Page 8 of Save the Last Dance
Telling herself not to micromanage, Nina nodded and took the opportunity to grab a cup of coffee from inside the house. She could smell bacon frying before she reached the screen door.
“Gram!” What was she going to do with her? Even with a cane, her grandmother stood at the stove with a fork in one hand.
Yanking open the screen, Nina hurried to take her place.
“You’re just in time for breakfast,” Gram tried shooing her away, her freshly colored blond locks tucked behind one ear. “I can get it, for crying out loud. How do you suppose I ate before you got here?”
“Humor me.” Nina guided her to a padded metal chair from a mismatched bunch of flea market finds clustered around a butcher block table. “Let me at least serve, okay?”
“Only because I love you and want to make you happy.” Her grandmother kissed her cheek and took a seat, her swollen knuckles clutching the table as she lowered herself slowly. “Just don’t get in the habit of waiting on me, dear.”
“Okay.” Nina made quick work of plating the eggs and bacon, her stomach growling the whole time. “But if you’re doing well, why does Dad say you should be considering assisted living?”
She’d been surprised by his tersely worded email urging Nina to convince his mother to move into a new place where she would have someone checking on her.
“Because he doesn’t want to be bothered by phone calls from his mother.” Gram winked at her over the rim of her coffee cup, but Nina didn’t think she was joking.
She peered over the white ruffled café curtains on one window to check on the movers’ progress in the barn and then took a seat at the table.
“I know he’s selfish, Gram.” He’d never inconvenienced himself for them, and Nina doubted he was any different with his second wife or her children—half siblings Nina had met only because she insisted on visiting twice a year to at least make an effort. “But he’s never brought up something like assisted living before. Did the doctors voice new concerns to him?”
“I have no idea what any of my doctors would have told him.” Gram rose to refresh her coffee even though she’d hardly taken three sips.
“That sounds…carefully worded.” Nina’s eye strayed to the oversize vintage stove that Gram had used since her wedding, a Wedgewood appliance where Nina had learned how to bake.
This kitchen had been a refuge for a child continually shuttled between feuding parents. When she was in Heartache, she wasn’t in the crossfire. On the downside, being left here time after time as a child and then permanently when she was ten years old only underscored that she wasn’t wanted. “I may have tuned out some of what you father said.” Gram shuffled back to the table, slower this time. Because of the full coffee cup, or did that knee still bother her more than she wanted to admit?
Nina wanted to help, but also didn’t want to hover. She watched every cautious step and felt tense inside.
“Would you mind if I followed up with your doctors?” Nina sipped her orange juice and tried to focus on the moment and what needed to be done—and not on Mack Finley.
“You want to talk to my doctors. So they can tell youwhat? That I’m eighty-four and my bones are brittle?” Gram chuckled and pointed a pink fingernail at her. “We both know that already. I’m being careful. I don’t even wear cute shoes anymore.” She stuck out her mint-green-colored tennis sneaker as a reminder. “But if you really want to talk to them, sugar plum, of course you can.”
“Sugar plum?”
Gram smiled and patted her cheek. “I’ve missed you, pretty girl. You never visit for more than a weekend anymore, and I have a lot of endearments to cram into these days together.”
Guilt pinched, but this time, it mingled with nostalgia.
“I’ve missed you, too.” She sipped her coffee, her grandmother’s brew so strong she wondered if she’d have to hook up her espresso machine after all. “I don’t think I realized how much.”
“I knew the bacon would win you over.”
“Even the coffee is better here.” Everything tasted better at home. Maybe it was because she’d learned all that she knew about cooking and baking from the woman seated next to her. “I’m actually dying to cook in this kitchen again. I forgot how much I loved the stove. And I’ve been so focused on baking the last few years that I haven’t spent much time on other kinds of dishes.”
“You cook all you want. I’d rather have you in the kitchen than playing sleuth at my doctor’s office.” Gram frowned and tapped her newly manicured nails against her coffee cup for a moment before she met Nina’s gaze. “I don’t want to give up my independence or this house, hon. So, please, make sure your father doesn’t try and pull a fast one on me to get me out of here, okay?”
Worry made Nina’s stomach clench. Her grandmother had always seemed invincible. She’d carved out a living forherself in a big old empty farmhouse after her husband died when he’d been fifty-five. Gram had been on her own ever since, living frugally and selling off pieces of land and equipment to supplement odd jobs like canning and making jellies for a local farm store. Not until recently had she ever spent a nickel on herself, and that was only because Nina had given her a year’s worth of salon services for Christmas last year. Gram was crafty and cagey. A survivor. And it sent a sharp pain through Nina to hear a note of fear in this strong woman’s voice.
“Of course.” As soon as she made the promise, though, she wondered how she would keep it if she ended up moving home to New York. “I mean, I’ll talk to Dad and clear things with your doctors since obviously, we all want you to be safe, too. But you look great to me.”
Gram quirked an eyebrow, clearly hearing the backpedaling.
A sharp rap on the kitchen door startled her and saved her from digging herself any deeper into a hole.
“It’s Ethan, Mrs. Spencer,” a young man’s voice called through the closed door.
“Ethan?” Nina looked to her grandmother to enlighten her as she stood.
