LITMIR.BIZ

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2004

      “I’m going over to see G.G. and Grandpa.” Hannah stopped outside the guest room that her brother used during visits to their grandmother. “You coming?”

      “I can’t.” He was digging through his suitcase. “I’m supposed to mow the lawn today.”

      “Fine. Just don’t tell Grandma where I am.”

      “What’s with the secrecy?” He tugged on the worn T-shirt he had unearthed. “And what are you going to tell Grandma when she asks why you’re taking her car?”

      “I’m not taking her car.” She held up a purple bicycle helmet. “I’m riding Mom’s old bike. It’s not that far. And the exercise will be good for me.”

      He followed her into the garage, where a dusty bike leaned against one wall.

      Preston pulled the lawn mower out to the driveway. “You could mow for me—get your exercise that way.”

      “Nice try.” She fastened the helmet and hopped on the bike. “I should be back before you finish mowing.”

      The retirement development was a mile away. The property had once been on the edge of Lincoln but with the resurgence of building in the community, Winter Oaks was now just another part of the sprawling east end.

      She parked her bike, then went inside the main building. Tiny cottages dotted the property. One had been Frank and Marian’s home when they’d first moved to the community. But after Marian’s hip fracture four years earlier, the family had encouraged them to move into the residence lodge, where they would have resources at hand if needed.

      “Hi, Hannah.” The woman at the front desk gave her a big smile. “They’re in the sunroom.”

      A long room opened onto the back lawn, which separated the more independent living quarters from the lodge. There were bright summer flowers along pathways wide enough for wheel-chairs, with several benches tucked among large old oaks. Floor-to-ceiling windows brought the outdoors inside for those who couldn’t go out or weren’t in an adventurous mood. Little groups of people sat in the sunroom, a few with books or newspapers. Several were gathered around a piano, where one elderly man was playing what Hannah recognized as a musical show tune.

      Her great-grandparents sat at the other end of the room, near a table that could be used for family suppers. A newspaper was open on Grandpa Frank’s lap. His head was down, his glasses almost slipping from his nose, and Hannah suspected he’d fallen asleep.

      Her impression was confirmed by G.G. “Don’t wake him.” Marian’s smile tightened a few of the wrinkles in her face. “He was reading me the most boring article about the city council’s last meeting. Why he thinks I’d be interested in that…” She shook her head in loving exasperation.

      Hannah pulled a chair from the table and placed it next to G.G., careful not to wake Frank. “How long will he sleep?” His neck was crooked toward his chest and she didn’t want him to be stiff when he woke up.

      “About ten minutes. He’s been dropping off to sleep like this for the last few weeks. The doctor isn’t worried, says it’s due to age.”

      Hannah could hear the worry, though, in G.G.’s voice. And Grandpa Frank was ninety-six. “The staff here will keep track of him, G.G. You said yourself they’re very responsible. And he could just be tired. Or he could’ve bored himself to sleep with that article.”

      She was rewarded by the soft chuckle that was one of her favorite memories. G.G. and Grandpa Frank had moved into the retirement village before Hannah was born. The short visits Hannah and her brother made to the complex were always full of special treats, movies on the big-screen television and walks through the grounds.

      “So, why are you here, Miss Hannah-banana? Not that we aren’t happy to see you.”

      “I think I’ve outgrown my nickname, ” Hannah muttered. G.G. gave another chuckle and patted Hannah’s hand. The touch was light and fleeting, like that of a butterfly landing on skin. “Darling, once you have a nickname in this family, it sticks. Do you suppose anyone will ever call me anything besides G.G.? Even your mother uses it now.”

      Hannah grinned. She’d coined the nickname for her great-grandmother when she was little, trying to put her mouth around the longer name of Great-Grandma Marian. She’d recently learned to recognize her letters and when her mother showed her the name on a birthday card, Hannah had pointed out the two Gs. From then on, the great-grandchildren and soon the other relatives had started referring to Marian as G.G., distinguishing her from the other grandmothers in the family.

      “Do you think you could just call me Miss Hannah instead?” she asked hopefully.

      “I’ll try. Now, I can see purpose written all over your face.”

      Hannah cleared her throat. If she didn’t want Grandma Anne to ask questions about her whereabouts, she needed to finish her errand and get back quickly. “It’s about your party.”

      G.G. sat back in her wheelchair, her fingers twisting the crocheted lap rug that protected her legs from the air-conditioning drafts. “What party?” Her smile was gone and her eyes were blinking rapidly behind her glasses.

      Hannah frowned, worried by G.G.’s agitation. Frank stirred in his sleep, as if aware of his wife’s discomfort. “For your seventy-fifth wedding anniversary, ” Hannah said slowly.

      “Who said we were having a party?” She leaned over to pluck at Frank’s sleeve, her actions reminding Hannah of a flustered bird. “Frank?”

      His eyes opened immediately. He leaned toward his wife, the newspaper sliding to the floor with a rustle. “Marian, what’s the matter?”

      “Hannah’s here.” Marian’s fingers continued to pluck at his sleeve. “She said we’re having a party. You said we wouldn’t have a party. You told the girls we wouldn’t have a party.”

      Marian’s voice had risen. Hannah glanced around the room but they were far enough from the others not to be attracting attention. Yet.

      Frank took Marian’s fingers in his hand. “Hush, it’s all right.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at Hannah. “What’s this about a party? Your grandmother didn’t send you over here, did she?”

      Hannah shook her head vigorously. “No, it was my idea, Grandpa. I found some pictures and things and thought you deserved a celebration.”

      “We don’t need a party to remember we’ve been married seventy-five years.” His voice was firmer than she’d heard in her last visits. He leaned forward until he could cradle Marian’s still-fluttering hands against his chest, their heads close.

      “That’s true, Grandpa. But it’s just, well—” Her voice trailed off.

      “No party. See how it upsets your great-grandmother?”

      Hannah knew she should stop but maybe they didn’t understand what she was asking. She sat forward, her face only inches from his. G.G.’s face was hidden against Frank’s shoulder now. Her breathing was uneven but the fluttering motions had ceased.

      “Not a real party, ” she explained. Maybe it was the idea of a crowd that was bothering her. Or dancing. Now that G.G. was in a wheelchair, maybe she didn’t like being reminded of what she could no longer do. “Just a family dinner. Here.” She gestured at the table behind them. “A few speeches, some stories about your life together. Cake. That’s all.”

      She shifted until she could look into his eyes. “You’ve been together seventy-five years, Grandpa. We should celebrate that!”

      G.G. was shuddering again. Tiny gasps sputtered against Frank’s shirt. “Hannah, no more, please.” His voice was sharp. “You need to go now.”

      Hannah stood up, hesitant to leave after being the unwitting cause of their distress. What had she said? “Grandpa—”

      He

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