Picture This (16 page)

“I mean it. I told you, I like small towns.”

“Tell me more about the one you grew up in,” she said, resting her elbows on the table as though she were settling in for a good long listen. “Florida, right?”

Niall nodded busily and took his time chewing an onion ring. “Yup. But . . . I can't remember much. I only lived there till I was three. Then I moved in with my grandma, in Tampa, so it wasn't quite the same.”

“I thought you said you were raised in a small town.”

“Well, it's more like it's in my DNA.”

Celia pointed a french fry at him accusingly. “Faker.” She took a bite, then asked, “You lived with your grandmother? That's not in any of your bios.”

“Did you google me, woman?” he demanded.

She ignored his question. “So you were with your grandmother from three years old? What was that like?”

“Oh, living with Meemaw was great.”

“Meemaw?”

“She was a Southern lady—what can I say?”

“Were your parents around too?”

Niall shrugged. “My dad was never in the picture. I don't even know who he was. Is. Whatever. My mom . . . well, parenting wasn't really her thing. So my grandmother—her mom—took me in.”

“And your mom too?”

“Mm, no. She stopped coming around when I was just a kid. Haven't seen her since.”

“But . . . you said you had a heart defect when you were a baby.”

“Yeah. I also said I'm fine now.”

“No, I mean . . . your mom . . . You'd think that would have made her more . . .”

“You would think that, wouldn't you? But it had the opposite effect. She couldn't cope. So she chose not to.”

Celia frowned at this, obviously shocked that a mother could walk away from her son. She was hurt and outraged for him. But he'd long since made peace with the issue, thanks to plenty of therapy, so before she could comment, he said, “Don't worry about it. Really. I don't think I missed out, if you know what I mean.”

“So . . . it was just you and Meemaw?”

“And my cousin Aaron. She raised him too.”

“She sounds like an incredibly giving lady. And why did she raise Aaron?”

“His mom, my aunt, died young. His dad was a trucker—couldn't exactly take Aaron with him, so . . .”

“Interesting household. And were you older or younger than Aaron?”

“Older. By four years.” Niall grinned. “We used to drive each other crazy. Pranks, fights. Basketball games when we were teenagers that would go on all day. I always won, of course. When we were little, he used to follow me around all the time, wanted to do what I did, but he couldn't. Then he'd get mad and throw a tantrum right in the yard.”

“So you're close.”

“Like brothers.”

“They must be very proud of you.”

“My grandmother died just as . . . everything was happening for me. The success and the fame and all that.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Still, she knew—even before I did—that I was going to make it.”

“And Aaron?”

“Aaron . . . he's gone too. About six years ago now.”

Celia got very quiet. Niall focused on shredding a napkin. She put a gentle hand on his arm, stilling him. “I don't know what to say.”

Still fidgety, he took another sip of his soda. “Nothing
to
say.”

“Are you . . . is it just you, now?”

Niall wasn't sure he wanted to talk about this, wasn't even sure why he'd started answering her questions in the first place. Except . . . Celia was the type of person who listened quietly, and in that compassionate gap, you ended up telling her things you didn't think you would. But he wasn't about to tell her everything. He couldn't.

So he just said, “Yeah, I guess it is just me.”

She squeezed his arm, and he looked from her hand up to her face. He told himself he shouldn't, because he knew, before his eyes reached hers, what he'd find there—pity, maybe some sympathetic tears. And there they were. He leaned away from her and cleared his throat. The greasy food churned in his stomach. Niall dreaded what she might ask next—
What happened to Aaron?
—so he changed the subject.

“So. Your grandmother. Have you, you know, talked to her about anything yet?”

“Not just yet.” She sighed. “Honestly, I'm almost . . .”

“What?”

“Afraid to.”

“Because it's such a big thing.”

“A big thing that she won't like at all. I just feel so . . . guilty, trying to get her into a senior home.”

“But if something happened to her while she was living alone . . .”

“Right. I'd feel guilty. I can't win.”

“Can I ask you a question?” he said softly.

“Sure.”

“Why is it all on you? You've got your parents, and other family members, I'm assuming. They should have something to say about all this.”

Celia shrugged, picked at her hamburger bun. “Gran and I have always been close. I kind of feel like she's my responsibility. I always have. You know?”

“I do.” He knew it very well, in fact. “And it's admirable, but it's also very stressful. You need a break once in a while, don't you?”

“I guess.”

“Tell you what—I was going to save this Very Special Invitation for another time, but I think maybe now would be better.”

“Your invitation had better include the words ‘two weeks' and ‘Maui.' ”

“It would if I could.” God, would he. He pushed aside thoughts of Celia in a bikini on a tropical beach. “But this is better.”

“Better than Maui?”

“Okay, not really.” Niall put his hand over hers and looked at her earnestly. “Celia, would you . . . would you . . .”

She frowned, trepidation radiating off her. “What?”

“Would you help me with”—he paused to make sure the words were in the correct order—“Night of the Shooting Stars?”

“Are you serious?”

“It's a great honor, I know,” he deadpanned, pretending he didn't see the alarmed expression on her pretty features.

Her question was uncharacteristically blunt.
“Why?”

“I need you.”
Oh, brilliant.
He stopped himself from uttering another word until he'd gotten himself together. He couldn't tell her that all he wanted was to have her beside him the entire time he was in town. The last thing he wanted to do was freak her out. Instead, he handed her a half truth. “I . . . need a translator who speaks Marsden.”

“I don't understand.”

“I swear, I don't know what Ray's talking about most of the time! He's going on about stuff we have to do, but he's talking in shorthand and not explaining himself. Like having to rope in some dude to help with the show? Old one-eyed Zeke who lives out by the sawmill? I have no freakin' idea.”

“Oh, you mean old Jasper. He has both eyes, but he's deaf, so I'm not sure how he's going to be able to help with a singing competition.”

Niall gaped. “There's really an old Jasper who lives out by the sawmill?”

“No.”

Dammit, she was absolutely glowing now that she'd put one over on him. That really knocked him off kilter. He recovered as best he could, but his heart was hammering in his chest.

“Okay, I see what you did there. Very funny. But that just proves my point, doesn't it? I don't know who anybody is, and Ray isn't going to take the time to explain everything to me. You, however, could. And you're way better looking than Ray. I could look at you all day—him, not so much. So say yes.” She blushed and turned her head away. “And by the way, why am I always begging you to say yes all the time? Have you noticed that? Just tell me there won't be other instances of begging in our near future when it counts against my . . .
ego
, okay?”

Celia's blush deepened to a red he could see even in the twilight. Then a loud beeping and crackling from the hamburger stand startled them out of the little bubble that had built up around them.

“What's that?”

“Just the scanner—police, fire, ambulance. Ollie used to be a volunteer firefighter; he can't seem to get out of the habit of listening to the emergency calls. Or he's just nosy.”

More noise, this time garbled voices bursting from the speaker. When it was silent again, there was a shout of “Celia!”

“Over here, Ollie.”

A skinny man in an apron leaned out the side door. “The dispatcher just mentioned your grandma. Police responded.”

N
iall's car barely came to a stop before Celia was out of the passenger seat and sprinting across the lawn, past Officer Billy's car idling in the driveway. The policeman was standing on the porch steps, talking to Holly, who was sitting in one of the rockers.

“Celia. I was just about to call you.”

“Hi, Will,” she said, using the name he preferred. The young man had been labeled “Officer Billy” by a drunken George a couple of years before and the moniker had stuck, much to his dismay. No matter how many times he corrected people, he couldn't shake it. “What happened? Gran, are you all right?”

A thousand fears had flitted through Celia's mind on the drive back from Lix. But obviously her grandmother was unhurt, because she wasn't at the hospital. Or the police station, which was reassuring. While Celia had panicked at first, fearing her grandmother was ill or injured, it was only a few short seconds before she started wondering what Holly had done this time that required a police response. It was like having a hybrid senior citizen/teenager and never knowing which half was going to show up and cause trouble.

“I'm fine,” her grandmother grumbled.

Predictable
, Celia thought. She looked the old woman over for bruises, blood, or other signs that Holly was lying to her.

“I said I'm fine!” she snapped. “Stop looking at me like I've got a bone sticking out of my skin.”

But she didn't look fine. She looked shaken—pale and serious, when she'd usually be ruddy and jocular. Celia knew better than to argue with her, so instead she said gently, “Okay, you're fine. Do you want to go inside? I'll get you some water.”

Holly stood up and pushed her granddaughter aside, but not roughly. “I can get it myself. And I'll add some scotch to it, which you certainly won't.”

“Gran, I don't think this is really the time—”

“Oh, I disagree. It's the perfect time. Go on, talk to Billy like I know you want to.”

And she let herself into the house without another word. A light went on in the hallway, then the living room. Celia turned to the officer and noticed Niall hanging back at a respectful distance. She met his eyes and nodded slightly, giving him permission to stay.

“Thanks for bringing her home, Will. What happened? Was it the hang gliding?”

The officer's radio squawked; he turned down the volume, then looked up in shock at Celia's words. “
What
hang gliding?”

“Never mind. She's in one piece, so I'm guessing that's not it.”

“Got a call from Shane Daly. She was doing doughnuts in his north field.”

“It was a
fallow
field!” came a bellow from inside the house.

“That's irrelevant, Gran!” Celia shouted back.

“Shane called 911 because he saw the spinning headlights and thought it was a UFO. Your grandmother wasn't hurt, and neither was her passenger—Mac Wrobel. You know him?”

“We haven't been introduced yet.”

“I'm getting around to it!” Holly roared.

Celia ignored her. “Go on, Will.”

“Nothing much to tell. I called Jack for a tow—he's checking your grandmother's car to see if it needs any repairs. Drove Mr. Wrobel home and then brought your grandmother here.”

“I don't know what's gotten into her. Is Shane going to press charges?”

“Nah. Said he's done the same thing himself more times than he can count. I think he was impressed your grandmother can even
do
doughnuts. He thinks she's cute.”

“Oh yeah. She's adorable.”

“I still have to write up a report, though.”

“I understand.”

After a few general pleasantries, Officer Billy made his way back to his cruiser, and Celia exchanged a look with Niall. She shook her head, disbelieving. “What is
wrong
with her?”

Niall climbed the porch steps and put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, go easy on her, all right? Maybe nothing's wrong. You said she does this sort of thing all the time.”

“I think she's getting worse.”

“What are you saying about me?” Holly demanded from inside the house.

“Gran! We've got to talk.”

The old woman peered out through the screen door. “Who's that? The movie star? Well, bring him in here with you. I want witnesses.”

She ambled away from the door, expecting Niall and Celia to follow.

“You don't have to,” Celia murmured to him.

“And miss this? Are you kidding?” Niall held open the screen door for her. “After you.”

They found Holly in the living room. “Come here, movie star. Let me get a look at you.” She peered up at Niall, squinting, appraising.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. . . . Marshall?” he tried.

“Leigh. Holland Leigh. I'm Celia's mother's mother.”

“I apologize. Mrs.
Leigh
.”

She shook the hand he offered. “You're a tall drink of water, aren't you?”

“Guess so.” The fact that she was remarkably short just emphasized his height.

“Ah, you were in that movie with the . . . the . . . what was it . . . the snake, right? On your shoulder all the time?”

“The iguana, Gran,” Celia supplied quietly.

Niall rounded on Celia. “Ah-hah! You said you didn't watch my movies!”

“No, I said I didn't go
out of my way
to see your movies. I caught that one on basic cable. At two in the morning. Edited for language and to make room for a thousand commercials.”

He clutched his shirt over his heart. “You wound me.”

“I doubt it.”

“The lizard was a better costar than the one in your last movie, I'll say that much,” Holly snorted as she eased herself into her favorite chair.

“Gran!”

“I didn't care for her—what was her name? The one with the peroxide hair. Girl couldn't act. Lizard had better skin, too.”

Celia rubbed her eyes, “That's Tiffany Sola. Niall's
girlfriend
, Gran.”

“Really?” The old woman shrugged, unapologetic. “Meh. And if she's his girlfriend, why is he here with you?”

“He's not here with me. He's hosting Ray's singing contest.”

“Ah. You have my deepest sympathy, young man.” Then she looked up at her granddaughter. “All right. Go ahead. Let me have it.”

Celia sighed, disapproving and disappointed. “Will said he has to write this up. It's going on record.”

“In my permanent file, along with the D minus I got in shorthand in high school? Color me terrified.”

“Don't make jokes, Gran. This is serious.”

“At my age, who cares?”

“
You
should. Even if Shane didn't press charges, Mom and Dad are going to find out about this—it's inevitable. And they won't like it.”

Holly said nothing for a moment, then took a gulp of scotch and said into the glass, “I know.”

“And you really shouldn't be drinking so much.”

“Don't care. By the time you get to my age, what the hell's the difference ? I'm eighty-five, by the way,” she informed Niall.

“Impressive.”

“Darn right it is.”

“You don't look a day over seventy. And I mean that.”

Other senior citizens would have been offended. Holly just cackled with glee. “I like this one,” she said to Celia. “He's a lot funnier in person than in his movies.”

“Oh my God.”

“Oh, I don't mean anything by it,” the older woman said, waving her hand dismissively. “I just think you can do better than the dreck they put you in, young man.”

A corner of Niall's mouth lifted grimly. “I agree.”

“See?” she said to her granddaughter. “He agrees with me.”

“Well, you could have put it a nicer way.”

“Okay.” To Niall, she said, “Get a better agent.”

“It's not my agent's fault; it's mine. Sometimes I make bad choices.”

He didn't want to go into his motivations for his poor choices; luckily, Holly didn't ask.

“All I can say is, my granddaughter is one of the best choices you'll ever make in your life.”

Mortified, Celia covered her face as Niall said politely, “I realize that, ma' am.”

“Of course, you also realize that if you hurt her, I'll kill you. Well, first I'll castrate you, then I'll kill you.”

“Of course. It's obvious you love your granddaughter very much, and for good reason.”

“True,” Holly said, taking another swig of her drink. “She's a good girl. Always has been. It's too bad she's gotten roped into convincing me to move to Old Fart Acres or One Step Shy of the Graveyard or whatever the place is called. I get the feeling she doesn't really want to. That's why she hasn't brought it up yet.”

Celia exchanged glances with Niall. “Gran . . . you knew?”

“I'm old, not stupid. You come back for a surprise visit, no end date, no reason? Your mother and father are way too transparent. They brought you in to close the deal.” To Niall, she said, “I'm a lot cleverer than I look.”

“Why didn't you say something?” Celia demanded.

“Why didn't
you
? Except that you're a chicken.”

Niall tried to hide his grin, but Celia saw it all the same.

“That's enough out of you,” Celia snapped at him.

“I didn't say a word!”

“I could hear you thinking it.” She took a breath. “Gran, you do understand why Mom and Dad think it's best for you, right?”

“I'm fine!”

“That's not what they told me.”

“They're delusional.”

“They said you . . . forget things.”

“They're making it up. I'm telling you, I'm fine.”

“You left the water running in the bathroom sink yesterday morning.” Holly flapped her hand and looked away. “You couldn't remember Jordan's name the other day.”

“That's because she's never around. It's no wonder I can hardly remember who she is.”

“She's your other granddaughter.”

“I know! Stop patronizing me.”

“You wore your slippers to bingo.”

“Maybe I was more comfortable that way.”

“When's your wedding anniversary?”

“August thirteenth, nineteen forty-five.”

Celia was silent for a moment. “Forty-nine,” she murmured.

“Bah,” Holly sputtered. “Everybody gets a little forgetful once in a while. I'm eighty-five, after all!”

“You're making my point.”

“I'm telling you, I'm fine! Movie star,
you
tell her.”

Niall raised both hands in surrender. “I'm staying out of this one.”

“I don't like you anymore.”

“I'm sorry to hear it, Mrs. Leigh,” he said quietly. “I guess, if you want an outsider's opinion, I'd say you don't want to move because you've lived in this lovely home most of your life—”

“My entire life. This place belonged to my parents. I grew up here.”

“Okay, then. Your entire life. And you're comfortable, you're surrounded by all your wonderful memories. Not to mention you're very independent, and you're worried you'll lose your independence if you move to a senior care facility. Am I right?”

“You're doing pretty well so far,” she admitted, eyeing him keenly. “So you see why I'm not interested.”

“I do. And I have to say you have a lot of valid points.”

“Niall—” Celia started in a warning tone, but he cut her off with a look that communicated a certain level of confidence in his approach. She let him continue.

“If I were you, I wouldn't want to go either.”

Holly slapped the arm of her chair. “I changed my mind. I do still like you.”

He smiled. “I'm glad. But . . .”

“Oh, here it comes. I knew you were lulling me into a false sense of security. You're just siding with my granddaughter because you want to get into her shorts.”

“Gran!” Celia gasped.

“Well, thanks but no thanks, young man. I'm not going into an old folks' home!”

“It's not a home, Gran.”

“I'm not talking to you, traitor.”

Celia sighed wearily. “I'm just trying to help—to get you to do what's best for your health.”

“Do I look feeble to you?” Holly demanded.

“Of course not. And the senior living center isn't for feeble people—”

“You think I'm forgetful. You think I'm not capable of taking care of myself. Well, I'm no such thing, Wendy!”

Silence. It took Holly a few seconds to realize what she'd just said.

When she did, she stammered, “Celia. Of course I meant Celia. You know what I meant!”

“I know,” Celia said softly. She knelt in front of her. “Gran—”

“I said, I'm fine!”

“Obviously you're not.”

“Nothing a refill couldn't fix.” Holly's voice was suddenly ragged, the fight gone out of her—for the moment, at least. Niall took her glass over to the liquor cabinet, brought it back full. “Yep, I do like you, young man. Final answer,” she muttered.

Niall sat on the end of the sofa closest to Holly's chair and watched as she took a shaky sip. Celia held her breath. She hadn't seen her grandmother this haggard since her husband had died, and that was more than twenty years before.

Niall leaned closer and said, “Why don't you say what's really bothering you?”

“Nothing's bothering me,” she protested, but she had no strength behind her words.

Celia was ready to argue, but Niall caught her eye and shook his head slightly. She stayed silent.

After a few interminable moments, Holly finally said, “All right. Maybe there's something else.”

“What?” Celia prompted her softly.