom she says, “I always said you married well. You love that Delly boy, Em, and don’t let him go.”
Mom and Dad look at each other awkwardly, then he disappears up the stairs. “I’m trying,” Mom says, mostly to herself.
Turning toward me, Bev pinches my arm. “You’ve grown a bushel and a peck since I last saw you, haven’t you, Cade?” Her pinch on my bare skin reminds me that I am still standing there shirtless, holding the towel at my waist.
I glance down at my chest to examine my “pecks.” “I guess so,” I tell her, feeling more than a little embarrassed. Whatever a bushel is, I’m pretty sure I haven’t grown one since my trip to Disney World.
Bev and Mom both burst into laughter. Ann and Bree snicker too. “That’s just old farmer-speak,” cackles Aunt Bev. “Nowadays, a bushel and a peck just means ‘a lot.’”
“It’s time for you to get some clothes on, Cade, and cover up those ‘pecks,’” Mom says. “Hurry up. Aunt Bev will still be here when you’re decent.”
Chapter 6
Emily
WOULD YOU LIKE to go upstairs too, to settle in?” I ask Bev as Cade bounds up the stairs.
“Heavens no. We’ve got some catching up to do first.”
I motion to Ann and Bree. “Girls, why don’t you take Aunt Bev in the other room. I’ll fix up something to drink. Are you thirsty, Bev?”
“Yes, but no ice. I can’t seem to keep warm these days. Here it’s already June, and I’m still wearing a sweater.”
On my way into the kitchen, a framed picture on the hutch catches my attention. Though I see that frame every day, it’s been a while since I’ve really paid it much attention. The picture itself is a handmade postcard, a snapshot of a man and a woman holding hands in front of the Eiffel Tower. It has been sitting on the hutch collecting dust for years. I hold it up, smiling, remembering the day the postcard arrived in the mail.
Those were better times…
For fun, I pull off the frame’s velvet backing to expose the other side of the card, which is addressed to me. The French postmark is dated more than nineteen years ago, right before I married Dell. Though I have the words committed to memory, I take a moment to reread the beautifully penned text.
My Dearest Emily,
Greetings from the City of Love and Lights! Your grandfather and I are enjoying our fortieth anniversary even more than we did our twentieth. Life together just keeps getting better and better! Looking forward to being back in time for your special day with Dell. You found a real keeper; hold on to him tight. Twenty years from now, once your marriage has a couple of decades under its belt, I picture you both standing right here in Paris celebrating your life together, while looking ahead to many more years of love. See you soon!