Page 5 of Overdue

“So what are you planning on doing?” Damn, this chicken is dry. I try washing it down with some of my water. Soda had to go too. Finally, I think I’ve got it to my stomach. Unfortunately, she’s still waiting for an answer.

“Do about what?”

“You know what. What are you going to do about Austen Caraway?”

“Nothing, Gran. She couldn’t stand me before. I don’t think that’s changed. I’ll just stay away from her.” Was that a snort that just came from Gran? What does she expect me to do? And even if I did somehow manage to get together with Austen, I’m not discussing it with my grandmother. I love her dearly, but some lines have to be drawn.

That is the question, however. What to do about Austen Caraway? Do I keep my distance and try again to get over her? Laughable. There’s something about her that draws me like a moth to a flame. So do I say, to hell with it and try one more time? Where is that damn Magic 8 ball when you need it? Hell, at this point I’d even give a Ouija Board the old college try.

“You know what they say? If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again,” she says. Thank you, Gran, for that wisdom. I don’t dare roll my eyes. I don’t want to be smacked.

“And what do they say after you’ve failed for the fiftieth time?” I shouldn’t be so sensitive. “I’m sorry, Gran. I know you’re just trying to help.”

She really is. I know she still feels guilty about me taking a dependency discharge to come home. As if she could have staved off the stroke that landed her in the hospital. She fought me on staying, but I ignored her. What she failed to understand was that I didn’t even question my decision for a moment.

My parents were killed in a pileup on the interstate driving home from work one evening. I was left with no one. Of course, I knew Gran, but only from the occasional holiday. We lived on the other side of the country and rarely made the time to visit. She was my only listed next of kin. The police informed her of the tragedy over the phone. She was on the next plane. I returned with her to live two short weeks later.

Moving home to care for her pales in comparison to what she did for me. She hadn’t just given me a place to land. She had given me her unconditional love along with it. I owe her everything, and it’s a privilege to be here for her.

“Okay.” It doesn’t hurt to get another opinion. I set my fork down so I can focus on what she has to say. “What do you suggest? You know, if I was interested in one more try. I’m not saying I am, but I can humor an old woman.”

“Reed Campbell, I’m not beyond washing your mouth out with soap. Calling me old.” She rolls her eyes at me, but I can see the small smile that goes with it. “It sounds like she could use a friend. I know her sister is here. But sometimes when you’re feeling lost, you just need that one person who understands.”

“I know that no one believes it, least of all Austen, but I have always been her friend,” I argue. “I might have teased her without mercy, but I would never do anything to hurt her.”

“I know that.” She pats my cheek. “But does she?”

Austen knows I’m her friend, right? Even when I’m being a complete dick? I’ll always believe in her. Even when she doesn’t believe in herself.

“Now, enough of that. Cut me another small piece of chicken. I think you nailed that recipe this time.” God bless her for being able to keep a straight face when she says that.

Cutting up her food is one of the small things I’ve had to get used to. She’s able, with patience, to feed herself, but cutting things into small bites is still beyond her. It’s why our vegetables are always in large chunks. Her fine motor skills have taken a pummeling.

For a woman who’s always had the energy of a whirlwind, this is a cruel blow. I’m the only one who knows her well enough to know how much of a toll it took. To everyone else, Jennie Campbell will forever keep that stiff upper lip firmly in place.

“So what is on the line-up for tonight? Are we bingeing Bridgerton on Netflix?” You’ll never get me to admit I like the show. Not happening. It’s worth watching, though, to see Gran’s face light up. “Go get it cued while I clean this up. Lord knows, I need more sexual tension in my life right now.” With a laugh, she points her wheelchair toward the living room.

That woman does love her romances. The angstier, the better. I draw the line, though, at anything too R-rated. I’m not sitting next to Gran while we watch two people get it on. A man does have his limits. We're currently on episode three of the first season. It’s a historical romance. It shouldn’t get too steamy. Right?

So, welcome to my new life. What do you think? Too exciting for you? The evenings go something like this: dinner, television, yawn. I help Gran get ready for bed. I converted the downstairs office into her bedroom. It’s next to the only bathroom downstairs.

I help her into bed, make sure she’s comfortable, and then head upstairs. There’s an intercom system in case she needs anything in the middle of the night. I always come running.

“Are you good, Gran?” I settle the covers around her.

“I’m perfect, baby.” It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m six-foot-three or that I can bench press a small car, she always calls me by some sappy term of affection.

“Alright, I’m heading up then. If you need me, you know you just have to call, alright?” I hug her, turn off the light, and head upstairs.

I have two seconds I’m not doing anything, so, of course, my thoughts turn back to Austen. She’s all I’ve thought about tonight. I’m so exhausted, though. My thoughts about her will just have to keep until tomorrow.

The trick will be keeping her out of my dreams tonight. There’s not much hope of that happening. She’s been there for the last fourteen years. I doubt tonight will be any different.

three

AUSTEN

I’ve actually followed through on something. There’s a blueberry pie made with sugar substitute sitting on the counter, waiting. A healthy casserole, which is almost done, is on the bottom rack of the oven. Whole wheat rolls are browning on the top rack.

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