Page 20 of Just Beachy

“That’s Grand all right. And I don’t see that changing at this point or at any point really. She’s made it to eighty-three, Mom. Don’t you think it’s time to let go and let her be who she is?”

My mother’s sigh is long and suffering.

“Honestly, she’s happier here than I’ve seen her since Grandpa died. And I’m not going to let anything happen to her. I promise.”

As we say goodbye, it doesn’t occur to me that this could ever be a promise that I won’t be able to keep.

Ten

I’m not gonna lie, it’sweird when your eighty-three-year-old grandmother has a better social life than you do. Weirder still when you’re trying to decide whether to offer her a refresher on the birds and the bees. Or mention an Ann Landers quote that my mother used to repeat about a man not wanting to buy the cow when he can get its milk for free. Not that I think Grand is a cow that the silver fox only values for her milk because my grandmother isnota cow and, well, yuck!

Still, I don’t want to see her taken advantage of, and while I may be living vicariously through her since no one is interested in my milk at the moment, I also googled “STD statistics in retirement communities” and am happy to report those numbers are grossly exaggerated though I’m not sure why or by whom.

We’re at the table chowing down on pressed Cuban sandwiches and black beans and rice from the Floridian, when I oh-so-subtly bring up Brian.

“How did the golf assessment go?” I ask.

“Great,” she replies. “I think I’m going to sign up for some private lessons with the pro.”

“Thatisgreat.” Wow, this being subtle thing really sounds inane. “Was Brian upset that you chose to work with the pro rather than him?”

“No, not at all.”

“He really is attractive.”

Grand’s eyebrow sketches upward.

“Brian. Not the pro. I haven’t met the pro.”

“The pro’s pretty hot, too,” she says. “But he’s closer to your age than mine. Would you like to meet him?”

“No, Grand. I wouldn’t. Let’s stay on topic here.”

“But we’re talking about golf, aren’t we?”

“No,” I reply. “We’re talking about Brian. And how attractive he is.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

Now she’s just playing with me. So I go ahead and ask what I really want to know. “You aren’t sleeping with him yet, are you?”

“The pro? Certainly not!” She feigns shock but her eyes twinkle.

“Seriously, Grand. You know what Ann Landers said about cow milk. And, well, women have to be careful. Especially these days. Because—”

“I do hope you’re not planning to bring up birth control.” Grand’s tone is wry. “Because I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed. Which I must admit is wonderfully freeing.”

She winks. I blush.

We carry glasses of wine to the living room, settle into the sofa, and click on the TV. I scroll through the Guide and carefully avoidMurder 101, current and past seasons, and we end up watching episodes ofFixer to Fabulouson the Magnolia Network.

• • •

By ten o’clock,we’re yawning. By ten fifteen, I’m in bed and slipping into dreamland. Where I happily remain until a huge crash and my grandmother’s shriek yank me awake.

Torpedoing out of bed, I race down the hall to find her bedroom door open and the room empty. I fly down both flights of stairs and find her in the foyer getting ready to yank open the door that leads into the garage.

“Wait! What are you doing?” I whisper.

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