Page 40 of Anchored

Maple giggles, sitting at the bar with my dog. “Definitely not taking the canoe this time. But don’t forget finding Grandma’s old flame.”

“Definitely. Ol’ Hank has to be around here somewhere.” I turn back to the stove and slide some eggs on a plate. “Oh! And there’s the annual scavenger hunt. We have to do that! I’ve always wanted to win.”

I hand the plate of eggs to Maple and cut up some fruit for the yogurt. By the time we’ve eaten everything, Mookie has wandered off and we’ve put pen to paper to come up with a detailed list of all the things we want to do together this summer.

“Can’t say I’ve ever looked forward to a summer more,” I admit, my hand coming to rest on hers.

Maple leans her head on my shoulder. “Me too,” she says softly. A long moment later, she adds, “And what about our breakup?”

Just the idea of it takes all the fun I felt a moment ago and deflates it like a balloon landing on a bed of nails. “You’ll go back to Charlotte and I’ll stay here in Anchor Lake. We can claim irreconcilable differences.”

She doesn’t answer.

And I try not to think about summer ending.

ChapterFifteen

Maple

“She’s fully healed from the concussion. No visual changes or effects from bright light.” Doctor Ahmed swung by early this morning to perform another exam on Grandma Gracie. He was finishing up as I arrived at Sunny Shores Tuesday morning.

“Fit as a fiddle, I say!” Grandma crows, wildly waving her cane in the air. “Nancy better watch it. I’ll kick her ass at pickleball this afternoon.”

“Grandma!” I spin around, hands going to my hips. “You’re not cleared for pickleball yet.” I turn right back around to the doctor. “Right?”

I catch him checking his watch, but he smiles. “Not yet, Gracie. Cleared for everything but vigorous exercise.”

I don’t even have a chance to sigh with relief before Grandma is blurting out, “Is sex considered vigorous exercise?”

My gasp is covered by Doctor Ahmed’s chuckle. “Depends how you do it, I guess.” Grandma joins him in laughter while I shake my head, wondering why the elderly begin to lose their filter with each passing year. My embarrassment is banked just a smidge, seeing her sparkling humor come back to life.

“Grandma, why don’t you get ready for the chili cook-off and I’ll walk the doctor out.”

Grandma agrees and shuffles to her room, probably to add thicker eyebrows with the brown makeup pencil I bought her. She wasn’t too happy I threw out the black eyebrow pencil, claiming Kardashian eyebrows are all the rage still. She looked like she had caterpillars trying to crawl off her face before I took control of the situation.

The doctor walks swiftly to the front door and I race after him. “Doctor!” He pauses and I hurry to express my worries. “I’m glad she appears healed, but she still thinks the physical therapist is my fiancé. Isn’t that a little weird? I mean, she’s known him for a couple years now. Shouldn’t her memory be better if the concussion is gone?”

Doctor Ahmed winces slightly. “It is concerning, yes. Her concussion is gone, but we still have the underlying dementia to assess. I’d like to do a brain scan, which I’ll order as soon as I get back to the office. In the meantime, try not to upset her.” He reaches out and puts his hand on my arm. “I promise you we’ll keep investigating. If the dementia is advancing, there are things we can do to either halt or slow its progression.”

My shoulders fall away from my ears. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He gives me a reassuring smile and walks out the door. I shut it behind him, feeling slightly better about things. Guilt over not being here to monitor Grandma the last few years, along with lying to her about Holt, is quite the buzzkill after an otherwise memorable weekend.

I pull out my phone and shoot a quick message to the family text string letting them know Grandma has recovered from the concussion but I’m planning to stay to evaluate the dementia. Mom’s the only one who responds.

Mom: Great news! Hey, I heard the oncology unit at the hospital needs a front desk person starting in October. You’d be perfect! Let me know. I can set up an interview for you.

I roll my eyes and stuff my phone back in my pocket without responding.

“That little hussy!” Grandma’s irritated voice comes from the bedroom. I race inside to find her tossing paperbacks off her nightstand. Several already lie in a heap on the floor, pages bent. I pick them up and set them on her bed, trying to smooth out the pages. One in particular, looks old. A leather-bound diary of sorts.

“What’s wrong?”

Grandma whirls on me, moving well without her cane. “Pat must have stolen my book! It was right here last night!” She points at the nightstand, now bare of any books after her tantrum.

“Which book?” I ask as calmly as I can. Doctor Ahmed’s direction to keep her calm is fresh in my mind.

“The one with the short-haired Fabio.” Grandma’s face scrunches up in a cute scowl. I know better than to grin, however.

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