Chapter One #2
Rosie jumped up and rushed to Sylvia. “Mom! What are you doing here? I can’t believe you made your way all the way up here on your own. Why didn’t you call me?”
Her mother was on crutches and she wore sleep pants that had monkey face emojis on them. Her dyed magenta hair was crumpled on one side, as if she had forgotten to comb it out after she awoke.
“I’m hungry, if you want the truth. I was out refilling my bird feeders and thought I smelled pancakes coming from this direction.”
“I wish you would let me refill your bird feeders. The doctor says no weight bearing. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“The doctor doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” her mother grumbled. “I’m fine.”
Sylvia was not fine. She had a compound ankle fracture that had already required one surgery and might possibly need another.
“I planned to drop some pancakes off before we head to the bookstore.”
“Now you don’t have to, since I’m here.” She moved into the room, maneuvering carefully on her crutches.
“Hi, Granny Sylvie!” Olive beamed at her great-grandmother, her face sticky with syrup.
Sylvia grinned back at her. “Olive, darling. How wonderful to see you this beautiful morning. How did I get so lucky to see you two days in a row?”
“Guess what? You can see me every day.”
“Aren’t I truly a lucky duck, then?”
“You’re not a duck.” Olive chortled. “You’re a grandma.”
“A grandma who needs to sit down,” Emma said. Rosie’s daughter pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for her grandmother. “Here you go.”
The older woman settled heavily into the chair, her leg outstretched on front of her.
“That’s better. Who would have guessed one silly moment out of your life could have such lasting consequences?”
Anyone with a shred of common sense could have guessed. A seventy-two-year-old woman with mild osteoporosis had no business even being near Rollerblades, forget about putting them on.
But Sylvia didn’t ask her. Her mother never asked advice before embarking on her escapades; she simply plowed forward. Or skated forward, in this case.
“Here you are, Mom,” she said, putting a plate stacked with three fluffy blueberry pancakes in front of her. “And here’s the syrup. What can I get you to drink?”
“Water is fine,” Sylvia said, then sent her a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you have any bacon to go with this, do you?”
“I do, but I would rather not cook it right now.”
“Why not? Bacon goes perfectly with pancakes on a beautiful Sunday morning.”
Rosie sighed. “Emma and Olive are vegetarians, remember?”
Emma rolled her eyes, almost as if she were fifteen years old again. “You can eat meat in front of me, Mom.”
“I don’t need bacon.” Sylvia looked contrite. “I’ll be fine. If I need more protein, I’ll have a yogurt or something.”
All of them were dancing around each other like boats navigating through a foggy harbor.
“What about eggs?”
“Eggs are fine,” Emma assured them. “I eat eggs. So does Olive. But bacon is fine for you, too. I’m not offended by other people eating meat just because I’ve chosen a mostly plant-based diet.”
Rosie would figure out this new reality of having them live with her. She needed to sit down with Emma and have a good talk about her and Olive’s dietary preferences—and anything else they needed to figure out so they could make this arrangement as comfortable as possible.
She had so much to learn about her daughter and her granddaughter. She and Emma hadn’t lived together in eight years. Hadn’t spoken for five of those.
Those years had been a terrifying time for Rosie, as she had no idea even where her daughter was or what she might be going through.
Her only comfort had come from knowing Emma had stayed in touch with her grandmother and always assured Sylvia she was fine.
Sylvia, in turn, had passed that information to Rosie.
How fine was up for debate. Rosie suspected the full truth would devastate her if she ever learned all the details. Emma had been a seventeen-year-old girl, living with a man nearly a decade older who had dragged her into a life of drug and alcohol abuse.
She was here now. And doing incredibly well, all things considered. Clean and sober since before Olive was born, Emma had a college degree she had worked hard to earn on her own and she had left a decent job to come back to Wood Briar and help out at the bookshop.
The two of them were working to repair their fractured relationship, but the occasional phone call, text messages and rare short visits could only go so far.
Having both her daughter and her granddaughter in her home at last—the two people she loved most in the world—felt like a priceless gift and she was terrified she would screw it up.
“We always have eggs, thanks to our girls,” she said, grateful for the five little Rhode Island Reds who provided a steady supply.
When Sylvia first came to her during the Covid pandemic and said she wanted to pick up some chicks, Rosie had been reluctant.
She adored them now. Together with her two cats, one adorable little dog, a giant tortoise and the opinionated parrot she considered Sylvia’s spirit animal, her house didn’t lack for creatures for Olive to love.
As she cracked several eggs and scrambled them together, she listened to the hum of conversation between the three women of multiple generations.
Emma and Sylvia chattered away with a familiarity that sent a little twinge of jealousy through Rosie, though she knew she had no right to it.
She was happy her mother and her daughter got along so well. It had been a deep comfort during their years of separation to know Emma had someone reliable in her life to count on.
She couldn’t help it that she wanted Emma to confide in her instead of Sylvia.
After she finished the eggs, she plated them and took a seat at the table across from her mother.
“So what’s on the docket for you ladies today?” Sylvia asked.
“We’re going to the book place,” Olive announced happily. “Grandma says I can have a new book.”
“Are you?”
Emma nodded. “I want to take a look at things and start figuring out your system.”
“What time are you leaving? I only need a few minutes to get dressed and do something with this hair.”
“Are you sure, Mom?” Rosie said. “We might be there for a few hours.”
“I won’t do a single thing that takes more effort than lifting a pencil. We can’t just toss the girl into the deep end.”
“You don’t have to come with us if you’re not up to it,” Emma assured her. “We can always FaceTime you if we have questions.”
Annoyance creased Sylvia’s forehead. “I have a broken ankle. I’m not dying. I can handle a little trip to the bookstore.”
“Are you sure?” Rosie asked.
“Positive. I don’t know why your mother felt the need to drag you down here. I’m still perfectly capable of running the bookstore. I don’t mean to imply I’m not happy you’re here. I’m over the moon about that part. But it all feels like a lot of fuss for nothing.”
Rosie squelched her guilt. This was the right decision for her mother, even if Sylvia didn’t want to admit it.
“Dr. Peterson is the one who said you should take several weeks off. You have to stay off your ankle as much as possible. How can you do that when you’re trying to take inventory or wait on customers?”
“I can sit on a rolling chair or something. And why are you paying our people so much, if not to wait on customers and handle inventory?”
“We’ve talked about this, Mom.” Rosie fought down her frustration. “Listen to the doctor. Take a vacation for a month. Let your ankle heal as long as possible, and then we’ll see how you are after the doctor says you can put weight on it again.”
She sincerely hoped her mother would decide that with the bookstore in the very capable hands of Emma, she could relax a little and enjoy her retirement.
She could sleep in all morning, go thrift shopping with her girlfriends in the afternoon—once her ankle healed, anyway—and even catch the party bus to the nearest casino to play the slots.
Sylvia made a face. “It sucks getting old, little girl,” she said to Olive, who giggled as she continued eating her scrambled eggs.
To Rosie’s relief, her mother let the matter slide.
They could do this, Rosie thought as she finished her eggs.
Juggling four generations in one house—okay, one house and a mother-in-law cottage in the backyard—would be a challenge but Rosie would make any sacrifice necessary to protect her mother’s health, heal the rift with her daughter and have an active role in her granddaughter’s life.
It wouldn’t be easy, but Rosie had been dealing with hard things for a decade. Compared to everything else they had endured as a family, this should be a piece of cake.