Page 8 of The Sweet Spot
“I’m just replacing a headlight.” Micah reaches deep into the engine compartment with a wrench in his hand, straining to grasp something. His long black braid falls over his shoulder. “This model is a bitch when it comes to headlights.”
Micah is the mechanic who can fix anything. He’s also a damn good helicopter pilot. After a career in the Army as a medevac pilot, he returned to Bryce to his auto repair shop. Now, in his spare time, he flies rescue missions for McIntyre Search and Rescue.
“Are you eating lunch at the diner today?” he asks.
I nod. “Unless something comes up.” I can never predict how my day is going to go.
“Cool. We’ll join you. I think Robyn’s free this afternoon. I’ll ask her.”
We often eat lunch together—Jennie, Micah, and I. And now Robyn O’Neil, Micah’s girlfriend, frequently joins us when she’s not in class or working at Ruth’s Tavern. She works part-time and takes classes at a university in Estes Park.
My radio squawks with an incoming message from the station. “See you at lunch,” I say as I head back to my vehicle to answer the call.
Micah waves absently as he continues fighting to remove a recalcitrant headlight.
Chapter 3 – Jennie
During the lull between the breakfast rush and lunch, I run home for a quick visit with Granny, and to give Dawn a short break so she can go home and relax for a while. When I walk in through the side kitchen door at ten, I find Dawn loading dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Granny is seated at the kitchen table, wearing her favorite floral bathrobe over a blue denim dress and her fuzzy pink bunny slippers. Her purse is slung over her shoulder.
“Hi, Granny.” I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Are you going somewhere?”
She nods. “I’m going to work.” She points at the old kitchen clock on the wall that’s been in this house for probably fifty years. “I have to get ready for the lunch rush.”
“Well, you know, I just came from the diner, and everything is under control. Why don’t you stay here and help me?” I wink at Dawn as she closes the dishwasher door and turns it on. “I could really use your help.”
“Oh, sure, honey,” Granny says. “I’d be happy to. What do you need help with?”
“Can you help me fold the laundry? There’s a load of towels in the dryer.” I nod to the side door, and Dawn takes the cue and slips out of the kitchen as I lead Granny to the laundry room.
I pull a load of washcloths and hand towels out of the dryer and carry them to the living room, where I dump them in the middle of the sofa. Granny and I sit on either side of the pile. Folding laundry is the perfect diversion, as it’s something easy that Granny can do. It keeps her occupied and feeling useful, which is important for her mental health.
Pumpkin jumps up on the back of the sofa and walks back and forth, purring and rubbing against the backs of our heads.
“Where’s that husband of yours?” she asks as she folds a washcloth in half once, then again.
My heart skips a beat. “He’s gone, Granny. We got a divorce.”
“When’s he coming home?”
“He isn’t. We’re not married anymore.”
Granny frowns. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”Thank God. I hope I never see David’s face again.
“That’s funny because he was here just this morning.”
My blood turns to ice. “What do you mean, he was here? You saw him?” That’s impossible. David moved to Las Vegas right after our divorce. As far as I know, he hasn’t stepped foot back in town in ten years.
She nods toward the front picture window. “I saw him outside, looking around. I thought he’d surely want to come in, but he didn’t. Soon as he spotted me, he walked away.”
My pulse starts racing, and my chest tightens. Surely, Granny is confused about who she saw. Sadly, her memory isn’t reliable anymore. It couldn’t have been my ex-husband.
As a distraction, I turn the TV on so we can watch reruns ofLittle House on the Prairieon DVD. Granny loves that show, I think because it reminds her of happy times. I remember watching reruns of the series with her and Grandpa when I first came to live with them. And before that, I watched them with my mom when I was little. It’s a familiar comfort for both of us.
We fold washcloths and hand towels for half an hour, until we have two stacks of them. Granny helps me carry them to the linen closet and lay them on the shelf. Later tonight, after Granny is in bed for the night, I’ll retrieve them from the linen closet and put them back in the dryer so we can do it all over again tomorrow.
“Would you like something to drink? Or a snack?” I ask her.
