Page 20 of Hot Shot

We passed beneath palm trees waving gently in the summer sun and enter the retirement complex. On a Sunday afternoon, the lobby area is busy with families visiting loved ones. The facility is lovely, with elegant furnishings and accessories, but still smells faintly like a hospital.

Grandma Garner is just exiting the dining room, moving slower than she used to but still independent, unlike many of the other people who live here who use walkers and wheelchairs. Her snow-white hair gleams in the light from the big windows, and when she spots us, she beams a bright red smile. Every morning, she does her makeup, still using her trademark crimson lipstick at the age of eighty-six. Dressed in black leggings and a long flowery sheer tunic, she heads toward us across the patterned carpet.

“Carrie, my love!”

I grin and move toward my grandma, arms open for a hug. I wrap my arms around her tiny frame and squeeze her with affection.

“You look beautiful as always,” Grandma says with a fond smile. She then turns to Mom. “Hello, Cheryl.” They exchange hugs too, albeit more restrained ones. Grandma and Mom are very different people, and although Mom and Dad have been married for forty years, the two women have never exactly gotten to be close. Grandma greets Lauren in a similar fashion. It’s fair to say that Lauren is following in Mom’s footsteps with her dedication to her career as a vice president at LBL Insurance, and she and Grandma have never been close either.

Everyone in my family is like that—my two older brothers are both successful in their careers as well. They’re all type As who work hard, focused on the bottom line, with clear goals and the confidence to achieve them. Not like me. Having fallen into modeling completely by accident, I stuck with it because it was there and it paid the bills and gave my confidence a boost. But it’s not my whole life. I’ve never really had any kind of goal that I want to attain more than anything. Instead I drift along, enjoying the moment, playing around with my photography when I’m not working, posting pictures on Instagram. Even this scholarship to study in Spain was an impulsive decision that I’m still not sure I really want to follow through on. Yet how can I change my mind? I’ve finally done something that’s impressed my overachieving family.

No wonder I feel more at ease with my slightly nutty grandmother.

“Let’s go to my suite to visit, away from all these old people,” Grandma says.

I repress my smile as I slow my stride to match Grandma’s. Grandma is friendly to the other residents of the complex, but she views them all as “old people.”

Grandma’s tiny apartment is a little overwhelming. She’s filled the space with as many possessions as she can, all of them colorful and interesting, but it’s a lot. Her furniture is an eclectic mix of funky antiques, a bright orange couch with yellow and gold cushions, a fuchsia armchair, and curtains pattered in pink, orange, and yellow. The walls are covered with framed art, much of it photographs that I took, but also some paintings and other art Grandma collected over the years. It’s family legend that Grandma had many lovers in her younger days, one of them an artist who died but who became quite famous; another a playwright successful on Broadway in New York; and one a wealthy French businessman.

“Would you like Schnapps?” Grandma asks us.

I bite my lip on a smile. “Not for me thanks. I was drinking tequila last night.”

Grandma smiles. “That’s my girl. You’re really getting into the tequila, aren’t you?”

“Well, since Hayden’s fiancé owns a tequila bar and we hang out there a lot, yeah.”

“I still haven’t met this hot Navy SEAL fiancé of hers,” Grandma says. “How about tea instead? I have some nice coco chai rooibos.”

I watched Mom and Lauren gag a little, and say, “That sounds great, Grandma.”

“Cheryl? Lauren?”

“That sounds disgusting, Joyce,” Mom says pleasantly. “Do you have coffee?”

“Of course I have coffee.” She pulls out little packets of instant.

Mom shudders again. “Never mind. I’m good.”

“I’ll try some tea,” Lauren says bravely.

As Grandma prepares the loose leaves, she says, “Well, Lauren, what happened with that husband of yours? Did he cheat on you?”

The air in the room goes very still. My eyes widen and I glance at Mom, then at Lauren. Lauren’s face tightens into a stiff mask. “We’re not here to discuss my marriage,” she says tersely. “We’re here to talk about the trouble you’re in for having a male overnight guest.”

Grandma’s head whips around as she stands in her tiny kitchenette. “Trouble? What trouble? Why is it trouble to have an overnight guest? And why is it anyone’s business but mine?”

“Calm down, Joyce,” Mom says.

“Calm down!” Grandma gapes at her daughter-in-law. “Don’t you speak to me like that! I am not some kind of hysterical, demented old lady.”

“I’m not saying you are.” Mom tries to sound soothing but it comes across as patronizing.

“It’s nobody’s business,” I speak up. “Except that Mr. Wolfe wasn’t in his room when home care arrived in the morning and they freaked out. They were worried about him.”

“He was fine,” Grandma says.

“I’m sure he was,” I murmur, earning a bark of laughter from Grandma.

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