Page 68 of Trip Through Your Wires

Reaching for the screen door, she pulls it open and when we step inside, the smell of fresh bread and spices greets me.

“Nana,” Jenica clears her throat. “We have company.”

An elderly woman sitting in a rocker starts to get up and I make my way over, holding out a hand. “Please, sit,” I take her hand with a smile.

She eases back down and looks up at me, then over at Jenica.“This is my friend Jake.”

Still holding her grandma’s hand, I smile. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

She smiles back and pats my hand. “If I knew we were having company, I’d have made a cobbler and put on some tea.”

She’s got Jenica’s eyes. Same cheek bones, too. Only her hair is white, and something tells me it was dark once, just like her granddaughter’s.

“Already on it,” Jenica replies with a shake of her head. “Brewed some this morning.”

“And the cobbler?” her grandma asks.

“I was just about to make the dough.”

“Remember the butter has to be cold.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jenica laughs. “I remember.” She flicks her eyes from me to her grandma. “Will you two be okay out here?”

“Yes, sugar,” she waves Jenica away. “Go on and do your thing, we’ll be fine.”

Jenica looks at me as if she’s not sure if she should stay or go, but when I nod and give her a smile, she nods back and turns on her heel and heads into the kitchen.

“So,” her grandma says to me with a curious smile. “You’re a friend of Jenica’s?”

“Yes ma’am,” I nod. “I live in Philadelphia, but I’m from Connecticut originally.”

“A Yankee,” she laughs. “Well, all be.”

“Actually,” I laugh, “that’s my best friend. He wants to play for the Yankees. I want to play for the Mets.”

“A ballplayer?” She arches her brow.

“Yeah,” I nod, impressed. “You know baseball?”

“Mm-hmm,” she smiles. “All our family does.”

Her grandma reaches for the remote to turn down the volume on the TV. As she does, I take a moment to look around.

The living room is warm and inviting, with rustic furniture, a large, braided rug, and wood floors that run wall to wall, while thick wood beams run overhead, extending the length of the pitched ceiling. To my right is a large window which looks out the front of the house, while to my left is the large farm style kitchen, where Jenica stands with her back to us, rubbing her heel with the toe of her other foot.

“You must be tired,” her grandma says as I turn my attention back to her and find her watching me with a curious expression. “Why don’t you rest. Watch my show with me while Jenica makes that cobbler.”

“Well, all right.” I lean back and bring my leg up, resting my ankle on my knee. “What are you watching?”

“A recording of last week’s Murder She Wrote. My girl and I watch it every Sunday but last week she fell asleep on me.”

“Jessica Fletcher,” I smile. “Now there’s a smart lady.”

“You like mysteries?” she smiles back.

“And ladies,” I wink and she laughs. “My dad is a detective,” I add. “My interest in the former comes with the territory.”

“You don’t say,” she grins. “Well then, why don’t we see who did it together?”

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