Page 95 of Always Meant for You
I exhale slowly, steadying my tone. “Most people can’t drop everything on a Tuesday to wander around a farmers’ market. I want to move them to Saturdays. Now keep driving, we’ve got a full day ahead.”
He shifts the truck into gear. “You didn’t mention this last night.”
“It came to me in the shower,” I say, my gaze trained on my cell’s screen. The brim of my hat shields my face, and I keep it there. I’m not looking at him, not when he’s in broody farmer mode.
“Mabel, you can’t make changes like that without talking to me first. It has to go through the council.”
“I’m telling you now,” I say sweetly. “And for the record, this is exactly what I was brought in to do. To adjust what isn’t working so this initiative becomes sustainable.”
The road narrows as downtown Elverna comes into view.
I sit back. “Where are we going first?”
His hands tighten on the wheel. “To see my grandmother.”
His tone throws me. It’s weighted and flat, like he’s holding back a wave of worry.
Why would he sound so grim? He always adored Gladys.
I perk up. “I’d love to see her. You said she lives in town. Did she end up in one of those little bungalows on Elderberry Lane? Maybe near the ball fields?”
“Sort of.”
I watch him. “How do you sort of move into a house?”
He doesn’t respond. Just turns into a small parking lot and eases the truck to a stop.
He stays silent, his gaze trained ahead, anxiety rolling off him.
I stare at the building in front of us. The sign tilts in the breeze, and my heart is in my throat.
His gaze remains fixed forward.
“Oh, Cal,” I whisper, my voice catching. “Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”
Chapter Eighteen
MABEL
“Your grandmother lives at the Elverna nursing home?” I ask, my voice is quiet. I don’t know if I’m seeking confirmation or reacting to the ache of not knowing, of him not telling me.
Cal stares at the steering wheel. “They call it a skilled nursing facility.”
I sink back against the seat. I thought this town had paused while I was gone, frozen in place like a photograph, nothing moving unless I returned to press play. But real life kept happening. Quietly. Brutally.
“How long has she been here?” I ask. “Is this why . . .” The words won’t come. They catch in my throat.
He doesn’t look at me. “Why I leased my land to the solar farm people? To afford the kind of care she needs?” His voice tightens. “Yeah, Mabel. That’s why.”
I take off my hat and rest it on my lap, eyes locked on the porch ahead. A few residents sit in the sun.
Now I understand why he didn’t want me tagging along.
“Is it her memory?” I ask softly. “Is that what’s going on?”
“Alzheimer’s,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
A tight knot forms in my stomach. “I never asked my dad how she was doing.” My guilt swells. “I’m sorry, Cal. That was selfish. I had no idea what you’ve been dealing with.”
