Not the Rebound Guy by Abby Knox (popular books of all time .txt) 📗

“Who’s going to drive her to the doctor? Take her on outings? She’s going to miss bowling and gardening!” Eliza asks.

I can’t take this argument happening while the woman isn’t even out of surgery. “Have you spoken to her about this?” I ask.

Karen shrugs. “Not yet.”

I nod my head and smile, then shoot a grin at Eliza.

“What are you two smirking about?”

Eliza keeps her eyes on me, and I can feel her fire calming to a tiny ember. “Nothing, Mom. I just figured you ought to know by now that Grams isn’t going to go without a fight.”

The surgery is a success, and Betty spends the whole next week in the hospital under close observation. At the same time, Karen, Eliza, and I buzz around her. The tension ebbs and flows because we all know now’s not the time to bring up the assisted living suggestion.

In the meantime, Betty is recovering nicely, according to Dr. Palmer. Karen does her best to ignore me, other than making side comments about my lodging situation. “Don’t know why anyone would impose on an old lady for food and a bed, but I’m not privy to this club of three you all seem to have,” or some variation of that, becomes an oft-repeated refrain.

Between hospital visits, Eliza and I finish three-fourths of the jam orders. We only use one or two jars’ worth of strawberry jam for purposes other than intended. And get plenty of use out of the shower afterward.

On the day they’re ready to release Betty to the rehab facility, Karen broaches the subject of the assisted living facility.

The tension of watching these three have a family meeting resembles a three-way discussion among Thor, Loki, and Odin, but without the toxic masculinity.

“Karen, I’ve been gardening and making jams for your whole entire life; why would I stop now?”

“Mom, I’m not asking you to completely stop. I’m putting a stop to this hare-brained money-making scheme that my daughter has put into your head.”

“It’s not hare-brained,” Eliza says.

I have to bite my lip, but Grams says precisely what I’m thinking. “If you think anybody believes that making jam is going to make anybody rich in a short amount of time, you really don’t know anything about anything. Ask Garrett how much money he makes in the beekeeping business.”

“He is not a part of this discussion. Did you know I found him in bed with Eliza? The second you’re not around to manipulate, he’s worming his way into Eliza’s life too.”

“I hope so,” Grams says. “He’s a good boy, and they’re perfect for each other.”

Eliza is beet red, but uncharacteristically blurts out, “I wouldn’t use the word ‘worm,’ but okay, Mom.”

I choke on my coffee. Eliza is determined to kill me in the middle of this argument because she keeps going.

“Mom. You have filled in the gaps with this cockamamie story about Garrett, and you don’t even know him. How could you? Can you just take a breath and listen? Have a little faith in people? It’s not too much to ask. Ever since I failed to turn into the person you wanted me to be, you’ve been largely dismissive of my motives, my choices, everything. I know you have your own ideas about what is and what is not a noble career, but did you ever stop to think outside of your own bubble? Yes, medicine is noble. But maybe I’m helping people too. I’m successful because I help people. And I’m going to do more of it. I’m quitting my job in New York, and I’m going to stay here with Grams and start my own business making planning pages. With or without your payment for services rendered. I’ll find my own seed money, somehow. If I make zero money making planners, helping people organize their goals and objectives, and make business plans, I will still do it. I’m sorry if that’s not enough for you.”

Karen purses her lips. “Awful hard to trust you when my mother is in a hospital bed because of your little romantic tryst.”

Eliza shakes her head. “You have to get that notion out of your head.”

Everyone is quiet for a long time.

Finally, Karen offers, “Mom, if you agree to at least take a look at Sunset Towers, I’ll back off and let you carry on with this business scheme. In another week, if it looks like you two are getting her too riled up, and she’s not doing her physical therapy, then we’re going to revisit the assisted living discussion.”

Eliza and Grams exchange a look. Eliza nods. Grams says, “Deal.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Eliza

Grams doesn’t speak a single word for the entire tour of the place.

There’s a hair salon, bridge club, book club, patio garden club in the central courtyard. There’s a bird-watching section with dozens of birdhouses and hummingbird feeders. A chapel. Regular outings to movie theaters and historical places around the state. Shuffleboard.

Grams is so quiet and serene; it scares me. It starts to make me wonder if she’s had another stroke in the middle of this tour.

When we get Grams settled into the van, she looks at me, and I know. I know I’m going to have to back her up, and it’s not going to be pretty.

“Well, Mom. What did you think? I told you it was great.”

“It’s charming. Very peaceful. Eerily peaceful, pleasant and quiet.”

It’s a good thing I’m driving the van because when I glance over at Mom, she looks like she’s quietly livid in the way of someone who could steer us all into the river and never look back.

“Karen. I love you. I know you want the best for me. But listen. I have bingo and book club at the senior center once a week with my friends. I have Bunco pals who check on me. I have a town full of people who remember me as their school principal and still love me. I have a real garden and a bird-watching gazebo. I have