Page 3 of Sound and Deception

“I’ll let you go. I’m sure you’re all worn out and your Gram is looking forward to seeing you.” He patted the car door, turned before whirling back. “Hey, most of us meet at Salty’z a couple times a month. Wanna join us this Saturday?”

I hesitated, having never been over-the-top social. “I’m not sure what’s going on with Gram … “

He nodded. “I get you. Just in case, though, we usually meet anytime between 7:00 and 9:00.”

“Thanks.” I smirked. The two-hour window was typical island time.

He smacked the roof. “Be good, safe, and get some rest.” Jay loped back to his vehicle, but waited until I pulled out first.

In less than five minutes, I reached the turn leading to the farm and guest cottages where I’d grown up, my mind scrambled. On autopilot, I took a right and followed the narrow trail, gravel crunching under tires, thick trees pushing in from both sides. At the next “T,” I made a left, the big, white colonial house rising before me in seconds. Warm yellow light eased from behind paned glass windows out into the darkness, and the sense of homecoming returned and settled deep within.

I parked facing the house, the tiny welcome building just to my right. It was an overt way to give guests the privacy they were often looking for. Gram or Aunt Sunny would prepare the cabin and hang the key on the pegboard with a note, a practice unthinkable off the island. A few Radio Flyer wagons stood parked against the far wall for guests needing help with luggage. Opposite the house, a huge paddock circled a small three-sided barn supplied for shelter and dry hay. Inside the enclosure, the resident alpacas, Hades, Persephone, Eurydice, and Orpheus, would already be cozy for the night. Come late spring, they’d be relieved of their wooly coats, in exchange for socks, scarves, and the occasional sweater that my grandmother and great-aunt would be sure to create. Just adjacent, a large chicken coop protected the dozen or so hens that provided fresh eggs to the guests. Bart the rooster hung out in his own attached quarters.

A couple hundred yards beyond the welcome building, a hot tub spanned the deck of a gazebo partially hidden by privacy fencing. Just on the other side, the paved walking trail passed through the tree line and away from the big house and barn where five private cabins appeared. Since Gram’s accident, only two were available for occupancy since my aunt couldn’t handle all five. She was tipping toward 70-years old herself, with a bum hip that slowed her down. Because my parents were gone, and my big brother, Jeremy, lived in Toronto with his wife and kids, that pretty much just left me to help out. I had every intention of hiring a part-timer, even if it came out of my own pocket, but I couldn’t fool myself regarding what the future might hold for the old place.

I climbed from the little SUV, grabbed my purse and suitcase, and stepped toward the path leading toward the front porch. Closer to the door, I could hear a mini-Michael Jackson belting out his ABCs, and couldn’t hold back a smile. They loved their oldies. Some agitation leaked from my bones, and I let myself into the big house.

“Gram? Sunny?”

A grey blur darted from around the corner and several high-pitched excited barks filled the room. Happy mewling followed when I crouched down to hug the resident Catahoula, Asta. She shoved her cold nose into my ear and deafened me with a snorted welcome.

“Well, it’s nice to see you too!” I straightened, but continued to scratch the dog’s ear, who leaned against me, tail vibrating.

The foyer was warm and inviting, with natural wood, and rustic touches. The old elk head my grandfather had lugged in a couple years before I was born still hung in its place of dubious honor above the door leading to the Gram’s office. I hated the thing, but Gram wouldn’t part with it.

“Klahanie?”

Aunt Sunny’s warbling voice floated out into the entry, followed by the woman a second later. Before I could breathe, I was pulled into a hard hug, which made me wonder if she’d picked up weightlifting since I’d last seen her. I maneuvered my face to one side to avoid suffocation by an ample bosom. My second cousin, Jane Anne, loved her mom, but she was less tolerant of smothering than I even was. Maybe that’s why she lived in Portugal. Or maybe it was just because it was cheaper there.

“Look at you!” Sunny pulled back and squeezed my face between her rough, dry hands. “You get prettier every time I see you!”

“’Course she does!”

I swung around and had to immediately smooth my reaction, and swallow the hard snap of dismay. Gram rolled toward me, smiling, her encased right leg stretched out before her. Her hair, always long and folded into a neat braid, seemed to have silvered into white. Creases, once subtle, had deepened around her eyes, mouth, and neck. “She looks like her mama, and, by default, me!”

“Not so much these days, Judith.” Sunny commented, her voice teasing.

“Well, duh! If that were the case, that would be unbelievably bad news for Klahanie, wouldn’t it? How about this? She’s as pretty as I was when I was young.”

This part never changed. Long ago, I’d resigned myself to hearing the exact same comments each and every time. I still found it embarrassing, but, by this point, I just figured it was a set-in-stone kind of ritual between the two ladies.

I gave Sunny a quick peck on the cheek before turning toward my Gram to give her an awkward neck hug and a kiss to the temple. “How are you feeling, Gram? Any idea when you’ll be parting with the cement leg?”

She shrugged, but didn’t answer right away. I didn’t take that to be a good thing.

“Well, I’ll need to go to the mainland again to see how it’s healing, but not for another six weeks or so. Depending on what they say, there might be some surgery involved, but I guess that’s a worst-case scenario.” She smiled at me, that same smile merging with the same personality that managed to get her through some pretty tough times. “But painkillers are a happy thing.”

“That’s for sure.” Sunny patted her on the shoulder, and I raised an eyebrow. My insides quivered and shriveled, but I tried not to let it show.

“We’re kidding, of course.” Gram chuckled and maneuvered her wheelchair past me and toward the kitchen. A DJ’s low, smooth voice announced an Adele song, as if sensing a quiet moment. “I’m sure you could do with something hot to drink. Always feels like the arctic on the way over.”

“No arguments here.”

“You sit down before you fall down, and I’ll make us all a little something.” Sunny skirted Gram’s wheelchair to put on a kettle, while I edged onto a counter stool. Like most homes, the kitchen served as the heart. Copper pots and pans hung from an iron and wood ceiling rack above a breakfast bar covered in travertine tile, matching the backsplash beyond the sink and under the natural hickory cabinets. The far wall hosted framed retro prints of the Morton Salt girl, Coca Cola, and Hershey’s chocolate, plus a picture of two cartoon frogs sitting at a toadstool, captioned “Good things happen over coffee.” I think I bought that one for Gram when I was seven or eight. Warmth of the familiar space made me want to curl up and go to sleep.

“And when you’re ready to hit the hay, which doesn’t seem far off judging from those sagging eyes, your room is good to go.” Gram reached over and patted my leg.

Despite any misgivings, I had to admit that it was good to be home. “Thank you.”

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