Chapter 3
Sarah Garrison, known to most of the world as Grandma Sarah and to herself as the most interesting person in any room, stood in the kitchen of her condo at Marina Bluff and stared at her refrigerator like it had personally offended her.
The refrigerator, for its part, simply hummed.
“Walter,” she called out. “Did you eat the last of the key lime pie?”
A pause. Then, from somewhere in the living room, “I thought it was for sharing.”
“Sharing implies asking. Did you ask?”
Another pause. “I'm going to say yes and hope you believe me.”
Grandma Sarah shook her head and closed the refrigerator door.
Seventy-nine years she had spent on this earth, and men still thought they could eat the last piece of pie without consequences.
Walter was a good man, steady and patient and perfectly capable of backing up the RV without crying, but he had a blind spot when it came to desserts.
She shuffled into the living room, where Walter sat in his recliner with a crossword puzzle balanced on his knee.
He was a tall man, thin in the way that older men sometimes got, with a shock of white hair that refused to lie flat no matter how much he combed it.
He looked up when she entered, his expression the careful neutrality of a man who knew he was in trouble but wasn't sure how much.
“The pie,” Sarah said, “was not for sharing.”
“I see that now.”
“I was saving it.”
“For what?”
“For me, Walter. For me.”
He had the good sense to look apologetic. “I'll buy you another one.”
“You certainly will.” She lowered herself onto the sofa, her knees protesting the journey.
The sofa was too soft, too deep, and getting out of it would require a strategy, but she needed to sit down.
Her mind worked on something, turning over an idea that had been growing since her conversation with Maggie the day before.
Beth was due any day now. Maggie, Paolo, and Chelsea were flying up to Massachusetts. The whole family would be gathering at the farm, and then later at the Andover house, for what was shaping up to be one of the most significant Wheeler family events in years.
And Grandma Sarah was supposed to just sit here in Florida, eating key lime pie that Walter had already eaten, waiting for phone calls and photos like some kind of elderly bystander.
Absolutely not.
She picked up her phone from the side table and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she wanted. Lauren answered on the fourth ring, sounding distracted.
“Grandma? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” Grandma Sarah said. “Why does everyone assume something is wrong when I call?”
“Because you usually text. You said phone calls are for emergencies and guilt trips.”
“Well, this is neither. This is an opportunity.”
Lauren's voice shifted, taking on the wary tone of someone who had known her grandmother long enough to recognize when she was scheming. “What kind of opportunity?”
Grandma Sarah leaned back into the sofa cushions, which swallowed her slightly. She would need Walter's help getting out of here later, but that was a problem for the future. Right now, she had a pitch to make.
“Your sister is about to have twins,” she said.
“I'm aware. I've been getting belly updates for months.”
“And your mother is flying up with Paolo and Chelsea to be there for the birth.”
“Also aware.”
“And after the birth, the whole family is going to gather at the Andover house to sort through everything before it sells. A farewell to the old homestead. Memories, tears, the whole production.”
Lauren was quiet for a moment. “Grandma, what are you getting at?”
Sarah smiled. She had her granddaughter's attention now. “I'm getting at the fact that this is a major family event, possibly the last time any of us will set foot in that house, and I am not going to experience it through a video call like some kind of shut-in.”
“You’re hardly a shut-in.”
“I have an RV, Lauren. A perfectly good RV that is sitting in my driveway, gathering dust and feeling neglected.”
“RVs don't have feelings.”
“Mine does. I named her Sheila.”
Lauren laughed, a sound that made Sarah's heart lift. She had always loved Lauren's laugh, the way it burst out of her unexpectedly, like she was surprising herself with her own joy.
“You want to drive to Massachusetts,” Lauren said. “In your RV. In March.”
“Sheila has heating. Very good heating. Walter made sure of it when we had her serviced last month.”
“That's a two-day drive. Maybe three, depending on stops.”
“I'm aware of geography, dear. I taught it for thirty years.”
“You taught history.”
“Same maps.”
Lauren sighed, and Sarah could picture her exactly: standing in her kitchen in Sarasota, one hand pressed to her forehead, trying to figure out how to say no to a woman who had never accepted no as an answer.
“Grandma, I have three kids. Jeff has work. Olivia has tennis practice, and Lily has her piano recital next week. I can't just pack up and drive to Massachusetts.”
“The recital is on Saturday. I checked. We wouldn't leave until Sunday.”
“You checked?”
“I keep a calendar. Don't sound so surprised.”
“A calendar of my children's activities?”
“A calendar of everything. How do you think I remember all your birthdays? There are a lot of you. It requires organization.”
Lauren went quiet again. Sarah waited. She had learned over the years that silence was often more persuasive than words. Let people sit with an idea, and they usually talked themselves into it without any help.
“Even if I wanted to,” Lauren finally said, “three days in an RV with you sounds...intense.”
“I prefer the word 'memorable.'”
“That's what I'm afraid of.”
Sarah shifted tactics. She hadn't survived eight decades by using only one approach. “What if it wasn't just the two of us? What if we invited your sister?”
“Which one? Beth is about to give birth, and I don't think she's in driving condition.”
“Not Beth. Sarah.”
Another pause. “My sister Sarah?”
“Do you have another one I don't know about?”
“I'm just surprised. Sarah has the kids, and Trevor, and her work at the Outreach Center. She's even busier than I am.”
“Which is exactly why she needs a break.” Sarah leaned forward, warming to her argument. “Think about it. Three strong women, on the open road, heading north to welcome the newest members of our family. It's poetic.”
“It's a logistical nightmare.”
“Some of the best adventures are.” Sarah paused, letting that sink in. “Lauren, when was the last time you did something spontaneous? Something that wasn't on a schedule or a calendar or a list?”
The silence stretched longer this time. Grandma Sarah could almost hear Lauren thinking, weighing responsibilities against desire, practicality against the pull of something unexpected.
“I would have to talk to Jeff,” Lauren said slowly.
“Of course.”
“And your namesake would have to agree. Sarah would definitely have to figure out childcare for Noah and Sophia and Little Maggie. Trevor isn’t always available.”
“Trevor is perfectly capable. And his father Devon has been looking for more time with the grandchildren. I happen to know this because Sarah told me at the Christmas boat parade that he wished he saw them more often.”
“You've really thought this through.”
“I've had nothing but time to think, dear. That's what happens when you reach my age and your boyfriend eats your pie.”
Lauren laughed again. “He ate your pie?”
“The whole thing. He didn't even save me a slice.”
“That's grounds for eviction.”
“I'm considering it.” Grandma Sarah smiled, feeling the conversation shift in her favor. “So? Will you at least think about it? Talk to Jeff, see if he can manage the children for a few days. I'll call Sarah and make my case to her as well. And if it doesn't work out, I'll drive up myself.”
“You are not driving to Massachusetts alone.”
“Then help me not be alone.”
Lauren exhaled, a long breath that carried the weight of surrender. “I'll talk to Jeff tonight. No promises.”
“That's all I ask.”
“That is absolutely not all you ask. You ask for everything, always.”
“And yet you keep answering the phone.”
“Goodbye, Grandma.”
“Goodbye, dear. Call me tomorrow with good news.”
She ended the call and set the phone on her lap, satisfaction spreading through her chest. One down, one to go. Lauren was the harder sell because she had the most complicated schedule, the most moving pieces to arrange. Sarah, her namesake and her middle granddaughter, would be easier to convince.
At least, that was what she told herself.
She looked over at Walter, who had abandoned all pretense of doing his crossword and was watching her with open amusement.
“You're going to drive to Massachusetts,” he said.
“I am.”
“In the RV.”
“That's generally how one uses an RV, yes.”
“And you're dragging your granddaughters along.”
“I prefer to think of it as inviting them on a journey of family connection and personal growth.”
Walter shook his head, but he was smiling. He had been with her long enough to know when she had made up her mind, and he had learned early on that arguing was pointless. Sarah Garrison did not change course once she had set one.
“What about me?” he asked. “Am I invited on this journey?”
Sarah considered this. She loved Walter, she truly did.
He was kind and patient and he made her laugh, which was no small thing at her age.
But the RV trip she was envisioning was not about romantic companionship.
It was about the women of her family, traveling in a small space, sharing stories and memories and the kind of conversations that only happened when you were trapped together on a highway with nothing to do but talk.
“You,” she said gently, “are going to stay here and buy me a new key lime pie. Several, actually. And when I come back, you're going to tell me how much you missed me.”
“I already know how much I'll miss you.”
“Good. Then you can practice saying it.”