I recall a baby shower that Maggie threw for our cousin last year. The mother-to-be was obsessed with monkeys and had made sure that everything in the nursery had a freaking monkey on it. Maggie took the same desperate measures to ensure that the shower was monkey themed, complete with monkey games and cupcakes topped with marzipan monkey faces. It was all a bit too much in my opinion.
“You don’t need a theme,” I tell her, pointing to an adorable pair of denim overalls. “Just get whatever.”
She shakes her head. “But everyone has a theme. You’re supposed to have a thing, like a sport or a hobby…I’m not a man, Robin. I don’t know sports and I don’t know anything about construction or freaking zoo animals. He won’t have a dad to teach him that stuff either.” She places the outfits back on the rack. “My kid is going to grow up with no sense of direction.”
I’m not sure if she’s being dramatic on purpose or if her pregnancy hormones are making her insane. I step forward and take one of each outfit in the smallest size. “Screw that. Your kid is going to be the best-rounded kid in Texas. I can promise you that.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” Miranda grabs one of those snot sucker things and makes a face at it.
“Because it’s on my to-do list.” I take the snot sucker from her hand and drop it in my basket. “Let’s get one of all of these things,” I say, grabbing baby nail clippers, baby combs, baby shampoo and everything else.
“Your to-do list?” Miranda gives me yet another sideways look like she thinks I’ve gone insane.
“Yeah. Taking care of my nephew is on the mental to-do list I’ve made for myself.”
“What else is on it?”
I count out the list on my fingers. “Get a job. Get some friends. Take care of my nephew of course. And find out more about Grandpa.”
My explanation seems to hold Miranda over for a while and we continue shopping without any more interrogating questions thrown my way. When we head to the front counter to check out, the cashier sets down her phone and gives us a big Texas smile.
“You should talk to some of the people at the diner,” Miranda says as the lady rings up our purchases. “Ask around and see if there are any Salt Gap historians or something. That’s a thing, right?”
I blow a raspberry with my tongue. “Yeah right. Not in a town that small, unless some kind of epic Civil War battle went down there.”
“What do you need to know about Salt Gap?” the girl behind the counter asks.
I hand her my debit card without bothering to check how much this shopping trip is costing me. “There’s these photos sealed in acrylic at the Salt Gap Diner.” My story feels stupid as I say the words. “We found a photo of my grandfather and I just wanted to find out why it got there and where it came from.”
“I might be able to help you,” she says, stepping out from behind the counter. “Hey Mom!” she yells toward the back of the store. A woman steps out from behind a back room and the cashier motions for her to join us. “They’re looking for someone who knows about the Salt Gap Diner, like the history of it. You think Grandma would know?”
The woman’s face brightens as if she’d been waiting all day for someone to ask about the diner. She introduces herself as Gabriella Tanner and then launches into a friendly southern conversation about her mother as if we were all old friends and not strangers who’ve only just met.
“Mama’s lived in Salt Gap her whole life,” Gabriella says. “And trust me, she loves talking about it. She knows every person who’s ever lived there.” Her daughter nods eagerly. “If you want information, you need to talk to her.”
Gabriella writes down the directions to her mother’s house and assures me that her mother, whose name is Candy, will absolutely love the company. After we’ve left the store with a dozen bags of baby stuff, I’m still not sure if I want to go over to an old woman’s house and ask her about my grandfather. But Miranda won’t shut up about it as she gets ready for work.
“You have to go see her!” she whines over and over again as she flat irons her hair. “We have to know about the photo in the counter and maybe she’ll have answers. Plus, it’s not like you have anything better to do.”
“I could sit here and watch TV,” I say. I’m not trying to be an inconsiderate jerk, but it’s just such a weird situation. This would never happen where I’m from. In Houston, we keep our grandparent’s away from strangers out of fear of them getting robbed.
“Just go,” Miranda says, shoving me out of her bedroom.
“I’m scared!” I whine.
“Go,” Miranda snaps, giving me her super serious look. “Go or I’ll tell Tyler you have a massive crush on him.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say.
She lowers the flat iron and puts her hands on her hips. “Tyler comes in for lunch every day at one. He orders a bacon cheeseburger with waffle fries and he always asks me how the apartment is doing. Go, or I’ll tell him.”
I shake my head and grab my car keys. “I’m gonna make you pay for this,” I say.
Miranda laughs. “I look forward to it!”
Chapter 11
Candy waves to me from the white porch swing under her gorgeous wrap-around Victorian style porch. The house and the woman look exactly as I pictured them; old, well taken-care of, and well, kind of cliché. I shove my car keys in my pocket as I walk up her gravel driveway and then scale the three steps up the porch. My voice turns into sweet old lady mode as if I were still back at work in Houston, dealing with elderly homeowners.