We get to my parents’ place after a short drive and pull into their long, winding driveway—they live outside town on a few acres of tree-shaded rolling hills: paradise for an energetic eight-year-old. Mom is on their covered front porch cross-stitching when we arrive, a glass of iced tea on the floor beside her rocking chair. She stands up as Cora parks her Mini Cooper, then ambles down the front steps, squatting down to welcome Aiden’s full-sprint hug.
“My favorite grandson!” Mom says, peppering him with kisses until Aiden squirms away.
“I’m youronlygrandson, Grandma, so I’d better be your favorite,” Aiden says, wiping Grandma-kisses away with the back of his hand.
“Oh. I suppose that’s true. Well, how about you’re my favorite…eight-year-old!”
Aiden tilts his head to one side. “Hmmm. How many other eight-year-olds do you know?”
Mom laughs, ruffling his hair. “Oh my, lots and lots.”
“Oh yeah?” Aiden challenges. “Who?”
Mom leads him up the steps to the screen door. “I used to teach second and third grade, remember?”
Aiden nods slowly. “Oh yeah. Before you retired.” He glances at me, recalling our conversation. “Mr. Mackey retired, and now we’re gonna have a new principal.”
Mom looks at me. “I didn’t know Terry was retiring.”
I nod. “It was kind of sudden, I guess. He was planning on another year or two, but after Linda’s health scare earlier this summer, I guess they decided he was just not going back. It was only announced a month and a half ago, and they already had a new guy going through the interview process when they announced Terry’s retirement.”
“You know anything about the new principal?” Mom asks, as we watch Aiden head straight through the house to the backyard, chasing Bobber, Mom and Dad’s King Charles Cavalier Spaniel.
I lean against their kitchen island, idly spinning the Lazy Susan. “Not much. I’ve been too busy preparing for next year to do much sleuthing. I know his name is Mr. Trent, and he’s a younger guy from…Connecticut? Massachusetts? Somewhere around there. I was reading a Facebook thread about him before Cora showed up.” I shrug. “I know they put out a newsletter, and I’m sure I got it, but I figure school is starting in a week and I’ll just meet him then. Those newsletter write-ups don’t really tell you much.”
Mom nods, laughing as Bobber cuts a tight turn and Aiden, trying to follow, goes rolling across the grass—only to be lick-attacked by Bobber. “Okay, dear, we’re all set here. You don’t worry about a thing. Have a good time, okay?”
“He announced that he’s going to eat a whole pizza by himself,” I say, quirking an eyebrow. “Don’t let him do that, okay?”
Mom keeps a straight face. “Why not? He’s a growing boy.” When I start to protest, she waves me off with a laugh. “Of course not! What kind of a grandmother do you take me for?”
I raise both eyebrows, now. “The kind who sent him home with me after he’d eaten an entire chocolate bar?”
“That was your father, as a matter of fact. I was on the phone with Nancy and when I got off, they’d polished it off. I said they could only have half to split between them.”
I laugh. “Which they took to mean, half each.”
“Right, and your father being your father,accidentallylet Aiden have most of his half too.”
“You know you can’t take your eyes off either one of them for more than two seconds when they’re together,” I tell her.
Mom sighs. “I know. Your father is reverting to his childhood more and more with every year he’s retired,” she says. “I’m tempted to tell him to go back to work before I go bananas.”
Cora groans. “Okay, okay—once you two start gabbing, you never quit. I have a fun evening planned and time’s a-wasting.”
Mom bumps Cora with her hip. “Don’t you be impatient with me, Cora Marie. There’s plenty of time for whatever shenanigans you’re planning.”
“I do not engage inshenanigans,” Cora says, acting offended. “I am the picture of a proper lady.”
Mom barks a disbelieving laugh. “If you believe that, then you need to have your memory checked, young lady.”
Cora grabs me by the arm and hauls me away. “I know better than to fall for that game! You’re trying to get me to play ‘do-you-remember’, and I’m not falling for it!”
Mom just laughs. “Drat! You saw through my trap!”
“Bye, Aiden!” I call, loudly enough that he can hear me through the house. “I love you! Be good!”
“Bye, Mom!” Aiden calls back, and I hear his feet stomping across the hardwood floors, and then the screen door creaks open and slams closed, and he’s leaping from the top step, sprinting across the gravel driveway, and skidding to a stop to hug me. “I can’t let you go without a hug!”
