Page 5 of Faking it for Gran's Sake

“Perfectly?” Gran leans back into her chair. “You can’t have everything perfect in marriage, sweetheart. Even a successful one will have its flaws.”

I don’t like the direction of this conversation. I’m not a perfectionist. Mason works too hard. Other than that, yes, he’s perfect. The perfect gentleman. A perfect kisser. The perfect romantic. It’s hard enough with the whole breakup thing. But it had to happen. The last month we were together, I barely saw him for two weeks. I went to Denver for the weekend to save him a drive. We went out on a Saturday, and he kept getting business calls. We didn’t have a decent conversation, and my mood had long surpassed foul. I asked him if this was what it would be like in the future. Mason told me he needed to be honest and upfront. His workload wouldn’t change when we got married.

I gave the relationship another month, reluctant to split up. I fought a reaction to his statement but not much changed. Mason chose Brooker and Son over me and his future family.

I smile at Gran. “It sounds like you had a wonderful marriage. Tell me one of your favorite memories of your late husband.” It’s better to direct the conversation toward herself. Gran loves to tell a good yarn.

I’m not here for premarital counseling. If I continue to visit Gran, it needs to be about improving Gran’s last days in some small way. I hope when I’m old, people won’t forget about me.

Gran gazes at the ceiling rose, and a dreamy look overtakes her features. She loved her husband. Gran fiddles with her loose wedding ring on her frail, bony fingers. “My favorite memory? There are so many. How long do you have, dear?”

Gran shared three stories, interrupted once by a nurse who came in to administer medicine.

I peek through the lace curtains. “Gran, are you able to take your wheelchair to the gardens?” Her walker sits close to her cushioned chair. How well does she get around these days? “Do you need any help?”

“No thanks, Lauren. I can do it all myself, thank you very much.” The lady has spunk.

I smile. “Okay, Mrs-I-Can-Do-It-All-Myself.”

Gran reaches for the walker and pulls it toward herself. “That’s what I like about you, Lauren. You’re feisty like me. The Brooker men need a bit of spice in their life. They work too hard otherwise.” She pushes up into a standing position and leans into the frame. Then she shuffles forward and lowers herself into the wheelchair.

Is that why Gran likes me so much? She thinks I’m good for Mason. Should I push her wheelchair? Gran still seems independent, which is a relief. How sick is she, anyway? Elderly people like to gab about their ailments. But I don’t want to ruin the mood.

I stand and rock back in my sneakers. “Should I push?”

“No, thanks. Being here makes it easy for me to call the nurses and get them to do everything. But that’s not how we Brookers operate.” Gran gives a nebulous grin.

I follow her down the hallway into a beautiful sunny courtyard. There’s a massive walnut tree in the center. Under its shade, birds squabble over fallen nuts.

“The second-best thing about this place, Mason visits more.” She peers up at me and winks. “He probably feels sorry for me, but it works to my advantage.” She leans her head back and closes her eyes. The afternoon sun makes her pale skin glow.

I sit on a wooden bench nearby. “How often do you see him?”

“Three times a week. At least. What I don’t get is . . .” She cracks an eye open and studies me. “What makes you so busy you can’t visit with him? I thought the Brookers were the workaholics. Mason tells me you’ve been working a lot and have a dog now.”

Is that what he’s been telling her? I’m working too much. Oh, that rascal—making me look like I’m the one who’s failing the relationship. Well, there’s no relationship anymore.

“Can I bring my dog here? Perhaps we could go for a walk around town.”

Gran’s eyes light up, but her eyelids droop. “That would be nice.”

An image pops into my mind. Gran’s holding the leash. Cinda takes off in a gallop with Gran skiing down Main Street. I resist a snort at my silly imagination.

Gran’s eyes drift to a close again. “Make sure you bring Mason with you.”

My shoulders slump. I’m happy to visit Gran. She’s a special lady and the only grandmother figure I’ve got. But spending time with Mason would be difficult. I can’t believe he’s coming to Georgetown three times a week. How does he manage it with his busy schedule, and how long will it last? He did visit me a lot at first. Maybe he became too familiar and allowed his work to take over. No point dwelling on the past. I need to move forward and not look back.

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