Page 15 of Lovingly Restored

“My stomach can.” She smiles as she nibbles on the corner of her sandwich, some of her frosty pink lipstick transferring to the bread.

I have more in common with her than any other patient I’ve cared for. She was quite the gardener in her day. We’ve looked at several photo albums of her garden over the years. She and her late husband, Jakob, moved into the home in the 1960s, not long after they married. They were the second owners of the nearly one-hundred-year-old house. The backyard, the size of which is basically unheard of by modern property standards, used to be a marvel. I’m green with envy over how she’d filled it with her favourite plants but also a practical herb and vegetable garden. I never would have recognized the fresh-faced boy who appears in several of the images. Chomping a dirt-covered carrot the best he could with only one incisor or hiding amongst the delicate flowers in a way I imagined Grandma wouldnothave appreciated. But now that I’ve seen the images and Isaac in the daytime, he looks a lot like his handsome grandpa. While she eats, I sit cross-legged on her bed to fold some laundry. I shake out a fluffy white bath towel, matching the corners together.

“I met your grandson today.” She doesn’t need to know it wasn’t our first encounter. “I hear he’ll be staying for a while…”

She finishes her swallow of sandwich and nods. “Yes, wasn’t that a surprise?”

“Mmm hmm.” I press my lips together and shove the folded towel into the laundry basket. “You could call it that.”

I’ve got it all worked out with Mummo.That lyingrat.

“Isaac lived here as a boy after his mother left.”

I pause at the teak tall boy dresser, placing a pile of her unmentionables inside.

“Left?” As soon as the word is out of my mouth, I chastise myself. Talking about gardening and grandkids is one thing, but I don’t need the nitty-gritty details.

“They fought like cats and dogs, especially after having Isaac.”

This conversation is way too personal. I’m supposed to be separating myself and my own feelings from my patients, not delving into the secrets of their past. The thought of that happy boy in the photos being left by his mother is a punch to the gut. Eager to end the conversation, lest I bear more sympathy for the overgrown liar, I snatch up the lunch tray and laundry basket.

“I’ll bring your tea in a little while,” I say before leaving the room.

Anna’s head bobs into view through the amber stained glass above the front door.

Thank god.

“Come in, come in.” I push the rolled towel back into place at the gap under the door where cold air rushes in.

The gorgeous old house is a bitch to keep warm.

She hangs up her puffer coat and throws her arms around me. “Haven’t seen you in a couple weeks.”

“Right?” Her cheek is cold against mine. “I’ve been stuck here.”

She lets me go. “This is tough living, Ashlyn. Need me to break you out? I bet we could take the old hag on, the two of us.” She shuffles like she’s in kickboxing class, fists guarding her face.

Anna finds a seat at the kitchen table, and I click the kettle on.

“You and the sweet old lady, that’s a tough situation for sure.”

“Well…” I wring my hands in my apron.

Anna’s eyes round as she presses her hands over her heart. “Did shedie?“ Her last word is a mere whisper.

“What? Oh my god, no! What the hell, Anna?” I shake my head and pull three porcelain teacups down from an open wood cupboard. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“What am I supposed to think? Be less cryptic.”

Here goes nothing.

“So, remember the guy from last month? Isaac?” Why does saying his name seem to raise my body temperature a whole degree?

“Ashlyn. That’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to you in years. I obviously remember.”

“I sort of gave him my number that night.”

She gasps like I said I gave him road head on the drive home.

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