Page 38 of New River Gorge(ous)
Meemaw wears a simple white suit skirt and hat, while Pappaw wears company overalls.
Meemaw calls for me again, breaking me from studying the photo.
I shake my head as I try to come back to the present.
“Coming!” I yell.
I plod down the hallway to the living room, trying to formulate the questions I have about that picture, but they’re all jumbled up.
Why did it never occur to me to ask Meemaw about her marriage?
“What took you so long?” Meemaw asks. “I have a hankering to be on my porch right now with a glass of lemonade, and my demanding neighbor”—she winks—“insists I can’t walk myself out there.” She points to her walking boot.
I smile because she’s playing up theher neighborangle for a reason, and I suspect I’m about to find out why. An afternoon porch talk with a glass of lemonade might be just the thing to help me figure out whatever I’m feeling about Beck.
Why do I like him so muchafter one date? And one that, honestly, wasn’t ideal?
I mean, his ex-fiancée who left him at the altar showed up. That’s not exactly a cute first-date story. Certainly not a story I want shared at my wedding.
Wait, what?Now I’m imagining getting married to Beck. Can someonepleaseslow my brain down?
I help Meemaw up, and with the knee scooter Beck brought for her, I stabilize her and assist her out to the porch. We awkwardly maneuver to the old, creaky porch swing in the corner. Once she’s seated, I dash back to the kitchen and return with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. When I’ve poured both glasses and settled on the porch swing beside her, Meemaw turns her gaze away from the road and fixes me with her blue eyes.
“What’s on your mind, honey?”
Did Mom say we weren’t sure if Meemaw was losing her faculties? Because this woman is alert and mischievous, but in the best possible way.
I find I can’t look her in the eye for long. Her gaze is too intense. It’s like she can read my thoughts. Maybe she can—I’ve always had an overly expressive face.
“I like him a lot, and that’s scary,” I mutter to the wide planks of the porch.
“Why is liking a handsome, attractive, successful man scary?” Meemaw’s leathery hand grasps mine, and I look back at her worn and weathered face.
“Because I like him a lot. And it was only one date, and I wasn’t even sure why he was asking me out. You know? Did he only ask me out because you told him to, and he has some sort of Southern manners toward older women that makes him do what you say even if he didn’t want to?”
“Brooke.” She tilts her head to the side. “There is no man on the planet who would want to ask you on a date because of what I say. Beckett just needs some pushing.”
“But why should he need pushing?”
“I think you know that already. All that rigamarole with what’s-her-name—”
“Addie,” I supply
“Addie. Yes, that was it.”
“I … uh … I met her today.”
Meemaw’s eyes widen, and she blinks slowly. “And you are justnowtelling me you met theother woman?”
I bristle at the salacious phrase. “This isn’t a soap opera, Meemaw.”
She huffs, but the twinkle in her eye tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I blow out a breath in the hope of finding the courage for the question I really want to ask.
“What is it, Brooke?” She squeezes my hand gently. “You can ask or tell me anything. And if it involves hanky-panky with the good doctor, I’ll just call the church ladies up and get you two down the aisle. He’s Catholic, but he was willing to marry Addie at the Baptist church, so no need to worry.”
I start to retort about how fast that would be for ‘hanky-panky,’ but stop when I see the teasing light in her eyes. As usual, my meemaw has disarmed me. She might be eccentric, but she’s my grandmother, and I love her dearly.
