by Gina Henning
“Hi, Grandmother. How are you?” I’m intentionally avoiding her question.
“Mrs. Hauser, Lauren helped bake the pies I was telling you about,” Jack says. He’s talking to her ever so sweetly—not the abrupt man I’d met yesterday.
Does he have multiple personalities? Maybe I should be worried about my grandmother. Did he know who I was when we met? Is this some sort of set-up?
“Pies?” my grandmother asks.
Jack leads her back to the chambray ivory couch that is draped with her favorite beige and gold afghan. He helps her sit down. She places her hands in her lap and entwines her fingers.
“Remember the recipe you gave me? For the pecan pie that had to be made for Thanksgiving?” Jack asks her gently.
Did my grandmother give away the Hauser Family Pecan Pie recipe to a complete stranger? The same recipe I’m supposed to hold close to my heart and guard with my life. Is this the same recipe? I mean I know the recipe Jack had and the one my grandmother gave me were identical, but I thought it was fluke and my grandmother had just given me some recipe out of Southern Living. But did she actually give us both her real recipe?
A big, smashing disco ball turns on in my head. I’m internally screaming. Of course, that’s why the recipes match up. They’re the same recipe from the same person. I can’t question my grandmother now. Not in this semi-state of dementia. I bite my tongue.
“I think I need to rest my eyes for a few moments.” My grandmother closes her eyes and slowly lays her head on the gold silk pillow.
Jack pulls the afghan from her couch, and covers her from the shoulders down.
I stride back to the front door. “Jack, could I, um, speak with you over here?” I motion for him to come towards me.
Jack turns in my direction. He sighs, and his shoulders drop as he strides over. “Don’t worry. She’ll be okay after she rests.” He caresses my arms.
I almost melt on contact. His grip is firm. Little tingles swim underneath my skin. How can such a small gesture be so mesmerizing?
He retracts his fingers, and I’m brought back to the present. “What? Oh, okay.” I know after my grandmother fell my parents mentioned her being different. But this is really out of character. I knead my lips. “When did my grandmother give you the recipe?”
Jack smiles as though he’s remembering the moment fondly.
“Now that’s a funny story. Your grandmother entrusted her recipe to me, and specifically stated that Thanksgiving wouldn’t be able to exist without her special pecan pie.”
Odd, I seem to remember those exact same words in my letter. I need some oxygen. The fleur de lis printed walls of my grandmother’s apartment are closing in on me. I’m dizzy. I don’t understand why she would have given Jack the recipe and with the same message.
I turn the knob on the door. The hallway is empty. I lean against the wall outside my grandmother’s room and take deep slow breaths.
“Lauren, are you alright?” Jack steps outside of my grandmother’s room and closes the door behind him.
I blow out through my lips. “If she entrusted you with the recipe, why did you allow me to see it? Did you know who I was?”
Have I been set up? If so, I plan on figuring out who the puppeteer is in this ensemble.
“Did I know that you’re Sandra’s granddaughter?” he asks with his palm open. “No, I didn’t, but I can definitely see some similarities now.”
One would think he’s telling me the truth, but he didn’t answer the question in its entirety.
I decide to take a different approach. “Jack, why did you feel comfortable showing me the recipe?” I try not to bat my eyes. I only want a platonic level of charm to be asserted at this moment.
“Are you trying to seduce answers out of me outside of your sleeping grandmother’s apartment?” His mouth drops open and his eyebrows are raised, almost reaching his hairline.
His performance is okay. I would give him a six out of ten in believability quotient. Yet, we’re not participating in some sort of comedy improvisation. I want to know why he shared the recipe and if I’m being played. Something isn’t adding up.
“That’s absurd. I’m just trying to figure out this situation. And I’m asking for your help. Why do you think my grandmother would share her secret award-winning family recipe with you?” I smile gently at him.
“I’m not sure, but I haven’t shared it with anyone else,” he says and brushes his fingers over my arms. “And, I wouldn’t have shared it with anyone else.”
My stomach clenches. “Well, that’s good to know.”
“Let’s leave your grandmother to rest.” He reaches for my hands and massages them with his own. “Listen, when people get to a certain age, they have a hard time understanding connections and sometimes share things with people who don’t hold the same level of closeness as their family.” He takes my chin in his hand and gazes into my eyes. “I’m sorry your grandmother gave me the recipe. I promise I haven’t shown it to anyone else, and I’ll give it back to you.”
I’m acting like a child who doesn’t want to share. He’s being so kind. “It’s okay. For whatever reason she wanted you to have it.”
Jack massages my shoulders. “Come here. Let me hug you.”
I nod. Tears fill my eyes. Why am I crying? This is ridiculous. I shake the tears off. I’m not that upset. Maybe it’s seeing my grandmother in this place or the events from yesterday. Either way, the tears are in my eyes. I force them back to their deep, dark place. I’m definitely not going to cry in front of Jack. I flitter my eyelashes so that my eyes are clear of any excess liquid. The idea of my grandmother not being the same person forms a lump in my throat. She was always the sharpest person in the room. I can’t imagine her ever being different than this.
I’m okay. More than okay in Jack’s arms. I’m a marshmallow melting and he’s the hot cocoa. Staying in this embrace makes me want to nuzzle in closer, maybe read a good book, and relax. Or do something much hotter. Jack leans his face into my hair. His chest rises as he inhales.
He exhales and retracts his body. His eyes are clear like he’s considering something. He leans in and stops. A vibrating sound coming from his pants pocket has halted a possible kiss. Jack rolls his eyes. He retrieves the moving phone from his pocket and glares at it. Jack motions one finger in the air to me and meanders down the hall. I understand he wants to create listening distance between the two of us but I can’t help but wonder who might be calling him on Thanksgiving. I crane my head pretending to roll my neck. His voice is muffled.
“I’ll have Sherry call you tomorrow and sort everything out.” Jack proceeds back to where I’m standing. Our eyes meet as he slides the phone back in his pocket.
“I can’t promise any dancing, but would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I laugh and follow him to the elevator. He presses the down arrow button and the dinging of a bell is followed by the doors sliding open. We both enter the elevator and he presses the circle with a one centered in the middle. The door rings before either of us speak a word. Are fast elevators a good thing for the elderly?
We exit the small room without any near collisions from the other residents. He leads me to a small buffet table covered in white linen. Sitting on top is a coffee and tea machine along with cups, cream, and stirrers. It’s weird that I was just here. I guess with it being dark last night, it’s easy to understand why I didn’t recognize the building today. Then again, we did park at a different entrance, and it’s not like Jack gave me a tour of the place.
Jack pours me a cup of coffee. “Sugar or cream?”
“Cream. I think we both know I’m already too sweet.” I bat my eyelashes at him intentionally.
Jack raises his eyebrow at me and places some cream in front of me. I splash a few drops of the cream—real cream—into my cup. The white liquid spills into the hot coffee like a fearless cliff diver. Fearless—something I should consider perhaps.
I take a sip. Now
this is a good brew. It’s robust and exactly what I need.
“So how long have you been holding down this fort?” I ask.
“Almost a year. This business has been in our family for years. Lewis was great at running it. However, my brother had his own system for things and it’s taking a while for Sherry to figure it out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I squeeze his hand.
He takes mine and rubs his thumb over my knuckles. “Don’t be. He led an adventure-filled life.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I do miss him. Especially on the holidays.”
“I can only imagine what it’d be like to lose a loved one. Seeing my grandmother here is difficult enough.” I stir my coffee. The cream is no longer evident in the cup. The two colors have melded together to create a different shade. “How long do you think my grandmother will need to sleep?”
“Usually she rests for an hour or so, and then she’s back to her lively self,” he says with a warm smile. It seems odd that this stranger knows more about my grandmother’s routines than I do.
“I’m supposed to be picking her up for our Thanksgiving dinner.” I push the home button on my phone.
“What time is your dinner planned for?” Jack asks as he releases my fingers.
The little white numbers on the display show it’s almost noon. “I’m not sure. I think around five.” My eyebrows are scrunched together. I should have asked my mom before I left, but then again, I didn’t know that I would run into Jack.
“Well, our dinner here starts at one. Would you be able to join us?” He clinks his mug against mine.
“Sure. I bet my grandmother would like that.” I clink his cup with acceptance.
I wouldn’t mind staying either, especially if it means the possibility of another long embrace from Jack. Or dancing, or caressing his arms, or smelling his cologne. I debate coming up with a reason to cry, just to have his arms around me. Lauren, get a hold of yourself.
A woman with wavy, honey-colored hair sashays over and interrupts my mini fantasy.
“Jack, we need to get things going.” She slides her gaze toward me, and then back to Jack.
Jack studies his silver watch. His eyes focus on the lady. She’s wearing an emerald green dress with a deep V-neck. A bit of black lace is peeping through on the sides of the fabric. At her waist is a black braided belt, followed by knee-high ebony boots to match. Is she going for the sexy Santa’s helper look? Seems a bit odd for a retirement residence.
“Sherry, this is Lauren. She’s the granddaughter of Sandra Hauser.” Jack motions towards me.
What role does she play here at the retirement community and in Jack’s life?
“Nice to meet you, Lauren. Are you staying for lunch?” There’s a hesitation in her voice, as though she doesn’t want me to stay. I’m picking up on some vibes, but I’m not sure what.
“Yes, I am,” I say confidently. I beam at Jack as if we’re sharing an inside joke. He isn’t picking up on my frequency, and I roll my eyes at his delay.
His eyebrows wrinkle and his lips frown. “Lauren helped make the pecan pies.”
Finally he tuned into the waves I’m sending out.
“Oh great.” Sherry nods and marches toward the kitchen.
“I need to get things set up,” Jack says as he stands up.
“Can I help?” I need to get a better feel for this Sherry situation. I’m sensing some tension and I’m not sure where it’s coming from.
“Sure, but you have to wear a hairnet.” Jack says and strides into the kitchen.
I frown and push through the double doors behind him. Jack nods in the direction of the hairnet resting on the counter next to a stack of dishes. He exits the kitchen with a load of plates in his arms. Really? I snatch the hairnet from the counter and purse my lips.
When he comes back in through the door, I fling the hairnet at his head. “Oops, I’m sorry. I was trying to get it on.”
“No problem. Let me help you.” Jack picks up the hairnet and charges toward me.
I back up slowly. “That’s okay. I can figure it out.” I keep going and hit a counter with my back.
“Lauren, I’m a professional.” He strides closer to me.
He can’t be serious. His eyes are flickering about and his lips are formed into tight lines—like a pressure cooker’s lid about to blow—as though he’s trying not to smile or laugh. He has very full lips. Lips that want to be tugged on. Lauren.
“Jack, I can do it myself.” I reach for the hairnet.
He grabs my hand and pulls me in close. His clean, woodsy scent brings fantasies of an intimate mountain cabin, alone with Jack.
“Are you sure you can handle it on your own?” he asks.
We are standing within-inches-of-a-kiss close. The only thing that separates us is our clothing and setting. I’m drifting away. Far away. His gaze is luring me to walk farther with the sounds of leaves rustling beneath me. I imagine us alone in a cabin or some lake house surrounded by nature, just the two of us. It’s all so clear, even if it’s a midday fantasy. I know the moment we kiss, I’ll fall into that forest full of leaves. But, this time we aren’t alone. The place is buzzing with people and their hearing aids. And Sherry.
“Yes.” I take the hairnet from him and try to control my breathing.
“Okay, then.” He grabs more dishes and brings them out to the dining room.
I scowl at the hairnet. There’s no way I’m putting this on my head. My wrist is the perfect solution. I tie the hairnet around it and pick up some dishes to bring out to the dining room. Jack does a double take of me and says nothing. Sherry is setting up the plates and silverware. Jack rushes over and leads me back into the kitchen. He’s holding onto my wrist with the hairnet on it.
“Lauren, I love your fashion statement, but this is supposed to go on your head.” He turns my wrist up to show me.
“Jack, I said I’d put it on, but I didn’t specify where. Besides Sherry isn’t wearing one.”
“Suit yourself.” Jack takes the last of the dishes from the counter. He exits the kitchen.
Surely he isn’t mad that I won’t wear the silly hairnet. I slide my fingers over my new bracelet. It’s kind of cool in a Madonna circa 1980s fashion sense way. It doesn’t matter, I’m not here for him or his mixed messages.
I push the doors open. The dining room is filling up with residents as they mosey their way toward the tables. There has to be at least two hundred tables each lined with white tablecloths and topped with brown, orange, or yellow doilies. On top of the doilies are small vases with a fall mixture of Gerber daisies. It’s very festive. At the back of the dining room are several tables of silver chafers, the hot food section is separated between tables of bread, fruit and cheese platters. The scent of the turkey carving section is filling up the room. I cut through the decorated tables and head toward the elevator. I need to get my grandmother. I press the number two and play with the spider-webby hairnet. Walking in the spiderwebs… The elevator stops and I step out onto the carpeted grey floor.
Patsy Cline is crying about falling to pieces from inside my grandmother’s apartment. I tap on the door. With the music and Jack missing as her doorman, will she be able to hear it? The door swings open. I take a step back, impressed by my grandmother’s strength.
“Happy Thanksgiving, darling.” She kisses me lightly on each of my cheeks.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Grandmother. Would you like to go and eat a little something with the other residents before we go home?” I step into her apartment.
“Yes, darling.” She turns off her stereo. “How are you and Jack getting along?”
“What?” I crinkle my eyebrows.
“You and Jack, darling. Please tell me all those years of listening to music with the headphones on have not damaged your hearing.” She picks up her purse and links her other arm in mine.
“No, Grandmother. My hearing is good. I just didn’t understand what you meant.”
“How are things going with you
and Jack?” She pokes my side.
I jump from her prodding. “Fine. I’m glad he is taking good care of you.”
“Taking care of me… I don’t need any taking care of, darling.” She shakes her head and locks her apartment door.
We exit the elevator and stroll toward the dining room. I guide my grandmother over to a table with a few seats unoccupied. This place filled up quickly. I scoot out a chair for her.
“Would you like to sit here, Grandmother?”
“Sure, darling.” She doesn’t even inspect the table or its other occupants. Her focus is elsewhere, as though she’s searching for something…or someone.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Ms. Hauser. It’s so nice your granddaughter could join us,” Sherry says and brushes my grandmother’s arm.
My grandmother smiles at her and turns away.
“Grandmother, Sherry was wishing you a happy Thanksgiving.” My grandmother’s manners embarrass me a little. Maybe this is part of the dementia. Maybe my parents were right, maybe she is really changing.
“What, dear?” My grandmother stares at me slack-jawed.
Sherry smiles and moves on to greet some other residents. Across the room, Jack is helping a lady with a walker into a seat. He squints in our direction with bewilderment. Why is he surprised?
He makes his way to our table and beams. “I’m so glad you decided to stay.”
Now I’m confused. “I said we would.”
“Yes, you did.” He’s gripping the chair in front of my grandmother’s chair. Jack kneads the vinyl fabric in the same way he massaged my shoulders. “Can I fix a plate for you, Mrs. Hauser?”
“Oh, Jack, that would be lovely. Please take Lauren with you. She knows exactly what I like.” My grandmother glows at him.
He offers his hand and I accept it. The buffet isn’t far from my grandmother’s table. We maneuver in between the tables as if we’re trying to figure our way through a maze. Jack releases my hand and grabs a plate from the white-clothed table.
Dementia must be the reason my grandmother thinks I know what she likes to eat better than the guy who knows her sleeping schedule. Though, he isn’t displaying the signs of someone who knows my grandmother’s appetite. The plate is overflowing.