Picture This

by Jayne Denker

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Is Shane going to press charges?”

  “Nah. Said he’s done the same thing himself more times than he can count. I think he was impressed your grandmother can even do doughnuts. He thinks she’s cute.”

  “Oh yeah. She’s adorable.”

  “I still have to write up a report, though.”

  “I understand.”

  After a few general pleasantries, Officer Billy made his way back to his cruiser, and Celia exchanged a look with Niall. She shook her head, disbelieving. “What is wrong with her?”

  Niall climbed the porch steps and put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, go easy on her, all right? Maybe nothing’s wrong. You said she does this sort of thing all the time.”

  “I think she’s getting worse.”

  “What are you saying about me?” Holly demanded from inside the house.

  “Gran! We’ve got to talk.”

  The old woman peered out through the screen door. “Who’s that? The movie star? Well, bring him in here with you. I want witnesses.”

  She ambled away from the door, expecting Niall and Celia to follow.

  “You don’t have to,” Celia murmured to him.

  “And miss this? Are you kidding?” Niall held open the screen door for her. “After you.”

  They found Holly in the living room. “Come here, movie star. Let me get a look at you.” She peered up at Niall, squinting, appraising.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. . . . Marshall?” he tried.

  “Leigh. Holland Leigh. I’m Celia’s mother’s mother.”

  “I apologize. Mrs. Leigh.”

  She shook the hand he offered. “You’re a tall drink of water, aren’t you?”

  “Guess so.” The fact that she was remarkably short just emphasized his height.

  “Ah, you were in that movie with the . . . the . . . what was it . . . the snake, right? On your shoulder all the time?”

  “The iguana, Gran,” Celia supplied quietly.

  Niall rounded on Celia. “Ah-hah! You said you didn’t watch my movies!”

  “No, I said I didn’t go out of my way to see your movies. I caught that one on basic cable. At two in the morning. Edited for language and to make room for a thousand commercials.”

  He clutched his shirt over his heart. “You wound me.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “The lizard was a better costar than the one in your last movie, I’ll say that much,” Holly snorted as she eased herself into her favorite chair.

  “Gran!”

  “I didn’t care for her—what was her name? The one with the peroxide hair. Girl couldn’t act. Lizard had better skin, too.”

  Celia rubbed her eyes, “That’s Tiffany Sola. Niall’s girlfriend, Gran.”

  “Really?” The old woman shrugged, unapologetic. “Meh. And if she’s his girlfriend, why is he here with you?”

  “He’s not here with me. He’s hosting Ray’s singing contest.”

  “Ah. You have my deepest sympathy, young man.” Then she looked up at her granddaughter. “All right. Go ahead. Let me have it.”

  Celia sighed, disapproving and disappointed. “Will said he has to write this up. It’s going on record.”

  “In my permanent file, along with the D minus I got in shorthand in high school? Color me terrified.”

  “Don’t make jokes, Gran. This is serious.”

  “At my age, who cares?”

  “You should. Even if Shane didn’t press charges, Mom and Dad are going to find out about this—it’s inevitable. And they won’t like it.”

  Holly said nothing for a moment, then took a gulp of scotch and said into the glass, “I know.”

  “And you really shouldn’t be drinking so much.”

  “Don’t care. By the time you get to my age, what the hell’s the difference ? I’m eighty-five, by the way,” she informed Niall.

  “Impressive.”

  “Darn right it is.”

  “You don’t look a day over seventy. And I mean that.”

  Other senior citizens would have been offended. Holly just cackled with glee. “I like this one,” she said to Celia. “He’s a lot funnier in person than in his movies.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean anything by it,” the older woman said, waving her hand dismissively. “I just think you can do better than the dreck they put you in, young man.”

  A corner of Niall’s mouth lifted grimly. “I agree.”

  “See?” she said to her granddaughter. “He agrees with me.”

  “Well, you could have put it a nicer way.”

  “Okay.” To Niall, she said, “Get a better agent.”

  “It’s not my agent’s fault; it’s mine. Sometimes I make bad choices.”

  He didn’t want to go into his motivations for his poor choices; luckily, Holly didn’t ask.

  “All I can say is, my granddaughter is one of the best choices you’ll ever make in your life.”

  Mortified, Celia covered her face as Niall said politely, “I realize that, ma’ am.”

  “Of course, you also realize that if you hurt her, I’ll kill you. Well, first I’ll castrate you, then I’ll kill you.”

  “Of course. It’s obvious you love your granddaughter very much, and for good reason.”

  “True,” Holly said, taking another swig of her drink. “She’s a good girl. Always has been. It’s too bad she’s gotten roped into convincing me to move to Old Fart Acres or One Step Shy of the Graveyard or whatever the place is called. I get the feeling she doesn’t really want to. That’s why she hasn’t brought it up yet.”

  Celia exchanged glances with Niall. “Gran . . . you knew?”

  “I’m old, not stupid. You come back for a surprise visit, no end date, no reason? Your mother and father are way too transparent. They brought you in to close the deal.” To Niall, she said, “I’m a lot cleverer than I look.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Celia demanded.

  “Why didn’t you? Except that you’re a chicken.”

  Niall tried to hide his grin, but Celia saw it all the same.

  “That’s enough out of you,” Celia snapped at him.

  “I didn’t say a word!”

  “I could hear you thinking it.” She took a breath. “Gran, you do understand why Mom and Dad think it’s best for you, right?”

  “I’m fine!”

  “That’s not what they told me.”

  “They’re delusional.”

  “They said you . . . forget things.”

  “They’re making it up. I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

  “You left the water running in the bathroom sink yesterday morning.” Holly flapped her hand and looked away. “You couldn’t remember Jordan’s name the other day.”

  “That’s because she’s never around. It’s no wonder I can hardly remember who she is.”

  “She’s your other granddaughter.”

  “I know! Stop patronizing me.”

  “You wore your slippers to bingo.”

  “Maybe I was more comfortable that way.”

  “When’s your wedding anniversary?”

  “August thirteenth, nineteen forty-five.”

  Celia was silent for a moment. “Forty-nine,” she murmured.

  “Bah,” Holly sputtered. “Everybody gets a little forgetful once in a while. I’m eighty-five, after all!”

  “You’re making my point.”

  “I’m telling you, I’m fine! Movie star, you tell her.”

  Niall raised both hands in surrender. “I’m staying out of this one.”

  “I don’t like you anymore.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, Mrs. Leigh,” he said quietly. “I guess, if you want an outsider’s opinion, I’d say you don’t want to move because you’ve lived in this lovely home most of your life—”

  “My entire life. This place belonged to my parents. I grew up here.”

  “Okay, then. Your entire lif
e. And you’re comfortable, you’re surrounded by all your wonderful memories. Not to mention you’re very independent, and you’re worried you’ll lose your independence if you move to a senior care facility. Am I right?”

  “You’re doing pretty well so far,” she admitted, eyeing him keenly. “So you see why I’m not interested.”

  “I do. And I have to say you have a lot of valid points.”

  “Niall—” Celia started in a warning tone, but he cut her off with a look that communicated a certain level of confidence in his approach. She let him continue.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to go either.”

  Holly slapped the arm of her chair. “I changed my mind. I do still like you.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad. But . . .”

  “Oh, here it comes. I knew you were lulling me into a false sense of security. You’re just siding with my granddaughter because you want to get into her shorts.”

  “Gran!” Celia gasped.

  “Well, thanks but no thanks, young man. I’m not going into an old folks’ home!”

  “It’s not a home, Gran.”

  “I’m not talking to you, traitor.”

  Celia sighed wearily. “I’m just trying to help—to get you to do what’s best for your health.”

  “Do I look feeble to you?” Holly demanded.

  “Of course not. And the senior living center isn’t for feeble people—”

  “You think I’m forgetful. You think I’m not capable of taking care of myself. Well, I’m no such thing, Wendy!”

  Silence. It took Holly a few seconds to realize what she’d just said.

  When she did, she stammered, “Celia. Of course I meant Celia. You know what I meant!”

  “I know,” Celia said softly. She knelt in front of her. “Gran—”

  “I said, I’m fine!”

  “Obviously you’re not.”

  “Nothing a refill couldn’t fix.” Holly’s voice was suddenly ragged, the fight gone out of her—for the moment, at least. Niall took her glass over to the liquor cabinet, brought it back full. “Yep, I do like you, young man. Final answer,” she muttered.

  Niall sat on the end of the sofa closest to Holly’s chair and watched as she took a shaky sip. Celia held her breath. She hadn’t seen her grandmother this haggard since her husband had died, and that was more than twenty years before.

  Niall leaned closer and said, “Why don’t you say what’s really bothering you?”

  “Nothing’s bothering me,” she protested, but she had no strength behind her words.

  Celia was ready to argue, but Niall caught her eye and shook his head slightly. She stayed silent.

  After a few interminable moments, Holly finally said, “All right. Maybe there’s something else.”

  “What?” Celia prompted her softly.

  “The reason Mac and I were doing doughnuts in the field.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “I did it because . . . when we were driving home from hang gliding, I . . . couldn’t remember where Mac lived to drop him off. And I was too proud to ask him.” Shocked, Celia grasped her grandmother’s hand and started to speak, but Holly wasn’t finished. “And . . . I couldn’t remember where I lived, either,” she whispered. “It came to me eventually, of course—”

  “But it scared you.”

  “Scared the hell out of me.” Holly took another drink. “I’m not right in the head. Not all the time. And what you said, about something happening while I’m living alone . . . maybe . . .” She squeezed Celia’s hand, and when she looked at her granddaughter, her eyes were damp. “Maybe your parents were right. And you too. Maybe it is time for a change in living arrangements.”

  Finding it difficult to swallow around the lump in her throat, Celia managed to say, “I think it’s for the best, Gran.”

  Holly nodded wearily. “I won’t like it, though.”

  “I know. But maybe you could try?”

  “I don’t need minding, I don’t need nurses on call, I don’t need bedpans.”

  “Nobody said anything about bedpans—”

  “Not at first. But as soon as you go someplace like that, you sign over your life, and with it goes your health, then your sanity. And another thing,” she went on, regaining some of her fire, “I’ll bet they don’t allow conjugal visits. That’s a deal breaker.”

  “It’s not a prison!”

  “Think again.”

  Celia rose and took the glass out of her hand. “Let’s just take it one step at a time, okay? It’s been a long day. Why don’t you go on up to bed?”

  The older woman took a deep breath, surreptitiously whisking the tears from her cheeks as she moved to pat down her hair. “I get it. You want some alone time with your fella.”

  “Gran! He’s not—” But she stopped as her grandmother winked at her. Even in the midst of a personal crisis, she could still tease Celia mercilessly. Celia kissed her soft cheek as Holly passed her.

  Then the older woman turned to Niall, who’d also stood. “Are you a gentleman, movie star?”

  “I do my best,” he answered as seriously as she’d addressed him.

  Holly nodded. “Well, cut it out. That’s not what my granddaughter needs.”

  “Gran!”

  “Girlie, you’re gonna wear out that word. I mean it, movie star.”

  Niall’s lips curled into his wicked grin. “What does she need, Mrs. Leigh?”

  She smiled as well. “I think you can figure it out for yourself.”

  And she made her way up the stairs, back ramrod straight, the defeat she had displayed only moments before well hidden. How long had she been keeping these fears buried, ignoring these lapses of memory, or making excuses for them?

  When she was gone, Celia looked at Niall, feeling a little—no, a whole lot helpless. “Well, Mom and Dad got their way,” she whispered. “Now what?”

  “You’re going to start feeling guilty?”

  “Right on schedule.” She stared into Holly’s glass, noticed a little bit of alcohol at the bottom, and drained the tumbler before setting it down on the liquor cabinet. She cleared her throat at the scotch’s burn. “I guess I’ll call my parents in the morning and tell them to go ahead with the condo.” Her heart sank as she looked around the living room. “Oh God, I’m going to have to pack up all this stuff and put the house up for sale.”

  “Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself. There isn’t any rush, is there?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t we have to lock Gran up before she hurts herself ?”

  “Wow, look at you being all bitter. I don’t think I’ve seen this side of you before.”

  “It comes out when I betray someone I love.”

  “Okay, enough.” Niall stepped closer. “I’m ignoring that last bomb your grandmother dropped, but I am going to hug you now. Don’t freak out.” She laughed a little, despite the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Ready?” She nodded, so he reached out gingerly, holding his arms in a circle about a foot from her waist, looking like an incredibly gangly ballerina. “I am now placing my arms about you,” he announced slowly and clearly, as though she were hard of hearing or didn’t understand English. “Remain calm. You do not need to do anything at this time.”

  “Shut up,” she muttered, meeting him halfway and hugging his waist. Nestling her cheek against his white shirt, she inhaled his scent of soap, a little perspiration from the hot day, and a hint of fried food, then let out a huge breath. She felt herself deflate, weary from all the drama. “Thanks.”

  He rested his chin on the top of her head. “For what?”

  “Just . . . for being here.”

  “My pleasure,” he murmured, and Celia thrilled to the feel of his voice’s vibration against her body.

  She resisted the urge to hold him tighter, forced herself to step back. “It’s late. You should get back to the inn before Casey and George lock you out.”

  “Nobody locks their doors around here—didn’t you inform m
e of that?”

  “I guess I did,” she said, her face growing warm as she remembered how snappish she had been earlier. And yet he was still here for her now.

  “Look, you’ve got your hands full here. Forget what I said about helping with the singing competition. I can handle it.”

  She paused. “What if I want to help?”

  “Really?”

  “It would help get my mind off things, like you said. And besides, I can’t leave you alone with Ray. God only knows what would happen, but I’m pretty sure only one of you would come out alive. And that’s a best-case scenario.”

  Niall’s face lit up, but he shut down just as quickly, his expression back to neutral. “No rush. Auditions aren’t for a couple of days yet anyway.”

  Celia couldn’t help laughing. “Oh God. Auditions.”

  “With all the promise that word entails. I know you’d hate to miss it.”

  “It is really tempting.”

  “Don’t think about it now.” Niall turned to go, then stepped back into the room to place a soft kiss on her forehead. “Get some rest, okay?”

  When Niall was gone, and the rumble of his car faded away down the street, Celia couldn’t resist touching her forehead where he’d kissed her. The impression of his lips lingered, a pleasant, warm brand.

  She shook herself. Suckered by a good-looking, funny, smart, sexy . . . stop. Yes, he was all those things, plus attentive and—if she dared admit it to herself—interested in her. But he was taken. And even if he weren’t, he had his life and she had hers. His might be tied up with Ray’s crazy contest for a few weeks, but after that, it was movies and traveling and parties and everything else that came with the celebrity lifestyle. Hers . . . well, hers was all around her, right now.

  God, what was she going to do with all of Holly’s possessions? There was more than a century of accumulation: furniture, family photos on the walls and the tables and the mantel, knitted throws and footstools and . . . good lord, a thimble collection on a set of tiny shelves hanging on the wall. Board games and books—and were those old VHS tapes?—filling the shelves on the far wall. The house wasn’t messy, but it was . . . glutted.

  She shut her eyes tightly against the onslaught, but even with her eyes closed, she could feel the sheer volume of stuff pressing in on her from all sides. How was she going to do this? She could draft her parents to help, of course, but somehow she had a feeling the brunt of this was going to fall on her shoulders—as usual.