A cool front had come through early this morning, pushing the stifling July heat on toward Memphis. At least for now. According to the weather service, the respite from the heat wouldn’t last long, but he’d learned to enjoy good weather while they had it.
He mulled over the problem of the garage door all the way to his mother’s in Langhorne, but he forgot all about it when he saw Bree’s Taurus in CeeCee’s driveway. That sweet girl. He knew Bree felt bad for being so late to CeeCee’s last night, but to give up her lunch hour to check on her . . .
He parked beside the Taurus and, out of habit, walked all around the car, inspecting the tires. He always wanted his girls to be safe, and he still considered Bree one of his girls. He sometimes felt frustrated when Bree’s own father didn’t worry about her the way Grant thought he should. Thankfully, Kevin Cordell had stepped up to the plate and helped his daughter get the Taurus. Grant had breathed easier once she’d gotten rid of that old Buick Tim had been so attached to. He would never have forgiven himself if something happened to Bree in the old beater.
Coming full circle around the car, he gave a sigh of relief. Bree’s tires looked fine. Almost new, in fact.
He climbed the three steps to his mother’s house and knocked on the door, not waiting for an answer before letting himself in. No one in Langhorne ever locked their doors, but maybe he should suggest that his mother start doing so. At least when she was in the house alone.
His mother and Bree sat on opposite ends of the ancient rose-colored sofa in the living room just off the entryway. “Anybody home?”
“Hey, Grant!” Bree’s face lit up when she saw him.
“Hey yourself. Do you have the day off?” He knew better.
“No. I’m just on my lunch hour.”
“How are you, Mother?”
She made a little whinnying sound. “I thought I was fine. But now that the two of you have sneaked over to check on me, I wonder if I must be dying.”
Grant and Bree exchanged looks, then burst out laughing.
“I’m just stopping by on my way to Cape to get a part for the garage door.” Best not tell his independent mother that Audrey had sent him to check on her.
“And I’m just here because I didn’t get to visit with you last night,” Bree said. “And I feel bad about being so late to pick you up. It’s my fault you didn’t go.”
“Well, you’re both off the hook. And apparently I’m not dying.” She heaved a sigh, then gave them a look that said they should both know better. “And since when is attendance mandatory at your little family nights, Grant?”
“It’s not, Mother. But we like having you there.”
“Well, I’ll try not to disappoint my loyal subjects again.” She started to rise from the sofa, but fell back halfway to standing. She scooted forward on the seat and tried again, this time successfully. “Have you both eaten?”
“Audrey will have lunch waiting.”
“And I ate a sandwich on my way out here. Sit down, CeeCee. I really need to get going anyway.” Bree leaned in and pressed her cheek to CeeCee’s, then straightened and hiked her purse up on her shoulder.
“I won’t stay either, Mother. Just wanted to drop in and say hi. Audrey sends her love.”
“Send mine back to her. And tell her thanks for having you check up on me.”
How did she do that?
CeeCee walked them to the door and stepped out onto the porch. He thought she seemed herself, but he wanted to get Bree’s take on it. “It’s supposed to get warm again tomorrow. You weren’t planning to garden or anything were you, Mother?”
“I’ll stay inside like a good girl,” she said.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
He held the door open, hinting for her to go in. She rolled her eyes at him—much the way he suspected he’d done at her when he was a boy. But she went inside.
Out in the driveway, he rested an arm on the hood of his pickup and met Bree’s eyes. “Do you think she’s doing okay?”
“She seems good to me. Maybe a little crabby.” She grinned. “But not confused. She’s still sharper than I am on a good day. Is that what you meant?”
He heard the uncertainty in Bree’s voice. He and Audrey had spoken at length about their fears that CeeCee was declining—mentally as well as physically, but they hadn’t talked to the family about it. And it was probably time they did. “She does seem fine today. But have you noticed her . . . failing? Audrey and I have noticed she’s more forgetful, repeats herself. I don’t know . . .”
“Isn’t that to be expected at her age?”
“Probably. She’s just not quite . . . herself. It’s not always easy to know when to intervene. You’ve been part of this family long enough to know that Cecelia Whitman will not take kindly to any effort to meddle in her private affairs.”
Bree laughed. “I guess I’ve always kind of admired her for that.”
“Me too. Until it’s time to make some changes. That will be hard.”
Bree tilted her head and gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret.
She and CeeCee had always been close, even before, when Bree and Tim first started dating. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She blinked, as if she was coming out of a trance. Or, if he didn’t know better, as if she found it hard to meet his gaze.
“Bree? You okay, honey?”
“Oh. Yes, I’m . . . I’m fine.” She glanced at her phone. “Oh, wow. It’s late. I’d better get back to work.”
“Me too.” He was tempted to press, to make sure she was all right. But something stopped him. “Well, you drive safe, kiddo. Have a good weekend. You have any big plans?”
“Plans? No. Just hanging out.” She climbed in the car, seeming eager to get away. “Tell Audrey hi. And you guys have a good weekend too.”
Bree cranked the engine and waved as she pulled away.
Grant watched her car until she turned at the corner. Then he opened his truck door and climbed inside. What was going on with that girl? Something was up, he felt certain. He’d felt it. Even in the few seconds they’d been out here talking.
He wasn’t sure why, but a pall of melancholy came over him. There was always a quiet chord of sadness where Bree was concerned. She was their reminder of Tim. She was a balm, and at the same time she was a reminder. Not as if they wouldn’t have remembered without Bree to nudge their memories.
How often he relived that awful day the black car had pulled into the driveway on Chicory Lane. He’d seen it roll slowly up the lane from his workshop, and though it had taken every bit of strength he could muster, he’d hurried to get to the door before they knocked, his world spiraling. Bree had been living with them while Tim was deployed, but she was out with friends that day—a blessing. But he had to get to the house before Audrey could answer the door. To protect her from the initial blow—even if he couldn’t shield her from the one coming.
But apparently Audrey had seen them drive in too. For when he came in the back way, she was already standing like a statue inside the front door. Her hand outstretched, trembling. They’d answered the door together. And she’d been so strong.
But he’d suspected that day was one of the reasons Audrey had been so desperate—even if it was only subconscious—to remodel the inn. To demolish the memories, get rid of the