Page 2 of Over the Verdant Hills
She closed the car door behind her and started up the walk with her kids trailing behind her, talking, asking whether they could see the lake, whether there were any animals on the farm, wanting to know where the property line was, where the beach was—all the things.
Claire hated to break it to them, but they were going to school the next day. They’d have to wait for the weekend to properly explore. Before that, she was going to have to show them around the property, because there were several cliffs that could be dangerous, and she wanted to make sure they knew where the boundaries were and that they needed to ask permission before going near the water.
She didn’t want another lake tragedy.
Suddenly, she wondered if this was a good idea. After all, she’d been brought up around the lake, and she knew its personality, how psychotic it could be. One minute placid and sweet, the next minute angry and vengeful. Sometimes there was no happy middle, and sometimes it changed without warning.
She had known the strict rules from the time she was small. She never went to the lake without her parents knowing where she was and never by herself.
“All right, guys, make sure you’re kind to your great-grandmother. Remember we talked about being respectful and that she’s older and probably won’t move as fast as what you’re used to.” Ted’s parents hadn’t been a big part of their lives, but they were young, energetic, always doing something. They’d gone on several ski trips and Caribbean vacations together. That was probably why Ted didn’t have a problem paying the child support and alimony—his parents paid for him.
Regardless, her mother wasn’t nearly as athletically inclined, not to mention she lived in New Mexico and they barely saw her.
Grandma was her grandmother, her children’s great-grandmother, and her kids weren’t used to being around anyone as old as she was.
Hopefully she hadn’t aged as much as the rest of the house.
She knocked on the door and then opened it.
“Hello? Grandma?”
“Oh!” a voice from the kitchen said. “Are you here? Was that today?”
Claire’s heart sank. Grandma wasn’t even expecting them? But she’d called her last night and texted this morning.
“Yeah, it was today. Did you not get my text this morning?” She knew she had gotten it, because Grandma had replied.
“I did. But… I guess I forgot.”
Her grandma came out of the kitchen, leaning on a cane and walking slowly.
Definitely a difference from her childhood, when Grandma had been smiling and, if not energetic, at least happy. There had been a cheerfulness about her that had seemed to settle over the entire farm. Of course, since those days, Grandma had lost her husband and had a son die of cancer—Claire’s uncle.
Of course, Grandma had been touched by the tragedy that had happened in Claire’s youth as well.
“Children, say hi to your great-grandmother,” Claire prompted her kids. She wanted them to love her grandma as much as she did, and she supposed that meant she needed to back off, but she appreciated her grandma allowing them to move in, and she wanted to make sure they were as kind to her as they could be. She didn’t think her grandma would ever kick them out, not for anything, but she didn’t want to take that chance either.
Her kids dutifully went up and gave lackluster “Hi, Grandma”s as they hugged her.
Claire swooped in afterward and gave her grandma a real, honest-to-goodness, I’m-so-happy-to-see-you hug. She truly was. It was good to be back in Raspberry Ridge, good to be back in the old farmhouse that seemed so familiar and loving, even if it had been touched by time. It still brought her back to her youth, when life was carefree and happy. For the most part.
“I’ll have to put something together for supper. Don’t know why I thought you were coming tomorrow. You’re right, I saw your texttoday.”
“Don’t worry about it. We just stopped on the way here, and I’ll figure out something to make for supper. If worse comes to worst, I can go get some bread and meat and we’ll just have sandwiches.”
“I have eggs. I still have chickens, although those are the only animals on the farm anymore.”
“All right. We can do something with eggs. The kids like them hard-boiled, or we can have egg salad sandwiches if you have bread.”
“I can whip up a couple of loaves.”
Of course. Her grandma always made her own bread. A sigh of longing started at her very soul and whispered from her lips. “Homemade bread sounds amazing.”
Nothing said childhood the way homemade bread did. She didn’t even need egg salad. She could just eat it with melted butter and down an entire loaf by herself.
That would be just great. She could gain a hundred pounds on her grandma’s homemade bread, and the next time her husband saw her, he’d be happy he divorced her in time.
That wasn’t very kind, but it was true as far as her ex was concerned. He had insisted she stay in shape and not “let herself go” like so many other women did, according to him anyway.
