Page 12 of Just Beachy

“Oh, Grand.” I squeeze her hand. “It’s awesome. I don’t think I could have resisted it, either.”

My mother doesn’t argue, which is a relief.

“And Myra’s already introduced me to people,” Grand continues. “There are a good number of retirees, but there are younger couples and families, too. And while there are snowbirds and people with second homes, there are also full-timers. I like that it’s not all one thing or another. And there’s lots to do here without even leaving the complex.

“There’s a water aerobics class in the west pool once a week and a mah-jongg game most Wednesdays and Thursdays. And monthly potlucks around the east pool. People are friendly, and from what I hear, they look out for one another.”

“It is lovely,” my mother concedes. “But since you need to stop driving, you’ll be stuck here. There’s no real transit system.”

“Nonsense,” Grand sniffs.

“Not nonsense,” my mother sniffs back.

So much for détente.

“First of all, my car is already being driven down with a few things I’ve requested, so unless you’re planning to stay here and police my every move, whether I drive or not will not be up to you,” Grand says. “Second, there’s Uber and Lyft if I ever need them. And Instacart and DoorDash. And I understand there’s a stop for the SunRunner Bus just up on Central Avenue that can take you to the beach or to the downtown waterfront shops and restaurants and lots of places in between.”

Grand speaks firmly but I feel her tremble beside me. Something’s upsetting her, and though I don’t know what it is, it’s something more than the normal friction between her and Mom.

“But this doesn’t make sense. You can’t just—” Mom begins.

“But I have ‘just’!” Grand insists even as she sways slightly.

“I could stay with Grand for a while,” I say, putting my arm surreptitiously around Grand’s shoulders to steady her.

I don’t add that if things continue the way they have for me, I could stay here forever. “And I could, um, be her chauffeur and companion while she gets settled.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Grand jumps on this immediately. Her trembling ceases but she doesn’t shrug off my arm on her shoulder. “Not that Ineeda driver or help, but I’d love to have you here, Sydney. What fun we’ll have.”

My mother doesn’t look completely convinced, but Grand doesn’t stop talking long enough to give her a chance to object. “Kyle Donovan—Gracie Donovan’s grandson—and a friend of his are bringing certain furniture, art, and accessories down in a U-Haul that will also tow my car. And I thought perhaps you could use what’s left to stage the Atlanta house so that it can go on the market as quickly as possible.”

My mother sighs. “Maybe we shouldn’t list the house quite yet. In case this doesn’t work out. Or you decide to split your time. Or—”

“No!” Grand cuts her off sharply. “I appreciate your input,” she says more gently. “I know you’re pushing for what you believe is right for me. But I’m ready for a fresh start…Ineedthis change…and I’d like things taken care of sooner rather than later.” She pauses, swallows. “I believe your father would be glad I’ve found the perfect place. I hope you will be, too.”

Mom sighs. And just like that, Grand has stormed my mother’s defenses without technically firing a shot.

• • •

I’m in bedand about to nod off when Mom walks into our hotel room after gassing up the car for her trip hometomorrow. When she drops her bag on the dresser and kicks off her shoes without putting either away, I know I’m not going to be able to feign sleep.

“I simply cannot believe this has happened. She’s eighty-three and acting like a child,” my mother huffs.

“I wouldn’t call choosing to move to a smaller home next to a good friend in Florida childlike. She’s a grown woman, Mom, and still entitled to make her own decisions.”

“But everyone including her knows she shouldn’t be driving. She could kill someone—or herself!”

“Mom, she’s slowed down a bit for sure, but she’ll have a good friend next door and I’ll keep an eye on the driving thing while I’m here.”

“But something’s off. Something more than her usual ‘bull in a china shop, let’s play life by ear’ attitude. I just can’t tell if it’s physical or mental, or what. Did you see how she reacted to the news story about that artist? And she’s, I don’t know, but something’s going on.”

I sometimes forget how observant my mother is and have always regretted it.

“And you know she shouldn’t be driving.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “You’re just beating a dead horse here. You need to let her live her life; one that she chooses.”

“That just shows what you know. You’ve never been a parent or dealt with an eighty-three-year-old who’s as headstrong as a five-year-old. You couldn’t even hold on to the role you created.”

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