“Hm,” she hummedgently, nodding reverently. The downcast of her eyes told me all I needed toknow. The distant gaze, the longing sigh. We were in the same boat; holding ontight to a stubborn resolve to not bend to our passion. But inspiration doesn’tcome calling in hushed whispers. It’s always there, screaming and makingdemands, and it’s impossible to drown it out. The only way to make it stop, isto give in.
I crooked a fingerunderneath her chin and lifted her head. “Finish your book.”
Her weak smile didn’tquite meet her eyes. “Write your songs.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
TESS
Lifewas good and granting me with the things I hadnever beforeprioritized. The comfort of a man, the love of children, and I prayed—oh, how Iprayed—that I could keep it. That when he found out what I’d been doing, he’dfind it in himself to forgive me. That he would see that I was just like him—anartist in need of a muse, and I’d found one within him.
***
“Tessa!Tessa, where are you?!”
Grandma’s frantic criesfrom her recliner had me jumping from my chair and running from my room, downthe hall, and into the living room. When I’d left her, she had been soundasleep, snoring noisily with Harriett purring away on her lap. Now, she wassitting upright, staring at me wide-eyed and panicked. Harriett was nowhere tobe seen. But there was Richard in his aviators, on the TV, exactly as I’d lefthim.
At least some thingsstay the same.
“Grandma, are youokay?” I breathed out, exasperated. “What’s wrong?”
I headed into the roomto flip on the light, when she stopped me in her tracks by saying, “I need tocall Maury!”
“Maury?” Irepeated,unsure I had heardcorrectly.
“Yes, Tessa! I need tocall him! I need to remind him to get Adam’s inhaler from the pharmacy on hisway home!”
I needed a moment tosteady my breath, to calm my heart. Maury was my grandfather, who had passedaway when I was six years old. I could hardly remember the man, let alone thephone number to reach him in the afterlife. But I knew that’s not what shemeant. Right now, she was convinced Maury was alive, currently at work, and heneeded to pick up my father’s inhaler on his way home.
A month had passedsince that weekend at Devin O’Leary’s house, and everything was changing. Jonwas on the phone with Devin and his bandmates, discussing when they could gettogether and record the album. I was preparing myself for needing to spend moretime with the girls and less time with Grandma, and I hated to admit that I waswelcoming it.
Because things had beenchanging with her, too.
These incidents,talking about the past like it was the present, had started about a week ago.Tim assured me it was common, that it wastobeexpected, and that itshouldn’t alarm me. But I couldn’t help how it upset me, hearing her speakabout my grandfather as though he was a phone call away. Hearing her say myname out of habit without always fully recognizing that I was her granddaughterand primary caregiver.
“Grandma, I’ll callhim,” I said, nodding as my eyes welled with tears. Tim had told me to go alongwith it, how that was better than confusing and upsetting her. But he didn’ttell me what I should do to keep from upsetting myself. I guess he figurednothing would stop that from happening.
“You have to call himright now, Tessa, okay? He’ll be leavingwork soon and Adam needs his inhaler tonight. He has football practice.”
“I know, Grandma. I’llcall him right now.”
Satisfied and assured,she settled in her recliner with a huff. “Tessa,” her voice lifted withquestion, “have you seen Harriett?”
“No,” I shook my head,swallowing the tears and the hurt, “but I’ll look around for her.”
Grandma scoffed. “Yeah,my ass you’ll look for her. You hate that cat.”
“I don’t hate her,” Igrumbled.
“You been writingtonight?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good. Keep it up.Finish it.” The little bursts of encouragement were emphasized with nods of herhead as she focused intently on the TV. “When are you bringing your boyfriendaround again?”
Furrowing my brow, Iasked, “My boyfriend?”
“Yeah. That nice guywith the little girls. The cute one.”
