Free The Wedding Tree by Robin Wells Page B

helping Gran out of her chair.
    â€œAre you okay?” I asked, alarmed.
    â€œMy head hurts. And I’m afraid my get-up-and-go got up and went.” Gran leaned hard on the walker. “Let’s have our chat tomorrow.”
    â€œSure thing, Gran.”
    Between chats, visitors, naps, tea, nursing aides, and lining up a potential painting project next door for me, I’d begun to wonder if sorting through her belongings was even on Gran’s radar.
    While she’d been in the hospital, Eddie had arranged for a contractor to repair and paint the exterior of the house, and I’d gone through her refrigerator and pantry, throwing out everything past its expiration date. That had been easy enough, so I’d thought I’d tackle her linen closet. I quickly found myself in over my head. What did she want to take to California? What did she want to give to Eddie?
    Shifting gears, I’d started researching the worth of Gran’s furnishings, but dollars seemed a totally inadequate way to value a chair Gran’s great-great-grandmother had sat on before the Civil War. It was a dilemma, because I had no place to put it, and Eddie’s aesthetic was modern minimalism.
    The prospect of dismantling a household filled with family treasures and lifelong memories was going to be at least as tough emotionally as it was physically, I realized—and if I found it daunting, I could only imagine how hard it was going to be for Gran.

7

    adelaide
    I woke to find the sun shining through the sheer curtains of my east window, which meant it was at least nine o’clock. Three kind-faced women wearing blue shrubs—no, that wasn’t the word; what the heck was it?—loomed in the doorway. They morphed into two.
    â€œGood morning, Miss Addie,” one said.
    Wait. There was only one woman—my eyes were playing tricks on me—and I didn’t know who she was. My expression must have told her as much, because she smiled. “I’m Nadine, your daytime health aide. You had a fall and you’re recovering in your own home, and your granddaughter is here, too.”
    I was grateful for the information, even though the fact she was providing it told me she thought I was a nitwit. She helped me to my walker and to the bathroom, where something tall with handles had been added to my toilet. When I came out, Becky—no, Hope; I had to keep that straight!—was standing by my bedroom door.
    â€œReady for breakfast?” she asked. “I just scrambled some eggs and made a fresh pot of coffee.”
    â€œSounds wonderful.”
    I let the aide help me dress, then used that confounded walker contraption to get to the kitchen. Hope brought me coffee, scrambled eggs, and oatmeal topped with blueberries and walnuts. The aide—Nay-nay? Narnia? Naysayer? Her name started with an
N
,I was sure of it—gave me a handful of pills to take. The coffee and food—or maybe the pills—perked me up and helped my addled thoughts coalesce into something of a memory: Hope was here to help me go through my things. I needed to tell her about Joe.
    I looked at the aide as she cleared the table. “Would you be so kind as to go the store for me?”
    â€œI just went yesterday afternoon.”
    â€œWell, I’m sure we need some groceries.”
    Her heavy eyebrows knitted together. “The house is practically bursting with food.”
    â€œI have a hankering for some fresh peppermint. Do we have any of that?”
    The aide’s forehead creased. “I—I don’t think so.”
    â€œThen I’d like for you to go find me some. Hope, let’s get started in the dining room.”
    The aide helped me get settled at the head of the dining room table, then left, muttering under her breath.
    Hope laughed. “She knows you were trying to get rid of her.”
    â€œThat’s okay. Eddie’s paying her the same whether she’s meddling in my business