She's Up to No Good(5)

My mom knocked on my door as I was packing, then came and sat on the edge of my bed. “Grandma went home?” I asked.

“She did. I wish she wouldn’t drive at night, but she refuses to Uber.”

“Can she even work the app?”

“I think she can do a lot more than she lets on.” My mom hesitated. “But she can’t do as much as she thinks she can anymore either. Don’t let her push herself too hard.”

I scrunched up my face. “Has anyone ever successfully stopped Grandma from doing anything?”

“Once or twice.” The ghost of a smile crossed her face. “But you need to keep an eye on her. Her heart isn’t what it used to be. She messes up her pills sometimes. And she absolutely cannot drink. Her doctor was crystal clear about that.” My mother now insisted on accompanying my grandma to the doctor, partially because of the mix-up that had occurred with her pills, but mostly because my grandmother was an inveterate liar. If my mom wasn’t in the room, not only would Grandma spin any number of outrageous tales to the doctor, but my mom would never get a straight answer about her mother’s health. I was surprised my grandmother tolerated that invasion of privacy. But it was the one sign that she was, in fact, slowing down somewhat. She would never admit it, but taking the wrong pills and the disorientation that followed had frightened her.

“Is she up to this?”

“I think she’ll be okay with you there. Alone? No.”

“Okay.” I nodded, looking at the clothes strewn across the bed and draped over the Peloton. “What’s the weather like there? I don’t know what to pack.”

This elicited a genuine smile. “Cooler than the beach here. Definitely bring a couple sweatshirts. Some long pants. It can get chilly at night. You’ll want sneakers. There are hills in town, and a lot of the paths are pretty rocky.” She paused. “Or at least they were. I haven’t been in so long now. I’m sure a lot has changed.”

“Why did you stop going?”

“Well, Sam’s wife sold the cottage. We used to spend every summer there when Joan, Richie, and I were kids. But then when my grandfather died, he left the cottage to Sam, and when he died, Louise sold it. And with no place to stay and my grandparents gone . . .” She trailed off, shrugging. “That time we took you and Beth, everything just felt wrong. Your grandmother was—everything was different. And—I don’t know. It was so far to drive when you were little, and it was just easier to take you to Ocean City.”

“So, bathing suit, normal beach stuff, but some warmer clothes too?”

“Bathing suit if you want to lie on the beach, yes. You won’t get in the water.”

“Pollution?”

“What? No! It’s gorgeous water. It’s just cold.”

I added two swimsuits to the pile, along with coverups. I didn’t know if I’d actually get beach time, but if so, that made this whole crazy plan worth it.

“Bring real clothes too. I don’t know if she has you staying anywhere near the beach. You could be in town, which is five miles from there.” I added a couple of sundresses, a cardigan, some jeans, and a few shirts to the pile. “You should go to sleep,” she cautioned. “It’s a hard drive when you’re doing the whole thing yourself.”

I rolled my eyes. I had driven from Daytona to DC senior year of college when my idiot friends decided to drink hurricanes an hour before we had to check out of our hotel over spring break. But someone had to get us home, and I was the responsible one.

Yes, Brad had done most of the driving when we went places in the last half decade, but I knew I could do it. Besides, my grandmother couldn’t possibly be more belligerent than three drunk college girls. And getting out of my parents’ house, even if it was for a road trip with my grandma, would be a welcome reprieve for a few days.





CHAPTER FOUR





“We’ll take my car,” my grandmother said, giving my BMW the side eye over her comically oversized sunglasses. The car was the first thing I looked for in the settlement agreement Brad sent—it would be mine outright when I signed it.

I looked at my grandmother’s dinged-up Lexus, parked crookedly in her driveway. “Why? Mine is newer. And I have Sirius.”

“Well, I’m serious too. And I don’t ride in German cars.”

“What’s wrong with German cars?”

She put a hand on her hip. “I can think of about six million things wrong with them, young lady. Now put the bags in my trunk. We need to get on the road.”

My jaw dropped open. “You won’t take my car because of the Holocaust?”

“Just because it didn’t happen in your lifetime doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. It happened in mine, and I don’t ride in the German cars. You don’t like it? Don’t come with me.”

“I—” I stopped myself. This wasn’t going well. And if it was a sign of what was to come, my grandmother might just be worse than a carful of drunk sorority girls. I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let me just grab my stuff. Does your car have Bluetooth at least?”

“Is that some kind of pirate? No, it’s a normal car.”

“I—uh—okay.” I pulled my suitcases from the trunk and transferred them to the less offensive Japanese sedan, then took my grandmother’s bags from the front step. “How did you get these down the stairs?”