“Down boy,” I said, secretly pleased that he liked me so much. He had really become my dog in the last few months.I was trying to figure out how I could bring him back to L.A. with me when I left. Which I hoped would be as soon as my grandmother was able to live alone.
I popped open the back and reached in for Nana’s metal walker. Before I could get to her, she’d opened her door and was climbing down. She snatched the walker out of my hands and then, thrusting it in front of her in a dangerously uncontrolled way, headed toward the house.
I tried telling her to slow down but was drowned out by her friends greeting her. Each of them held a casserole dish, some kind of small-town custom I just didn’t get. Casseroles in hand, they’d come to see me after Nana first had her stroke.
It was a custom that made me feel as though I had no idea how to feed myself. Actually, that wasn’t far from the truth. I’d been distressed to discover there was no such thing as delivery in Masons Bay, and that the nearest McDonald’s was a thirty-five-minute drive. I felt like Robinson Crusoe.
Staring at Nana’s friends, I remembered I’d never returned the baking dishes they’d brought the first time round, which made me wonder how many baking dishes did these women own? My grandmother and I couldn’t be the only people in Wyandot County in need of casseroles.
“Emma, slow down, we’re not going anywhere,” Bev said.
“I’m sorry, my bone-headed… I’m sorry Henry locked the door.”
I wanted to say again that I was nearly killed just a few feet away, but they all knew that.
Barbara said, “You know what it’s like in the city. Those habits are hard to shake.”
Nana Cole came to an uneasy stop so she could turn and look at me. “Well, unlock… the door. Let them in.”
I gently eased Reilly down, and as I did, said, “No one ever tried to shoot me in Los Angeles.”
“That you know of,” was my grandmother’s retort. “They probably just missed.”
While I was glowering at her, we clambered inside; me and five women over sixty. This was now my life. Horrible thought.
Immediately, the women began rearranging everything. They installed Nana Cole at the table, fusing over her to make sure she was comfortable. The kettle was put on the stove. One of the dishes wasn’t actually a casserole—better yet, it was a coffee cake. The casseroles went into the fridge, while the coffee cake landed on the table after being cut into bite sized squares.
My dishes from the night before weren’t washed—okay, I admit it was several days’ worth—which earned me a snide look from my grandmother. Without asking, Jan began washing them.
“Henry will do that—” Nana Cole said.
“Mooch, Nana,” I corrected her. Preferring my nickname.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” she said to me. We’d been through this before. Then to her friend, “Jan, stop.”
“It’s no trouble,” Jan said. “It’ll take me half a second.”
“I didn’t know we were entertaining,” I mumbled.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Barbara said. “Men are hopeless at housework.”
I resented that and would have said so if it weren’t so obviously true in my case.
Questions were asked about Nana Cole’s health, some subtle, some not. While the women chatted, Bev took me aside and asked, “Do you think you’ll be coming back soon? I have a stack of inspections that need doing.”
“Oh, um, yeah. I guess. I mean, as soon as it’s safe to leave my grandmother alone.”
And I had no idea when that would be. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the job with the conservancy, it was… well, no, I guess I didn’t like it. It was a lot of tromping around wetlands andworking farms and the kind of places I’d never deliberately go to. You literally had to pay me to wander around in the woods. And even then…
“Oh my God, what are you talking about?” Nana Cole said suddenly. The room went dead quiet. Everyone turned and looked at me. The kettle on the stove began to whistle.
“What?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Bev asked.
“Tell her what?”
“About Reverend Hessel.”
