Changing Lanes: A Novel (8 page)

As for me, I focused on only one thing. Sooner or later, even Ted would be tired of hearing himself talk.

I drove Nan to the library again not long after we got rid of Ted. My mother had promised she’d try harder the next time she invited someone to dinner, even though I assured her I didn’t need a next time.

Frankie had remained isolated in her room, opting not to come back downstairs for dessert.

I tried to remember if I’d done the same thing at her age, but all I could envision were evenings spent sneaking out to meet Jessica and Destiny. There had also been a time when the twilight hours post-dinnertime were spent up in the tree house, legs swinging over the side, telling Mick my dreams and schemes and counting stars.

My, how times had changed.

“Thanks for the lift, Macaroon,” Nan said as I slowed the Beast to a stop in front of the library.

“Why the library?” I asked.

I expected my grandmother to tell me she enjoyed being surrounded by books, or that she met other local widows and widowers here. I expected her to tell me she went there for the tea, but instead she said, “Memories, dear.”

Then she patted my hand and deftly shifted the conversation to me. “What are you going to do?”

“About what? Fred? A job? The house?”

Frank Turner had called to tell me that the structural damage to the Victorian was major, and that it was unsafe for me to move in until the first floor could be secured or restored.

For the time being, I’d be living at home with the Halladays.

Nan leaned across the wide bench seat and grasped my knee. “If I were you, I’d drive this cab, take care of your house, and let that Fred sort himself out.”

Confusion swirled inside me. “Aren’t you the one always touting the wonders of true love?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “
True
love is a magical thing.”

Nan and my grandfather had been married fifty-two years before the stroke that claimed Gus Halladay’s life hit. His sudden death sent our family reeling, but Nan seemed to bounce back instantly. During the past six years, she hadn’t missed a single Paris Seniors trip or dance or nightly visit to the library.

I often wondered if she kept her schedule full in the hopes of finding a new soul mate, or in the hopes of avoiding her grief.

“Abby?” Her voice jarred me from my thoughts. “You never answered my question,” she said.

“Question?” Suddenly, I couldn’t seem to hold a thought in my head.

“What are you going to do?” She repeated her words slowly and firmly, as if I were once again six years old.

I blinked. “I’m going after Fred.” I tamped down the voice inside me that wondered how in the heck I was going to do that. “That’s my top priority.” I nodded, searching for approval in Nan’s eyes but finding none.

Nan sank back against the plush leather seat, her lips pressed to a thin line. I leaned to kiss her cheek as she slid toward her door.

Just before she slammed the massive door shut, I could have sworn I heard her say, “That’s what I was afraid of.”

I scooted across the seat to roll down the window, suddenly filled with sadness at the idea of my grandmother sitting alone in the library every night with only her memories and a cup of Earl Grey.

“Do you want some company?” I called to her.

She slowed and turned, a warm smile gliding across her lips. “Thank you, dear, but not tonight. Go find some fun.”

I watched until she disappeared beyond the sliding glass entry doors of the Paris Public Library.

Find some fun.

There seemed to be a theme developing along those lines.

I pulled the Beast away from the curb but then slowed to a stop a short distance down the street.

As I stared at the parked cars, I remembered my own Beetle, still sitting in the municipal lot near the inn. The least I could do would be to drive by to check on the poor thing.

I thought again of Nan and the idea of her sitting alone night after night. I glanced back at the library just in time to spot a familiar shape at the entrance.

Nan reemerged, carrying a disposable hot beverage cup. Her steps were sure and solid, as if she’d done this countless times before. She headed down the center walk and turned left, away from where I sat parked.

I pulled the Beast into an open parking space, cut the ignition, and climbed out. I moved quickly, trailing behind Nan but
staying far enough back that I could duck and hide should she suddenly spin around to check for a tail.

I might be leading a boring life, but my imagination hadn’t lost a step.

I glanced down at the colorful sheath in which my mother had dressed me and realized I could duck all I wanted to, but I’d never be able to hide.

When I glanced back to the sidewalk in front of me, Nan had vanished.

So much for my detective skills.

Yet I didn’t have to be a detective to know where Nan had gone.

The majestic iron gates of the Paris Cemetery loomed before me. I slipped inside and cut over to Section C, ducking behind the Morris Tomb. From there, I could see Nan sitting beside my grandfather’s headstone.

Her lips moved, but I couldn’t make out her words. She sipped on her tea and then laughed as if someone had told the funniest story she’d ever heard.

In that moment, I understood what drew Nan to the library every night. It was the perfect cover for a nightly trek to the cemetery.

Memories
, Nan had said.

She’d moved in with my parents not long after Grandpa died. Since that time, Nan had told stories about her marriage, including how she and Grandpa would sit and chat after dinner each night, he with his coffee and she with her tea.

Six years after his death, Nan was still sitting with Grandpa after dinner.

For all of her talk about moving on, she hadn’t moved an inch.

Nan had grown quiet, and she swiped at her cheeks.

I tiptoed backward, shame washing through me. Even though I hated to see her so sad, this was her time, her space. I had no business watching.

So I walked away, back toward the cab, leaving Nan alone with her memories.

Instead of going back home, I drove toward Bridge Street and pulled Bessie to the side of the road before the ground ended and the river began.

I climbed out of the cab and smoothed the front of my mother’s dress. While I typically wouldn’t go out for an evening stroll in an outfit more suited to drinks at the country club, there was something to be said for channeling a bit of Audrey Hepburn when you were feeling down.

I skirted the sign proclaiming the bridge closed to pedestrian traffic after dusk and trailed my fingertips along the cool metal railing. The sun had fallen level with the horizon, casting an amber pall across the trees lining the riverbank.

The Delaware glowed as if lit from within, and an eerie mist rose from the water, a clear indication that spring had arrived in Paris.

I reached midspan and stopped, peering between the vertical beams of the weathered suspension bridge like a prisoner, trapped by the uncertainty of my own life.

Nan’s question bounced through my brain.

Logic and love suggested I should rush to the nearest airport and book a flight to France, yet I’d done nothing other than leaving a series of voice mail messages.

There
was
the minor detail involving my intense fear of flying. There was also the issue of not knowing where in Paris Fred had gone.

If I channeled my inner Nancy Drew, surely I could figure things out and track the man down, but instead I’d waited…waited for Fred to make the next move.

When had waiting for something to happen become my modus operandi?

Footfalls sounded from a point behind me on the walkway and I tensed.

Ax murderers weren’t known for taking after-dinner strolls, were they?

I readied myself, wrapping my fingers around the cab ignition key like a weapon, but when the unknown pedestrian approached, he proved to be something far more unnerving than an attacker.

“Don’t mind me.” Mick O’Malley’s deep voice rumbled through the gathering darkness. “Thought I’d snag a front-row seat in case you decided to swan dive.”

“Be still my heart,” I said, shooting him a glare.

Mick’s tone might have been one of levity, but his features held an expression of worry and deep thought.

“Did you follow me?” I asked.

He moved beside me, leaning on the railing to peer between his own set of vertical bars. “While this town is, in fact, lacking in excitement, I have not yet stooped to stalking you. No.”

“I suppose the view out west is a bit more thrilling,” I said.

Mick stared straight ahead at the setting sun, the stand of maples and oaks, and the Delaware rushing past. When he turned to meet my stare, our gazes locked for a brief moment. “The view out west has nothing on this.”

Unnerved by the intensity in his eyes, I shifted subjects. “How’s your mom?”

“Frankie’s with her,” he answered. “She’s some kid.”

“My Frankie?” I asked.

Mick nodded, his expression relaxing a measure. “She really has a way with my mom.”

“Does she spend time with her often?”

Mick smiled. “All the time. She might surprise you, your little sister.”

Oh, she surprised me, all right, even though I was still unable to picture my sister in any mode other than miserable.

We stood in silence for several long moments. I studied the river and then turned to check out the empty bridge behind us.

Not a single car approached the span, but then, that was Paris. A person either lived in Paris, or they didn’t. Residents tended to stay for life, and the few who left—like Mick and me—seemed to find their way home sooner or later.

“Why are you here, Mick?” I asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You first.”

“I was out for a walk, saw the cab, and wanted to make sure Buddy hadn’t decided to end it all at the thought of another Halladay female living under his roof.”

I squinted at him. “You always were considerate like that.”

A glimmer of mischief danced in his eyes, a brief glimpse into the past. “Your turn,” he said.

I shifted my focus to the night sky and hesitated, fighting the urge to tell him everything, just like old times. I reminded myself that I hadn’t seen the man in a dozen years, even though standing beside him made me feel as though no time had passed at all.

“Nan asked me a question, and I came up here to think about my answer.”

“And?” Mick asked.

“I’m still thinking.”

He said nothing, but the look of anticipation he wore told me he knew I’d crack.

“Don’t you have anyone else down on her luck you could interrogate?” I asked.

Mick’s rich laughter echoed through the night sky. “I’m all yours tonight, Halladay,” he said.

A shiver raced across my shoulders, and I suspected it had nothing to do with my lack of jacket and everything to do with Mick’s words.

Mick shrugged out of his denim jacket and draped it across my shoulders, the move so familiar, so natural, it made me ache.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and dropped his voice low. “Start sharing, Halladay. We’re burning nighttime.”

I took a deep breath and began. “Well, you already know about Fred.”

I looked to Mick for a response and he nodded. Good enough.

“And I lost my column because obviously I’m not hip enough to pull in buckets of readers.”

Another look. This time a shrug.

“Then there’s the issue of the house.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Apparently the termites caused so much damage it’s not safe for me to move in.”

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Starting to,” I said; then I continued. “Tonight, my mother invited Ted Miller to dinner. Want to know why?”

He nodded. Good man.

“Because he’s an eligible bachelor, and she’s not about to let the deposit on the country club go to waste.”

At this, Mick spoke. “So she doesn’t have a lot of faith in your fiancé?”

I shook my head. “Apparently not.”

Mick’s dark brows lifted toward his hairline. “Tough break, Halladay.”

“Then I saw Nan sitting all alone by Grandpa’s grave.” Sudden tears welled in my eyes. “That just makes me sad.”