Changing Lanes: A Novel (23 page)

“And he talked about her?”

“A little.” She tipped her head to one side, and a hint of gray appeared at her hairline. Slowly, but surely, Madeline Halladay was learning to relax.

“I want to help him,” I said.

Mom leaned forward to place her hand on top of mine. “It’s not your problem to fix. Just listen when he talks, Abby. That’s what you used to do best.”

“Did you give him any advice?” I asked.

My mother had always loved Mick like the son she’d never had. I remembered overhearing her crying during the days after he ran away. At the time, I hadn’t understood how she could be so upset about a neighbor. Now, as an adult, I’d come to appreciate the depths of my mother’s compassion.

“I told him to follow his heart.” She refocused on the scrapbook page, pressing another photo into place before she sat back to admire her work. “The heart is an amazing thing, Abby.”

I wondered if she was talking about Mick, or me, or both.

“What if his heart is too afraid to go after what he wants?” I asked.

She reached over again, this time giving my hand a firm squeeze. “Maybe his heart just needs time.”

Just after dinner, I’d tucked the snapshot Nan had given me in my sweatshirt pocket. The long-ago image of my mother weighed as heavy as if it were made from lead instead of photo paper.

“What would you do if you could follow your heart, Mom?”

She sat back a fraction of an inch, as if no one had asked her that question in a very long time.

“What would
you
do?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I asked you first.”

She stared at me blankly, and I realized she either had no idea of what to say or she didn’t know where to start.

I pulled the photo from my pocket and handed it to her.

Mom studied her own image, so young, so carefree. She traced a finger across the photograph. Her slight, melancholy smile pulled at my insides.

“What did you want back then?” I asked.

She lifted her gaze to mine, tears shimmering along her lower lashes. “That was a long time ago, sweetheart.”

I moved beside her and wrapped my arm around her waist. “So?”

“It doesn’t matter what I wanted back then,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

I pulled her tighter against me. “What did you dream about? What did you want to be?”

She pointed to the old Minolta, hanging from her neck in the photo.

“A photographer?” I asked.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “I dreamed I’d be a
National Geographic
photojournalist, traveling the world, capturing images that might touch someone”—she lifted her hand to my heart—“here.”

I blinked away my own tears, heartbroken to hear the pain of her lost dream still echoing inside her.

She touched her fingers to my chin lightly. “Now you’re taking pictures and touching lives,” she continued. “I couldn’t be prouder.”

I pressed a kiss to her cheek and pushed to my feet. “I’ll be right back.”

In my old bedroom, I plucked the Minolta from the bureau where it sat, then walked back to my parents’ room. I knelt beside Mom and sat the camera in her hands.

She drew in a sharp, surprised breath. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

I nodded, as sure of what I was doing as I’d ever been of anything. “You can’t go back here”—I tapped the old snapshot—“but you can start again.

“Your turn,” I whispered. Then I wrapped my arms around her and held on tight.

I should have known Nan was up to something when she agreed to brunch with Don. After all, she’d had fear in her eyes since the moment they’d met, although that fear had been joined by a spark of attraction on the day we’d gone for our picnic.

On that day, Nan’s eyes had danced with curiosity and fascination before she’d caught herself and shuttered her emotions.

As my family waited for her to come downstairs for her first date in six years, I imagined she’d sport her emotional armor, but I never thought she’d cover herself in physical armor, as well.

“Mother, what are you wearing?” Mom asked.

Missy, who had recently seen several minutes of
West Side Story
on cable television before Mom realized she’d sneaked out of bed, danced past singing, “When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way.”

Frankie, whose own wardrobe had morphed from all black to warm combinations of color and denim, nodded as she took in Nan’s outfit. “You look cool.”

Don had yet to arrive, yet there Nan stood, wearing my grandpa’s favorite herringbone jacket, his tie that looked like piano keys, and his chocolate-brown fedora.

While I was in no position to criticize her choice of headwear, she’d either gone off the deep end, or she thought her appearance would send Don screaming.

Dad peeked his head out from the kitchen where he had two pies baking. “If they’re giving out free meals if you come in costume, you’re going to be one cheap date.”

My mother shot him a death glare, then she fisted her hands on her hips. “Mother?”

Much to her credit, Nan ignored every one of our comments, holding her chin high. “I’d prefer to be called Gus from here on out.”

A burst of laughter sounded from the kitchen, where Dad had retreated. My mother ran a hand through her hair, leaving the usually perfect strands in a layered mess.

“I will not call you Gus,” she said, pointing to the stairs. “You march up there right now and put on something appropriate.”

A flush rose in Nan’s cheeks. “I may have changed my name and my manner of dress, but I am still your mother, young lady. You would be wise to remember that.”

Mom took a backward step at the same moment the doorbell rang. “Buddy?” she called out to my father, her tone pleading with him to do something…anything.

“I’ll get it,” Frankie called out in a singsong voice so out of character I pinched myself to make sure I was awake.

Don Michaels stood at the door, Riley by his side. Riley sported a pale-blue bandana that perfectly matched the pale-blue blazer Don wore over a white Oxford-cloth shirt and a pair of chinos. Frankie opened the screen door and ushered Don and his dog inside. She slowed to press a kiss to Nan’s cheek before she and Riley headed toward the back door for a visit with Detta.

Much to his credit, Don’s visible admiration held steady when he saw Nan. Amusement danced in his eyes. “You look dashing,” he said, holding out his arm. “Shall we?”

Nan narrowed her eyes. “You should know I’ve changed my name to Gus.”

“Gus,” Don said with a nod and a shrug, pointing to her jacket. “I wasn’t sure where you’d like to go for brunch, but, if it’s all right with you, I think the country club’s a smart choice. We’ll put their dress code to shame.”

Dad had emerged from the kitchen, visibly holding back his laughter. “Have a great time, you two.”

Nan crossed the foyer toward Don, who held the screen door open.

“Just a minute,” I said, turning to Mom. “May I borrow the camera?”

She nodded, although displeasure still hovered in her expression.

I raced for the camera, returning a moment later with the lens cap off and the settings ready to go.

Nan and Don posed awkwardly at first, a classic please-get-this-over-with-quickly stance. But then something interesting started to happen. Don put his arm around Nan’s shoulder, and she frowned.

“Did you hear the one about the Irishman and the stiff in the sports jacket?” he said, his teasing tone evident.

Nan smirked.

I snapped off the shot.

“Did you hear the one about the old man who wouldn’t take no for an answer?” Nan asked in rebuttal.

Don laughed, his grin wide. Nan smiled. If I wasn’t mistaken, she actually giggled.

I snapped off another shot.

And then they were on their way.

A few hours later, Nan returned. She still wore Grandpa’s hat and tie, but she carried his jacket over her arm. An unmistakable light danced in her eyes, and a happy warmth built inside me at the thought of her and Don becoming something more than acquaintances.

“How was it?” I asked as she passed me on the stairs.

“Okay.” She tipped her chin, doing her best to appear aloof, but then she smiled and gave my arm a conspiratorial squeeze. “
Very
okay.”

After she disappeared into her bedroom, I retraced my steps to my own room. I pulled out my notebook and flipped to my log of moments, smiling as I made a new entry.

I knew Nan would always hold tight to the memories and photos of her life with my grandfather, but perhaps the pictures I’d taken might mark the beginning of a new set of moments she’d share with Don.

Even though I hadn’t yet had the photos developed, I made my entry just the same, fairly certain the moment I’d witnessed would be exactly what the camera had captured.

So I wrote.
First date. Nan meets her match
.

I met Destiny at my yellow Victorian before we headed to the Pub for karaoke night.

She and Rock had been working nonstop to erase all signs of termite infestation, and I knew she was anxious to show me what they’d accomplished.

After seeing just how extensive the damage had been, I had no idea of what to expect. The sight that greeted me blew my mind.

“I’m speechless,” I said.

Destiny laughed, pride shining in her gaze as she studied my reaction.

We stood in the doorway to the living room, where I could do nothing more than shake my head in amazement.

Where two weeks earlier there had been cutout walls and exposed studs, splintered floorboards, and baseboards reduced to termite-damaged pulp, there now stood restored and sanded floors, new baseboards, and unblemished walls.

“I went with the pine we found at the salvage yard,” Destiny said as she stepped out ahead of me. “I wanted to keep things as authentic as I could.”

I dropped to my knees and rubbed my palm across the smooth, flawless wood that had replaced the spot where gaping holes had loomed liked abscesses. My vision swam, and I blinked, sending a tear spilling over my lower lid.

The drop fell to the floor, a happy tear in the place where I’d previously felt nothing but overwhelming disbelief.

“How did you do this?” I lifted my gaze to Destiny’s proud smile. “Have you slept in the past two weeks? And you haven’t even given me a bill for some of these materials.”

She waved off my concern and my gratitude. “We’ll deal with that later.”

I pushed to my feet and wrapped my arms around her, surprising her with both the move and the unspoken emotion.

I held tight as I spun her in a slow circle, taking in the freshly installed walls and the beautiful molding where before there had been only pulp and sawdust.

“I still have to finish the floors and reinstall your radiators,” she said, laughter ringing through her words as she hugged me back. “Then you can pick your paint and trim colors.”

I stopped spinning and released her from my grip. I stepped toward the wall and ran my fingertips down the smooth surface then along the expertly fitted trim. “It’s amazing.”

I stood motionless for a moment, overwhelmed by the changes that had taken place in my life. They had all started here. Just as Destiny had restored my house, cutting out the bad and lovingly fitting the new, my time without Fred had done the same for me.

Had it really been only a month since the termites had sent me scrambling back to my parents’ house? Fred’s month of silence was almost up as well. I shoved the thought away and focused on the house.

Destiny turned to point out a feature in the kitchen, but I grabbed for her elbow and held tight, turning her to face me.

“You. Are. Amazing.” I grasped her arms and gave her a quick shake. “Amazing. I can never thank you enough.”

Sudden moisture shimmered in Destiny’s eyes. I had to admit, I’d never seen her tear up, not in twenty-five years of friendship. She cleared her throat and blinked. “Want to see the basement?”

I nodded, and after a tour of my newly restored ceiling joists and beams and my now structurally sound foundation and sill, we headed out into the Paris night to celebrate, two friends who’d known each other forever without really knowing each other at all.