Page 54 of Sugar Coated Lies
One of those annoying snort-laughs escapes me. “Not at all.”
“You’ll let me help, then?”
It’s as if he knows how difficult it is for me to accept help. My knee-jerk reaction is to say, “I’ll be fine,” but he seems eager, and I like spending time with him. Grandpa likes him, too.
“Okay.” Those ever-present tears of joy pool in my eyes the way they do when Daire’s around.
“Thank you for letting me stay,” he says, and I have to excuse myself to the bathroom before I full-on ugly cry.
Chapter15
Everleigh
The afternoon is wonderful!
Grandpa’s mind stays sharp all morning and afternoon. I hope it lasts.
He and Daire sit at one of the park’s chess tables, talking about life and playing a game.
Daire is a much better player than I am, but then, I’ve never been good at chess. That was Grandpa and Dad’s favorite game.
I finish cleaning up the remnants of our lunch from the nearby picnic table and pass out slices of pecan pie. “Do you guys want to eat over there or come back to this table?”
Grandpa spots the pie, and his eyes widen to the size of saucers. “Did you bring the whipped cream?”
I smirk and retrieve it from the small cooler, holding it up for him to see. And I thought his eyes were big before. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and turns to stand.
Daire is up and ready to assist him in an instant. Does he want me to fall in love with him?
Grandpa already treats Daire as if he’s family, letting him touch him without flinching or second-guessing who he is. It’s bizarrely wonderful.
Daire helps him to the bench of the picnic table while I add a dollop of whipped cream to Grandpa’s slice of pie and give him his fork.
Daire sits beside him, with me across from them both. We eat the leftover pie I made the day before at the café.
With each bite, Daireoohsandahsover my skills.
Grandpa licks his fork and launches into a history lesson about pecan pie and when it was invented.
“The origins are a bit of a mystery. Some believe it was the French when they were introduced to the pecan after settling in New Orleans. The first recipes recorded to be similar were found in Texas cookbooks in the 1870s and 1880s.”
I smile and continue to eat my pie, having heard that story before. I wouldn’t dare tell Grandpa, though. He likes to believe he’s educating me and anyone else within earshot.
“Huh.” Daire looks thoroughly interested. “I didn’t know that. I should know that. I run a pecan farm. We sell pecan pie.”
Daire asks Grandpa questions about pecan pie, and Grandpa is eager to elaborate.
These two. I shake my head in wonder. Who’d have thought they’d get along so well? Not me.
We finish our pie, and Daire helps me clean up. Grandpa yawns and I know it’s time to get him home. We’ve been enjoying the beautiful day for a few hours now. The overcast sky has kept the weather at an enjoyable temperature.
Once again, Daire helps me pack up and get Grandpa into the Prius.
Daire in the backseat is quite a sight. I offered for him to drive, but he doesn’t want to change the way things are done for Grandpa.
Seriously, can he be any more amazing? I doubt he’ll ever want to do this again. It’s a lot of work, but I’m thankful for this day and the help he’s given me.
Back at the house, we get Grandpa into his chair, and I turn on the nature channel. They play a series about birds every Sunday. He loves the show, and it helps him fall asleep.
