stay with the kids. This year, Erica’s staying around, so she’s promised to watch out for them.” Mrs. Potter pointed to the left. “Move that one over about three inches before you plant. They need to be spaced evenly so we get the most blooms.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Erica grinned at Angie. “I think I promised too much in plant care over the winter semester. I have a black thumb.”
“Don’t be silly. You just need to learn what they need.” Mrs. Potter smiled softly at her. “You should have seen all the flowers I killed my first year married to your grandfather. He started calling me a plant serial killer.”
Erica barked out a laugh. “I think I heard him say that once.”
“I hadn’t killed a plant in over forty years and he still teased me. That’s what happens when you marry your high school sweetheart.” Mrs. Potter’s eyes sparkled with humor. “I know all about Erica’s love life since the boy has to drive out here to get her just to go to the movies, but what about you, dear? When are you and Ian getting busy?”
Angie choked on the breath she’d just taken. “Excuse me?”
“What do you kids call it?” Mrs. Potter tapped her fingers on her chin. “Shaking up, right? When are you shaking up?”
“You mean shacking up, Grans. Getting busy and shaking up have a whole different meaning.” Erica chuckled as she planted the last mum. “Angie’s about to have a coronary over there.”
“I am not,” Angie said, but if the heat from her face wasn’t from the sun, she had to be beet red right now.
“Are too.” Erica stood and brushed the dirt off her hands. “You might as well tell her, she’s going to keep asking about you and Ian moving in together.”
Nona would have been pushing the same buttons, although, Angie thought, she would have been saying the m word. Or at least an engagement. She put her hands on her cheeks, hoping it would cool her and drop the blush. “Ian and I haven’t talked about taking that kind of step yet. We’ve only been dating a little while.”
“Over a year.” Mrs. Potter patted her leg. “You’re not getting any younger, my dear. You’ll want to have memories to warm your nights when you’re old and widowed like me.”
Angie bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how to respond. How do you talk about your love life with an elderly neighbor? Not thinking of any response, she glanced at the stoop. “Anyway, I brought you over two types of soup—chicken chili and corn chowder—and a few other things.”
“Sounds like lunch is ready, then.” Mrs. Potter stood, using her walker to help pull herself up. “Erica, would you bring those in and get me some food? I’m feeling a little warm out here. I think I’ll take a nap after I eat.”
They watched Mrs. Potter move slowly into the house. Angie stood next to Erica. “She’s so fragile lately.”
“You’re noticing it too? I think I need to call Mom.” Erica picked up the basket and the paper. “You want to wait for the basket?”
“No, I’ll pick it up tomorrow. Let me know how she’s doing, okay?” Angie turned to go back across the street.
“Of course, and thanks for grabbing the paper.” Erica waved as Angie walked across the two-lane blacktop and back over to her own mailbox.
Angie got out the small stack of mail and then turned to watch Erica disappear into the house. A wave of sadness filled her as the door closed. Angie hadn’t been around as Nona had slowly descended into her final illness. She’d been off in California and believing her grandmother’s claims that everything was fine.
When she got back to the house, Dom sat staring at the door. Somehow he knew she’d gone visiting without him. Glancing at the mess she needed to clean up in the kitchen before starting her new sandwich project, she grabbed the leash instead. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Immediately, Dom forgave her the insult of leaving him behind and went crazy. She slipped on walking shoes and grabbed her backpack, adding water bottles. She would work later.