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I peer at the house, knowing Dad will be wanting me to cook something for him.
“You don’t have to.”
“No,” I say right away. “I want to.”
The gate squeaks, metal grating on metal. My grandma peers up at the house then, and shame washes over me as I latch it back up. “I need to fix that.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Charlotte. I know.”
“I like being called Charley now.”
“Charley?”
I nod, and she smiles, her lips small. For an older woman, she walks well enough, easily falling into step beside me.
“I walk with a group of women nearly every morning. Silver Sneakers. I can’t say I like the name, but I like that it keeps me active.”
Great. My grandma has more friends than I do.“That sounds nice.”
“It is. There’s a bit of a talker in the group. More like a nosey neighbor. She gives us all the gossip about her family. She’s far more interesting than anything I have going on.”
“She sounds fun.”
“She’s something. I don’t know if I would call it fun, but the kind of person that keeps things interesting. It’s like a morning soap opera, and all I have to do is show up.”
“How long do you walk?”
“Several miles. They’re putting a lot of distance on these old legs. Some days I have to stay home and soak them, but I’m not nearly as whiny as Peg. Every day we have to hear about her ailments.”
I chuckle. “Yeah? What do you talk about?”
“Nothing. Gerald sometimes. They’re all widows, too, except for Beverly. She’s the talker. Her and her husband and all her kids and grandkids could have a reality show. I swear.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know about, um…” I waver. With all the years of not seeing them, I don’t know what to call them.
“Why don’t you call him Gerald for now? And me Molly? And then we can move on if that sounds like something you’d like to do. No pressure. I have no expectations. I just want you to know…I’ve missed you.”
I stop, and my grandmother walks a few paces ahead of me before doing the same.
“You have?”
She frowns. “Every day. Every day for the last fifteen years.”
I nod slowly, taking her in again. She’s shorter than me, and the last time I remember seeing her, everyone was taller than me—except maybe the cat. “What happened to Happy?”
“Passed over the rainbow bridge a beautiful, smart, spoiled cat.” She smiles. “You still call her Happy.”
“Wasn’t that her name?”
“Her name was Hattie, but you could never say it.” She breaks out into a laugh. “You would get so frustrated when we would correct you, but you’d just hide your face in her fur and whisperHappy.”
“No…” I chuckle. “I don’t remember that.”
“You were so young, my dear. So, so young.” She waves her hand and starts walking again. “Tell me about your boyfriend.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks, and she smiles at me knowingly, her blue eyes sparking with age and wisdom. “That kind of guy, huh?”
“Thatkind,” I confirm, even if I can only guess to what she alludes to.