April 3, 1960
Dear Mother,
We've done it! We bought the apple orchard that was for
sale outside town. Mother, it's perfect. The orchard is
lovely, and Gerald's already talking about planting some
cherry and pear trees in addition to the apple trees. I
can see myself in the house that comes with it. It has
four bedrooms. Four! and a front porch for sitting on in
the evening, just like folks do back home in Pittsburgh.
The owner wouldn't come down very far on his price but,
thanks to the GI Bill, we were able to swing it. I'm
going to make yellow-checked curtains for the kitchen
window, and I plan to bake my very first apple pie this
fall. Of course, we'll also have a vegetable garden,
since the house itself sits on a quarter acre. Gerald and
I are going to be very happy here.
I do hope you and Daddy and Emmaline will be able to come
out for Thanksgiving or Christmas or maybe even the
Fourth of July, so we can all be together.
Do write back and say you'll all come out and see us in
our new home.
Love, Justine
At thirty-one, who wants to think about death? Colin
Wright sure didn't, and the last thing he wanted to do
was go to a funeral, especially when that funeral was for
his grandmother.
The Icicle Falls Baptist Church was packed with people
who'd known Collin since he was born, all dressed in
their Sunday best on a Thursday afternoon to honor
Justine Wright. Justine only had two kids, Colin's dad,
Dylan, and his Aunt Beth, but to hear people talk you
would've thought she'd had a dozen. All the testimonials
made her sound like Mother Teresa. In a way she was, with
all the foster kids she and Gramps had taken in over the
years. They'd never kept a penny of the money they
received as foster parents, opting instead to put that
money in savings for the child. Colin couldn't begin to
count the number of people who'd called her Mom. Or
Grandma.
It wasn't only former charges blowing noses and dabbing
at eyes. Gram had inspired countless people in Icicle
Falls - giving cooking lessons to young brides,
volunteering for the town and at church, baking for the
annual Raise the Roof fund-raiser that helped maintain
historic buildings. She was one of the old-guard movers
and shakers, and everyone loved her.
August had just begun, and a blazing afternoon sun was
reaching in through the windows. That, combined with all
the body heat, made the sanctuary hot enough to bake a
pie in spite of the fact that the doors had been opened.
The heavyset, forty-something guy two rows back who'd
stood up to share his memories was sweating as if he'd
been stuck under a broiler. "No one could make an apple
pie like Mom," he reminisced and mopped his eyes and his
forehead. Colin had no idea who he was, but the tears and
the use of the word Mom proclaimed him to be one of
Gram's many projects.
The sweaty pie eater had barely sat down when a woman
called out, "I can. She taught me how."
This produced a chuckle from the crowd and momentarily
lightened the misery.
Except for Colin. He tried not to look at the closed
casket at the front of the sanctuary, loaded with lilies.
Not looking couldn't save him from remembering what a
shit he'd been the last time he'd seen her. Not a major
one, he tried to comfort himself, just a minor one.
Who was now having a major guilt attack. If only he'd
known Gram was going to die so suddenly a month later, he
would never have told her to mind her own business. Oh,
man. Had he really said that to his grandma?
"But you are my business," she'd said sweetly. "My
favorite business."
He'd shaken his head and said, "I love you, Gram, but I
gotta go." At least he'd kissed her goodbye.
Next to him Aunt Beth was sobbing quietly and blowing her
nose. He took her hand and she squeezed it, cutting off
his circulation and turning both their hands slick with
sweat.
Gram was in heaven for sure. He, on the other hand, had
to be in purgatory. He still couldn't believe she was
gone, and he had no idea how he was going to fill the
gaping hole in his life.
And then there was Mia Blair, the woman who'd broken his
heart, sitting on the other side of Aunt Beth. She was
another reason Colin didn't want to be in this overheated
sanctuary smelling of battling perfumes and sweaty
armpits, pulling on his shirt collar with his free hand.
She'd moved away, made her choice years ago. Why hadn't
she stayed way? Who'd invited her here, anyhow?
She was still slender and delicate, with the same huge
brown eyes and long dark hair, same full lips. Those lips
used to drive him wild. Not to mention other body parts.
The light coming in through the stained glass cast her in
subtle rainbow hues, making her look like an escaped
fairy from one of the Lord of the Rings movies.
"Don't wear black," Aunt Beth had instructed everyone.
Mia hadn't, but if you asked Colin, she shouldn't have
come ready for a picnic, either, in that dress splattered
with pink flowers, showing off so much leg. She leaned
forward to dig another packet of tissues out of her purse
and he could see cleavage. A woman shouldn't be showing
cleavage at a guy's grandma's funeral.
And a guy shouldn't be looking. He directed his eyes
straight ahead. But oh, man, there was the casket again.
He lowered his gaze to his hand, the one that wasn't numb
and sweaty.
"Justine had a long, wonderful life," said the minister,
"and we all know how happy she'd be to see so many of you
here to honor her today."
It wouldn't been better to honor her when she was alive
and not be a smart mouth, even if Gam had provoked him.
It seemed she was still provoking him from beyond the
grave, summoning Mia back to Icicle Falls, dredging up
memories of their childhood, those intense teenage years,
the final hurt and frustration.
"When we celebrated her eighty-sixth birthday last month,
she told me she was ready to go and meet Jesus," the
minister said. "Everything was in order down here. She'd
done all she could."
To get her grandson squared away, anyhow. Sadly, he
hadn't squared the way she'd wanted him to.
"'And now I'm leaving things up to God,' she told me.
How's that for a great attitude?"
No one could deny Gram had her shit together. Which was
more than Colin could say.
Now he was looking in Mia's direction again. Cut that
out! He forced his eyes to move away. Again. Back to
staring at his sweaty hand.
Boring.
Too bad, he told his wandering eyes. We're not looking at
Mia so deal with it.
"Justine wanted us to all celebrate her life," the
minister said. "So, at her request, we'll sing 'Amazing
Grace' and then proceed to the fellowship hall for pie
and ice cream."
Pie and ice cream. As if it was a party. Colin had no
interest in partying. Gram and Aunt Beth had been his
mothers growing up, and Gram had been the queen bee
mother, keeping everyone happy and connected. He didn't
want to celebrate the fact that she was no longer here by
eating pie in her memory. It would taste like ashes.
If it wasn't for the reading of the will the next day and
strict orders from his dad to stick around, he'd be on
his way back to Seattle.
This was โฆ awkward. Why had Aunt Beth insisted Mia sit
with her?
Because she was family, of course. Not blood-related, but
family just the same. Aunt Beth had been Mama's best
friend, and when Mama got sick and Mia's loser dad took
off, both Aunt Beth and Grandma Justine had been there
for them. They'd finished raising her after Mama died.
Mia had spent as much time playing in the family's
orchard on Apple Blossom Road as Colin had. She'd helped
sell apples at the fruit stand and worked alongside
Grandma Justine, canning applesauce and apple pie filling
every fall.
Still, she was very aware of Colin sitting there, glaring
at her as though she didn't belong. Well, as far as Aunt
Beth was concerned she did, darn it. Colin might have
dumped her, but his family hadn't. Most of them, anyway.
And just because she lived in Chicago, that didn't mean
she loved Grandma Justine any less than he did. He'd
moved away, too.
Okay, only as far as Seattle, but he'd still moved.
Behind her an old lady was singing so shrilly it made
Mia's ears hurt. next to her, Aunt Beth was blowing her
nose. And next to Aunt Beth, Colin was frowning. Mia
realized she was, too. Oh, Grandma, I wish you weren't
gone. I wish you could have stayed around to hear about
my latest success. I wish you could've stayed until I
finally got the whole love thing right.
Except at the rate Mia was going with the love thing,
Grandma Justine would've had to live to be two-hundred.
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