This story is a work of fiction, but it is based on the lives of two good friends of ours, both of which have recently passed away, he of a heart attack, and she of Covid-19. Both were in their eighties. I've changed a few things to hopefully enhance the story, but the basics of her moving in with him while his wife was still alive, and an invalid, remain.
All characters in the story are eighteen years of age or older.
I hope you enjoy it, and I would greatly appreciate ratings and comments as they are a great help in improving my writing.
Either way, thanks for taking the time to read.
*****
"Cayla, honey, Mama called today and wondered if you'd be able to help her get the cabin ready this year."
My gramma had a cabin on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and it had been closed since the previous October. Getting it ready for the summer wasn't that difficult, but at seventy-four, Grandma Hilda needed help. I had been that helper last year, but only because I had a few days' break between assignments. I'd been a caregiver for the past five years, sometimes for very short periods of time, but once for over a year. I loved the work and the people I worked with.
"When does she need me, Mom? I'm expecting an assignment any day."
"Now that you mention it, she didn't say when she was going. I'll call her. What do you do up there, anyway?"
"Just a lot of cleaning, uncovering the furniture, washing the dishes, making sure the electricity and water are on, stuff like that." I had only been there three days last year, making the several hundred-mile drive home by myself.
"It seems that if Mom can't do those things by herself, she shouldn't be up there alone." Mom seemed very thoughtful as if she hadn't really considered that possibility.
"She does pretty well on those things, but getting the outdoor furniture out of the shed and setting it up... oh, and putting in the screens. Those are some of the things that give her problems." I was trying to picture her time at the cabin and all the things she'd done there. One thing at the forefront of my remembering was not a thing but a who -- Anders Kingscote, not an Upper Peninsula name at all. But, he was there to visit me last year, seven years after we'd broken up, and acting like nothing like that had ever happened, even asking if I'd have dinner with him.
I had been peeved at his audacity -- I'd made it clear those years ago that I had no interest in having any type of relationship with Anders, yet there he was, the moment I'd returned to the Peninsula. I was confident it would be the same this year, too, if I returned. My response had been more subdued than I'd have liked, but I didn't want to lash out in front of my grandmother. And I couldn't allow that to deter me from helping.
Anders was a little like his name sounded, particularly the "King" part. I had been young then and hadn't really noticed at first, as he was on his best behavior with me -- at least early on. But as I spent more time with him and he relaxed to normalcy, that self-centered side of him appeared, and I didn't like it. Thus the breakup, with Anders not being happy about it. I think he felt that if there was to be a breakup, he would make the announcement, not the mousy little redhead from Ohio.
"Well, I can understand her having trouble with those heavy things. I hope you can help her."
"Me too, Mom," I said, a little less than enthusiastically. I hated to disappoint both of them, but I'd have to see how things worked out.
Things worked out with me having no new assignment, thus being able to drive Grandma to her cabin, about a seven-hundred and fifty-mile trip each way. I have to admit I enjoyed spending the private time with the repository of both family and social history that was Gramma's brain. I loved it when Gramma told stories of paying nineteen cents a gallon for gasoline, putting a sign in the window to tell the iceman to stop, having bread and milk delivered daily, and going to a neighborhood grocery store about the size of our living and dining rooms combined.
Gramma Ellis really seemed to enjoy sharing with me, intent on helping me understand what her life had been and how that influenced her life today. I think she wanted to share her generation with me, and feared that if she didn't, it would disappear and be lost. She was raised by parents who'd lived through the Great Depression, and when dinner was over, and there was a small portion of mashed potatoes remaining on one plate, it was carefully wrapped and stowed in the Frigidaire for future use. All refrigerators were called Frigidaires in those days, she told me. She laughed, saying the refrigerator would become loaded with small packages, and it was a challenge to remember which was which. The habit continued long after the depression ended.
I felt that, if it was just me, I'd make the trip in one day, but with Gramma along, who needed to stop frequently for various things, including ice cream, we'd stop in a motel part-way there. Gramma always wanted to pay, but I insisted on splitting the cost, which always brought a grunt from my gray-headed passenger. The travel morning usually started with a tasty breakfast at a familiar diner, and we'd arrive at the cabin at about one in the afternoon, giving us time to get a good start on "opening up."
All had gone as planned, and it was a little after two, and the dishes were being loaded into the sink for washing when there was a knock at the door. I felt a chill go down my spine since I was almost certain who was knocking.
"Oh, Anders, come on in," Gramma said, smiling at me. She'd never accepted the fact that Anders was a part of her past and had no place in her present -- nor mine.
"Hello, Mrs. Ellis... and Cayla," Anders said, a rather tentative smile on his face. "Your hair looks good in a ponytail. It's a lovely shade of red.."
Before he could say more, I snapped, "Did you install a GPS tracker on my car so you'd know when I get here?" the sarcasm evident in my voice. And he was always complimenting my red hair.
"Better than that," Anders countered. "Old Mrs. Ramsey at the turn-off watches for you. I mow her grass, and she gets a free one if she spots you."
"You mow her grass?" Knowing Anders, that seemed highly implausible.
"Yeah. Since her arthritis has gotten so bad, she can't do it. It's not bad -- only takes a half-hour or so. She insisted on paying me to do it, and when I wouldn't accept the money, she told me not to mow.. She insisted she wasn't a charity case."
"So she has a free one coming then, huh?"
"Yep, and no GPS tracker on your car."
"Thank heaven for that." I sensed there was something different about Anders and wondered what it might be. I debated probing, my natural curiosity pressing me to do it.
"So, what have you been up to this last year?" I asked, finding myself actually smiling at him.
"Been a busy year," he began, giving me an uncertain look. "Since dad died, I've been running the bait store at the lake."
"Your dad died?" I knew he couldn't have been very old.
"Pancreatic cancer. Only lasted five months."
"Anders, I'm so sorry. I don't know quite what to say."
"Thanks, and it's okay. I've heard about everything there is to say about it. At least you got to meet him a few times."
"I did and enjoyed the time with him."
"That's good."
"So you're doing the bait store... and the boat rental too?"
"Yep, and it'll keep me busy all summer. I have three cabins too that I rent, and they're booked for the entire summer and into the autumn as well. Keeps me jumping."
"Sounds like it. I guess you don't have time for much else, then."
"I wish. I was elected to the town council for this term, and I'm in a tutoring program at the high school, working with kids who need a little extra help."
I felt like asking what had happened to the real Anders since this didn't sound at all like the guy I'd dated for a pair of summers. Even the tone of his voice had changed, the strident know-it-all sound having disappeared.
I felt my cell phone vibrate, saw a strange number on the screen, and thought of ignoring it, but remembered I was hoping to get a call for a new assignment. Holding up one finger to Anders in the universal sign to 'hold on a sec' I answered.
"Hello."
"Am I speaking with Cayla Beddington?" a pleasant-sounding male voice asked.
"You are indeed."
