Meet Me on Love Lane

by Nina Bocci

  “Not exactly. I get blips on the radar. I’m hoping the more I’m around everyone the more I remember. Nick, Emma, and Cooper jarred some stuff loose. Henry, well, he seems to be my sticking point.”

  “From a medical standpoint, it’s amazing to know that you’re gaining some memories. From a fatherly perspective—well, for me, it seems like no time passed with all of you. You’re still the same little kids you were all those years ago. Henry still looks at you like … you know what.” He paused, glancing at his watch. “Oh, look at the time. I have to go.”

  I touched his arm. “Looks at me like what?”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he apologized, looking mad at himself for the slip. “I don’t want to mess with whatever’s going on. I have a feeling you’ll remember everything in time.”

  Once we were in the car and on the way to Gigi’s, I texted her to see if she was awake. If she was, my dad would come in. If not, he’d just drop me off. Her response was pure Gigi.

  GIGI: Tell your father he doesn’t have to check up on me. I’m not dead yet.

  ME: I love you, I’ll see you in a couple minutes.

  GIGI: Go out, have fun. Make bad decisions.

  ME: Dad literally told me I needed to make good decisions only a couple hours ago!

  GIGI: God, he’s a buzzkill.

  I barked a laugh, making my father jump in the driver’s seat. “What is she saying?”

  I slid him a glance. “You don’t want to know.”

  “She’s a spitfire, but, Charlotte …” His tone got serious all of a sudden. “I’d like you to try to convince her to let a nurse come in. Just once in a while.”

  I knew it was coming. I could see how tired and how stressed over her well-being he was. It was another point reminding me how unavailable I’d been. How little I knew.

  I sighed. “I know that would be best for her, but I doubt she’ll go for it. She’s so independent. She won’t let me help her with anything.” Part of me wanted to say, I’ll be here. I can help, but there was no point in offering. We both knew there was no guarantee on that.

  “You say independent, I say stubborn. She had a pretty bad fall earlier in the year that she hasn’t fully recovered from,” he explained sadly.

  “I didn’t know that,” I said, trying to keep the hurt from my voice. “You didn’t mention it.”

  He shook his head. “You were stressed and so busy with your job. I didn’t want to give you something else to worry about.”

  I nodded. He was right, but it didn’t make it okay, and it certainly didn’t feel good. I should have been here.

  “I should have come sooner,” I whispered. “Spent time with her before all this happened.”

  Dad took my hand. “Put that thought out of your head. You’re here now. The best thing you can do is have quality time with her.”

  I nodded weakly. “I’ll see what I can do to convince her. Maybe if it’s a male nurse she’ll go for it.”

  “If she would, I’d find one tomorrow. I’m worried all day long when she’s alone.”

  He pulled into the gravel drive, the stones crunching beneath the tires. “I’ll try to see what I can do,” I said again.

  My dad squeezed my hand. I got out slowly, carrying the pizza that Henry had packed up. My father waved, waiting in the car for me to get onto the porch before pulling away.

  With the bag at my feet, I sat on one of the rockers, enjoying the warm breeze. The clear sky reminded me of a week ago, when Henry and I had walked to Casey’s the first time.

  I tipped my head back against the chair and closed my eyes, hoping to let the ache and worry ease out of my body. I tried to enjoy the sounds around me—the crickets that were being noisy on the edge of the porch; an owl that hooted from the massive oak tree that grew beside the master bedroom window.

  Checking my watch, I weighed my options. Head to bed a bit on the early side, or stay up watching television awhile and risk getting my second wind.

  I yawned just as something howled in the distance. “Bed it is,” I said, standing and stretching my arms over my head. Grabbing the bag, I opened the screen door and stopped short.

  Lying by the front door was a small, hand-tied bouquet of wildflowers: a few black-eyed Susans, coreopsis, and lupines. They were common in this area, some even growing near Gigi’s fence. These are far more my speed, I thought, wondering if Max had realized that his original, overly designed bouquet wasn’t exactly my taste. A pang of guilt hit me. Here I was getting upset that Henry didn’t want to date me, when there was a wonderful, handsome doctor who sent me flowers.

  A small cream-colored envelope sat beside it, wedged by the door. Carefully, I pulled it out, admiring the artistic penmanship.

  Not sure if a florist gets flowers.

  Thought they might brighten your day.

  I floated into the house with a smile on my face.

  13

  “Hey,” I said, looking up to see Max standing beside my booth at 81 Café.

  “Hey, yourself.” Max smiled, tapping the menu in his hand against the corner of the table.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I said, surprised that he managed to escape the office for lunch. I looked around, for what I didn’t know. “Want to join me?”

  I shifted in my seat awkwardly as he took his. Do I ask him about the flowers? It’s not that I was nervous, but I had an overwhelming feeling of being in a bit over my head. Thank him? Buy him lunch?

  I kept my eyes on the menu trying in vain not to smile, but he made it hard. He was just staring at me and smiling. No sexy quips, or cute jokes. Just his presence left me unsettled—in a good way. He was almost hard to look at, if that made sense. He was that attractive that I think a nun would take a second—or third—glance in his direction.

  “So what are you getting?” I finally asked. “I mean, do you have time to eat, or are you just grabbing takeout?”

  Max folded his hands on the table. “I’m free for about an hour. A patient canceled, so I thought, why not. Nice day to get some fresh air. Running into you was a bonus.”

  The heat crept up, warming my cheeks. “I agree. How’ve you been?” I asked, wondering if he would bring up the flowers.

  He took a sip of the water that Clara set down. “Busy. I’m sure you can say the same,” he said, glancing at the long to-do list that was beside my phone.

  I slapped the list with my hand. Maybe if it was out of sight, it would be out of mind, too. Unlikely, considering that it was almost noon and I hadn’t even started it yet.

  “Can I help?” he offered, pulling one finger at a time off the paper. He glanced at it, reading down the extensive list. In truth, it wasn’t that bad, considering all of it was to be done at Gigi’s. It was just a matter of gearing up to get it done.

  “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not really anything that anyone can help me with,” I said, the guilt spilling over. “Truth is, I’ve been so swamped with the shop that I feel like I’ve been neglecting Gigi,” I said honestly.

  He shook his head. “You’re busy. Anyone can see that, but I’m sure she doesn’t feel that way. In fact, I know she doesn’t. She’s so proud of you and happy that you’re opening the shop.”

  I smiled. “Still, I feel guilty. I’ll just keep it in mind that you insist she’s okay.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  As I was about to invite him over to help, his phone dinged loudly. He sighed, looking utterly disappointed. “Apologies. It appears I have to go after all.”

  “Well, it was a nice run-in—even though it’s been cut short,” I said, genuinely sad that he had to leave. “Another time.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that. I’ll be in touch,” he promised, offering a wink before departing.

  * * *

  “GIGI, I NEED to know why on earth you have so many Tom Hanks movies? Doubles and triples of each one?” I yelled, but I was met with silence. Four copies of the You’ve Go
t Mail DVD in hand, I came out into the hallway, only to stop short.

  She yelled up, “Because he’s an American treasure.”

  “Agree, but that’s no reason to have four copies of one movie.”

  In the past few days, I had become quite the expert at dancing and pivoting around boxes, shimmying between large plastic tubs full of unopened wares and obscene stacks of boxes filled to the brim with DVDs. Gigi was a DVD hoarder of the most ridiculous order. She had full seasons of Baywatch, The Carol Burnett Show, The Dean Martin Celebrity Roast, and every season of The Muppet Show. Plus, every single Tom Hanks movie ever made. My dear Gigi had turned one of her spare bedrooms into a Blockbuster.

  When I finally reached the end of the hallway, I spied her at the bottom of the steps, exactly where I’d left her. A small wooden table sat next to her with the house phone—yes, she still had one of those—and a bottle of beer.

  She wasn’t answering me because she was too busy laughing while sitting in her wheelchair. “I love you, but don’t poke fun at my stash. No one messes with that room.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Is it like something from Stephen King? Is it haunted? If I turn around and there are creepy twins at the end of the hall, I’m burning this place down. Am I going to go insane now?”

  “Short trip,” she mumbled with an added snort. “That room is full of essentials,” she howled. She pointed her wiry arthritic finger at me. “None of that is to be thrown away or sold until the perfect time.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah? When is that perfect time?”

  “You’ll know it when it gets here.”

  “Gigi, you’re being obtuse.”

  “Oh, look, someone got a thesaurus. Or maybe it’s because you’re hanging around Henry Mercer lately and he’s rubbing up on you.”

  I barked a laugh. “It’s rubbing off on you, and you know that. Stop changing the subject. The first spare room I cleaned out for you was a breeze. The rest of this seems excessive and, frankly, wasteful.” Which I thought would be the opposite of Gigi.

  “Well, it’s over now, anyway,” she said, looking genuinely sad.

  “What is? The shopping spree?”

  She nodded, then scooted herself closer to the stairs. For a moment, I thought she was going to climb them. I stood, ready to head down the stairs to help.

  Instead, she just touched one of the low frames, this one of her holding a very young Andrew Bishop. “Your dad stopped in one day when UPS was delivering, and he had a bit of a hissy fit. The driver usually brings it all upstairs for me since, you know …” She motioned to her chair. “If he’s unable, Nick or Henry usually does it.”

  “So what happened when Dad saw the guy?” I asked, but I knew the answer before she said it. Knowing how my father worried about her, this must have made him crazy.

  “He wasn’t mad at the driver. He’s the usual guy who’s all around town. Everyone knows him. I’m pretty sure he went to school with the boys,” she said, referring to Cooper, Nick, and Henry. I had come to find out she called them that often.

  “It was the situation, right? You had a stranger walking around your house. A thousand what-ifs probably worried Dad sick, Gigi.”

  She nodded. “What-ifs put an end to my fun.” As she said it, her eyes skirted away.

  “Gigi … ,” I said suspiciously.

  “What?” she replied innocently.

  “You haven’t stopped, have you?”

  Her pale skin flushed the slightest pink. “Technically yes.”

  “Imogen Genevieve Bishop, are you still shopping online in mass quantities?”

  She pursed her lips. “I’ve cut way back.”

  “Gigi …”

  “And they’re not delivered here anymore. Henry lets me send them to his house.”

  “Gigi! You’ve made him an accomplice!”

  She laughed. “Oh, calm down, your little sweetie is safe. Andrew loves him.”

  I wanted to explain, He’s not my sweetie, but this wasn’t the time nor the place.

  “Is this why the door was locked with two deadbolts and a skeleton key?”

  She shrugged as if it was perfectly normal. None of this was ordinary, but really, when was Gigi ever a typical grandmother?

  “Gigi, why are you really keeping all this stuff?”

  “A rainy day?”

  I walked down the steps, only to see her wiping away a tear. Sitting on the bottom step, I took her hand. “Gigi.”

  “When your mom—” She paused, biting her lip as if to not say something negative about her. “When you left Hope Lake, all of us took it really hard. Some more than others, but all of us had to find a way to deal with the emptiness however we could. Mine was this,” she whispered, squeezing my hand. “An Easy-Bake Oven, Barbies, LEGOs—you know, whatever you liked. I would buy them and store them away for when you visited. I know it’s not great to spoil a kid in a divorce, but I didn’t care. I just wanted you to come back and be happy for a while.”

  “But then I didn’t come back,” I said, feeling the tears well up. “And you just kept buying things and hoping that I would.”

  She nodded. “I know it’s ridiculous, but it made me feel better. I went through and donated a ton of it to charity when you outgrew it.”

  “Too bad, I would have still built the LEGOs.”

  “They’re in the closet stacked along the wall. They were always your favorite. I didn’t have the heart to get rid of those.”

  Leaning over, I gave her a gentle hug. “Thank you, Gigi. I’m sorry I didn’t make it back until now.”

  I felt the tears on my shoulder. “You never have to apologize for that,” she whispered. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I do. Maybe it was my mother’s fault when I was younger. But after she died, there is no excuse.” A tear dropped down my face. “On a serious note, how are we going to hide all this stuff from my dad?”

  Gigi took my hand. “Oh, cookie, I’d never make you lie to your father. I’ll come clean one of these days. I just … ,” she began, but her soft smile faded. Her watery gray eyes looked resigned, sad.

  “Sometimes, I get lonely and I still like getting the deliveries. The visits and the friends stop after a while. When you’re my age, time passes slowly while you’re waiting for what’s to come. When I’m alone, I think a great deal about my legacy. What people will remember me for. Was I a good mother? A good doctor? A good wife? My Stanley will long be remembered for leaving his mark on the world with his imagination and words, but what about me? It’s a bit selfish, but I’d like to be remembered, even if it’s just for a small fraction of my very long life.”

  She looked so small in that moment and I hated myself more than when I arrived. Not that I was the answer to all of her problems with loneliness, but if I had been here, I could have helped quell some of it. Stave off the sadness she felt by spending time with her more often. Knowing this, I needed to remember to make time for Gigi, no matter where I ended up living permanently.

  “Gigi, I think people are going to remember you in a way that will have them talking about you for decades,” I said, a tear slipping down my cheek.

  Wiping it away, I smiled, hoping that any trace of sadness was gone. “As a hoarder.”

  “Oh, you’re a smart-ass,” she laughed, punching my shoulder weakly.

  “Seriously, though, I was thinking you can sell it. Most of this stuff was for you anyway, so why couldn’t you have a big old yard sale and pocket the cash,” she said.

  “Gigi,” I said sternly. “That’s not funny. This is your stuff.”

  She harrumphed. “What did I say the first day you showed up on my doorstep looking like a couple of miles of bad road? This is your house. Not your dad’s, yours, which means all the crazy shit inside is yours. Sell it, burn it, give it away to charity. It’s your choice.”

  The possibility of a yard sale had merit. And it’s not like it was a secret that I needed the money. “I’ll make a deal. We’
ll go through it all together and save a couple of the truly classic Gigi purchases. We’ll put the rest up at a yard sale, and we’ll celebrate with a fancy dinner and some of that wine you sneak when you think I’m not looking.”

  “Deal.”

  With a weak squeeze of my hand, she gave a small yawn. “All this excitement has me in need of some shut-eye. And maybe another beer,” she said, tapping her empty bottle on the table. “This was the last one I had.” She looked at me expectantly.

  “How, pray tell, do you expect me to get to the brewery or the store without a car or a license? Fly? Do you have a magic carpet somewhere, Aladdin?”

  Gigi looked at me sagely but also like Jafar with the lamp. “I have a special guest stopping in to help you with the last room down the hall from yours. Upstairs, the last room on the right.”

  “That sounds like a horror movie,” I teased.

  “Hush now, that room is a favorite and I miss it. It was my Stanley’s, and I haven’t been in there in forever. After you peruse that room, our special guest will take you to HLBC afterward for a beer, and don’t forget to get me a case. I prefer the blood orange, please, and thank you.”

  “Is that all I’m going to get? I just sit here and wait for someone to appear?”

  Gigi laughed. “No, my sweet and silly girl. You’re going to go back upstairs, put all that shit back into the room neatly, shower, do something with your hair, and he’ll be here in an hour.”

  Vague much?

  With that, she wheeled herself down the hall and into her room, where she promptly closed the sliding doors, leaving me on the step confused.

  * * *

  I WASN’T PACING, per se, but I wasn’t not pacing, either. The shiny hardwood floor creaked beneath my feet as I wandered back and forth in front of the front door. I kept it open, hoping to be able to see the car when they pulled in.

  I had a sneaking suspicion it was going to be Henry. I couldn’t place why he was my guess, but he was. Gigi seemed to favor him. Maybe it was wishful thinking.