Chapter 17
Over the next couple days, Alan begins his work on the house, saying he’ll call me for a walk-through later this week, and I manage to work something close to eight-hour days, between working from my bedroom and Paradise Coffee.
I am not loving being out of my routine.
My body feels discombobulated from eating heavy food for breakfast and then not starting work until noon—not to mention the lack of yoga and the working until eight P.M. But I know I can’t go home until I’ve accomplished certain things—and one of those things is getting Gramps to see Dr. Shauna Mellors.
“I am in full possession of all of my faculties,” Gramps says stubbornly.
We’re sitting at the kitchen table in front of steaming bowls of minestrone soup.
I’d found the recipe on Pinterest—veggies, beans, and pasta all in one pot.
(Unfortunately, in order to have dinner before Gramps’s bedtime, I have my laptop on the chair next to me just in case someone pings me.)
“I know you are.” I try to make my voice soothing. “The doctor would be someone for you to talk to about Lottie.”
“I talk to you about Lottie.”
“About losing Lottie.”
Gramps is silent. His furry white eyebrows come together, like he’s angry about the idea of discussing his grief.
“What is this, something Italian?”
I sprinkle our soup with grated Parmesan cheese.
“Yes, it’s minestrone.”
He blows on a spoonful, gulps it down, and smacks his lips. “Mm.”
“Good?” I ask. The veggies came out a bit, well, mushier than I’d expected, and the pasta looks a tad bloated and overcooked.
“Mm,” he repeats. “Tasty.”
Something in his tone makes me think he’s just being polite. I take a bite. It’s… not the best. Gramps beckons wordlessly for more Parmesan.
“Anyway,” he says, after another brave mouthful. “It’s not necessary.”
“Maybe not.” I sip my iced tea with lemon. “But I think it would help, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Help you.”
“Why?”
I squint at him. “Because you’re my grandpa?”
“Exactly. Children shouldn’t have to care for their parents. Grandchildren especially shouldn’t have to care for their grandparents.”
“Well, sometimes that’s life.” I swallow a bite, and then add, “People care for their elders. It happens.”
A look of incredulity and amusement flashes across his face. “Elders? I’m not blithering and blathering, you know. I can still recite the periodic table and fifty digits of pi.”
“I never said you were blathering.”
“So why? Why are you so insistent on helping me?” He doesn’t use air quotes, but he might as well have.
“Because…” I take a deep breath. I’ll just tell him. No one ever told me it was supposed to be a secret. “Because Lottie wanted me to.”
He stares.
“Lottie? Did she tell you this?”
“Not directly, but it was in her will, I guess. The part where she left Pebble Cottage to me. She also said I should look after you.”
“But why? Why did she think I needed looking after?” Gramps sets down his spoon, his light-blue eyes crinkling with confusion.
“I don’t know exactly,” I say slowly, “but I think she didn’t want you to be alone.”
At this, he sits heavily back in his chair and turns his head to gaze out at the gulf. The sky blazes bright and blue and the sea glimmers, not a wave in sight.
“Of course.” He laughs gently. “Of course she would tell you to look after me. She always took care of me. She was so good at it.”
He looks down at his bowl of half-eaten soup.
I’m trying , I want to say. I know I can’t cook the way she did, but I’m trying to take care of you the way she would have wanted.
“Yeah,” I say instead. “So would you visit this Dr. Mellors just once? For me? And for Lottie?”
He shrugs as though, suddenly, it’s all the same to him. “Fine. Of course, you’ll have to drive me.”
I manage to get him an appointment the very next day. Dr. Mellors had a cancellation, and she said she’d been keeping an eye out for an email from me.
After lunch, I drive Gramps to a quaint, one-story office building halfway to Reina Beach. It’s right off Gulf Boulevard, and it has three round rhododendron bushes in front. I park and unbuckle my seat belt, but Gramps gives me a look.
“I do know how to check myself in for an appointment.”
I pause awkwardly, holding my seat belt with one hand. “So you don’t want me to come in?”
“I don’t think so.” He climbs out of his car, then ducks his head back down to add, “I would, however, like a ride home. Please.”
“Of course I’ll give you a ride home. I’ll find somewhere to work and I’ll be back in an hour.”
“The appointment is only fifty minutes.”
“Fifty minutes, then.” I wave from the driver’s seat, feeling absurdly like a parent dropping her kid off at school. “Good luck!” I call, but he’s already across the parking lot.
I use my maps app to search for a nearby coffee shop.
There’s one two blocks away called Jitters.
Inside, it’s a bit cold and dingy. It’s also severely lacking in attractive Frenchmen.
But it serves as a place for me to bang out some work for forty-five minutes.
I’m supposed to attend a meeting at two o’clock, but fortunately it’s not super important for me, so I send a quick message saying that I can’t join today.
So far this week, I’ve been able to attend almost all my meetings without any hiccups, despite being across the country and three hours off schedule.
I don’t think anyone will notice that I have to miss one.
I’m parked outside the office building when Gramps comes out.
“How did it go?” I ask encouragingly as he drops into the passenger seat. His face looks oddly blank and colorless. But maybe I imagined it, because he turns to me with a big grin.
“Fine. Just fine! The doctor must have received top marks at shrink school.”
“What did you talk about?”
“You know, Mallory, before the appointment they had me sign some forms. One of them mentioned doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Of course, I was just…” My laugh trails off at the barely disguised shell-shocked look on his face. “… curious.”
After a minute, he says, “We didn’t talk about Lottie much at all. Mostly about—well, about me.”
I nod, glancing sideways at him as I drive.
“I wasn’t expecting that. She asked about my mother.”
I can’t help the quick laugh that escapes me. He gives me a sharp look.
“It’s kind of a cliché to talk about your mother at therapy,” I explain.
“I hadn’t given my mother that much thought in—ever. I’ve never done that.”
“Uncomfortable?” I ask.
“Extremely.”
“Did it help?”
He gives a bewildered shake of his head. “I’ve no idea.”
He doesn’t say anything more, so I drop it.
Maybe he’ll tell me more later, but maybe not.
As snippets of beach interspersed with ostentatious mansions flash past us, I try to convince myself to let it go.
Let go of trying to control everything, trying to know everything.
I got Gramps to attend one therapy session—I did my best. I’m not going to be able to transform him into a happy, active version of himself who goes to therapy weekly and plays tennis and attends social hours with his friends.
But I’ve spent enough time with him to see that he’s going to be all right. I’ve done what I came here to do.
In my room, I’m about to close my laptop for the night when I get a new email from Alan. He says that he expects to finish up tomorrow and would I like to come take a look at the house tomorrow evening.
I reply in the affirmative, toss my laptop onto the bed, and stretch my arms overhead. It looks like all my loose ends are tying up neatly. Maybe tomorrow I’ll search for flights back to Seattle.
There’s a knock on my door. Gramps pokes his head in.
“I thought you were asleep,” I say.
“Heading that way. I just wanted to let you know, my next appointment with the good doctor is Tuesday morning. Sweet dreams!”
So Gramps liked his therapy session enough to schedule another one. That’s a good thing. It’s actually beyond my wildest expectations. I never expected him to humor me twice.
Of course, he’ll probably expect me to be his taxi driver again. But maybe I can fix that before I leave. Maybe I can have him do a trial run driving somewhere on his own, to pick up groceries or something.
Then I would need to teach him how to grocery shop. That’s doable, I guess.
I’m at Paradise Coffee, and I should be head-down focused on work right now, but I’m distracted by the new development.
I really thought I’d be booking a ticket home today.
But I don’t want to risk Gramps changing his mind about therapy just because I’m not here.
Maybe I could stay for one more session.
No, no, first I’ll attempt the grocery store trial run.
He does know how to drive, after all. It’s just his pesky panic attacks.
I should make sure he mentions those to Dr. Mellors.
“Your job looks complicated,” a voice says behind me.
I whip my head around to see Leo carrying a bin of dirty dishes, smirking in a way that makes his cheek dimple. I look back at my laptop to see what he sees: a gnarly spreadsheet full of graphs and projections.
“It is kind of awful sometimes,” I agree.
He grabs my empty plate that held a chocolate chip cookie ten minutes ago.
“You should try working at a coffee shop,” he says, putting my plate in his bin.
“Also awful?” I ask.
“No!” He seems momentarily horrified by the misunderstanding. “It’s the best. I get to chat with people, neighbors and regulars—like yourself. I’m on my feet and working with my hands—no time to get bored or gloomy.”
“Ha! It sounds like you know what that’s like.”
He nods. “After college, I worked at a consulting firm for a year. Most boring, gloomy year of my life.”
I look around the cheerful, sun-filled café and back at Leo. He is alarmingly handsome, tanned from the roots of his dark hair all the way to his fingers, and he has veins running down his arms and hands. I bet he works out. A lot.