life leaves no time for activities I was once so passionate about, like riding.
Right now, my mind is already several miles down the road, entering May Crandall’s room at the nursing home. I’ve had Ian, the friendly intern, make a few low-key calls to determine her current location and condition. She’s back at the care facility and feeling well enough to give the attendants trouble again.
Behind me, Trent taps his horn and lifts a hand in the air, as if to say, Pay attention up there, but he’s smiling beneath his sunglasses.
If he weren’t in a separate car, I’d say, You insisted on coming along. I warned you that things could be unpredictable.
He’d probably laugh and tell me there’s no way he’s missing this.
We’re like a couple of sixth graders playing hooky from school for the first time. Neither of us is where we’re supposed to be this morning, but after discovering that photo last night in his grandfather’s workshop, neither of us can say no to this journey. Even an early-morning missed call from Leslie and a half-dozen new customer inquiries at Trent’s real estate office couldn’t change the plan we impulsively formed last night. One way or another, we’re going to find out what our grandparents were hiding and how my history and his are tied together…and what May Crandall has to do with it.
I’ve intentionally failed to answer Leslie’s summons, and Trent has slapped a note on the door of the real estate office, and we’re on the lam, after having taken off at first light.
A little over two hours later, we’re in Aiken. We plan to see May Crandall after her breakfast. Depending on what we find out from May, we may go to my grandmother’s house on Lagniappe next.
I try to focus on the driving as we wind through graceful, tree-lined streets, the sleepy magnolias and towering pines slipping their calming shade over the SUV, seeming to say, Why the rush? Slow down. Enjoy the day.
For a moment, I relax into it, persuade myself that this is just any other late-summer morning. But the instant the nursing home appears around the corner, the illusion vanishes. As if to punctuate this, my cellphone rings again, and Leslie’s name is on the screen for the fourth time. I’m inconveniently reminded that, as soon as this visit with May Crandall is over—whatever it yields—I’ll have to check in. The world of present-day issues has come calling. Literally.
At least I know that, if the summons had anything to do with my father’s health, one of my sisters would be phoning me, not Leslie. So it’s definitely business related. Something that has cropped up since I talked to Ian yesterday evening, or else he would have mentioned it then. Leslie probably has a can’t-miss press op lined up, and she wants me to come home early from my minivacation on Edisto. Little does she know, I’m already here.
The idea of diving back into the political stewpot pinches a little. I really don’t want to think about it. Putting my phone on vibrate, I tuck it into my purse without checking the stack-up of texts. There are probably emails too. Leslie does not like to be ignored.
All thoughts of Leslie vanish as I park, grab the folder that holds the antique photos from the bulletin board and the papers from Grandma Judy’s envelope, and get out of the car.
Trent meets me on the curb. “If we’re ever traveling cross-country, I’ll drive.”
“What, you don’t trust me?” A strange little tingle slides down my back, and just as quickly, I shrug it away. Being in Aiken again is a stark reminder that, as much as I find Trent likeable, this will never be anything more than a friendship.
I made sure to slip a mention of my fiancé into the conversation before we left Edisto, just to be fair to all concerned.
“You I trust. Your driving…maybe not.”
“It wasn’t even a near miss.” We banter back and forth on the way up the sidewalk, and by the time we reach the door, I’m laughing without meaning to. The scent of air freshener and the oppressive quiet sobers things up.
Trent’s expression morphs almost instantly. His smile vanishes. “This brings back memories.”
“You’ve been here?”
“No, but it looks a lot like the place we moved my gran into after her stroke. There wasn’t any choice, but it was tough on Granddad. They’d never been separated more than a night or two in over sixty years.”