“My husband inherited it from his father and so on.”
I add some sprinkles to a cupcake I just frosted. “Do you like living here?”
“I love it. It’s … peaceful.”
“It’s definitely that,” I agree. “Like another world.”
She smiles. “That’s how I’ve always seen it too.”
She finishes stirring and begins to scoop out the batter into clean cupcake tins.nbsp;
“Do you like my Jasper?” she asks suddenly, taking me off guard. “He’s a good boy. Kind, and smart too, he deserves to be happy. He’s been too sad since …”
“Since T.J.?” I leave out the part where I want to tell her she just described her grandson as having the same attributes as my Golden Retriever.
“Yeah.” She nods sadly and takes a shaky breath. “It’s hit us all hard, but especially him. They were close. He blames himself.”
“He didn’t tell me that.”
She reaches over and places her hand on top of mine. “I’m sure he’ll open up more. Give him time.”
I realize I’ve basically spilled my guts to him, opened myself up and put myself out there, and I don’t know him at all.nbsp;
I don’t feel angry, because his pain is fresh, and mine is old and that makes a difference. It’s easier for me to talk about now, but if I was in his situation and all this was two months ago, my lips would be sealed. I feel thankful that he feels like talking to me at all. I know he makes me feel better, not so alone, and I only hope I can do the same for him.
“We all tend to blame ourselves for things that are out of our control,” she continues. “It’s human nature, I think, to want to find some source to direct our pain even if it’s our self.”
“Wise words,” I murmur, carefully frosting yet another cupcake.
She chuckles. “I have my moments.”
She finishes scooping the batter in and slides the pan in the oven—taking another out to cool before setting the timer.
“That should do it,” she mutters, hands on her hips as she looks around at the mess and all the cupcakes waiting to be frosted and brownies to be cut into squares. “For the baking part, at least,” she sighs, blowing out a breath that fans her loose hair around her face.
She grabs up another bag already filled with icing and begins to pipe it on.nbsp;
We work quietly and as quickly as we can. There are a lot of cupcakes to frost, and it seems that no matter how many we do, there’s more.
When the last batch comes out of the oven she sets it down to cool and turns to me.
“Let’s take a break and have some lunch.”
My stomach rumbles. I hadn’t even realized it was lunchtime. I was so busy frosting the cupcakes I lost track of time.
I help her make enough sandwiches for four, and then we set the table on an enclosed patio out back.
“Can you grab the lemon water from inside?” she asks.
“Sure thing.”
I head back in and open the refrigerator, finding a large pitcher of fresh water with ice and lemon slices.
I carry it back out, careful not to let it slosh over the sides. I set it in the center of the table and Jasper’s grandma, I realize I don’t even know her name, opens a door on the side of the enclosed porch and steps outside.
“Boys!” she calls out, her hands cupped around her mouth. “Time for lunch!”
It isn’t long until I see Jasper and his grandpa emerging from a copse of trees.