“The table looks pretty,” she told Margot after Grandpa said the blessing.
“Thank you.” Margot smiled. “I thought we should celebrate this reunion.”
“This looks good.” Grandpa forked into his pasta, which Dillon had plated in the kitchen—just like Grandma used to do.
“We used Grandma’s recipe,” Margot said a bit smugly.
Dillon considered mentioning the turkey substitution, but she didn’t want to spoil it for Grandpa. Instead, she told him about losing her job and breaking up with Brandon. She just wanted to get it out of the way and move on. “It all happened pretty fast,” she admitted. “I decided it was a good excuse to come home. But maybe I should’ve thought it through better. Taken more time to figure things out. I guess it’s too late now.”
“Well, you’ve always been a planner, that’s for sure, but can’t say I’m disappointed—since it brought you back home.” He grinned. “And you know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.” He turned to Margot. “You both are. Here I’d been feeling lonely and sorry for myself—and suddenly my house is full. I guess it’s true what they say: when it rains it pours.”
“I hope we don’t overwhelm you.” Dillon poured dressing over the green salad she’d hastily thrown together while the sauce had simmered.
“Not at all.” He held up a fork of spaghetti. “And I must say your cooking skills have improved, Margot. This is a little different than what your mother used to make, but it’s not half bad.”
“Well, thank you, Dad. Dilly helped a little.”
Dillon grimaced, but said nothing to claim the credit. Besides, the ground turkey was Margot’s idea. Dillon still felt beef would’ve been better. Maybe she’d let Margot cook the next meal unassisted. See how that turned out.
After Dillon brought him a second helping, Grandpa patted her hand with a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been awfully quiet. I hope you’re not feeling bad about that boy. If you ask me, he was a fool to let you go.”
“Thanks.” She forced a smile as she sat down. “To be honest, I haven’t really given him much thought tonight.”
“That’s good. Sounds like he wasn’t the right one anyway. And it pays to get the right one, Dilly. Marie was my proof of that.” He sighed.
“I know.” Dillon forced a smile. “Your marriage to Grandma was an inspiration.”
“Well, I could be wrong, but I think Dilly was more in love with the idea of marriage than she was in love with her groom-to-be.” Margot winked at Grandpa as she reached for the salt. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have broken up with him, Dilly. I think you missed a bullet.”
As much as Dillon hated to agree with Margot on this, she suspected it was probably true. Even so, it felt insensitive. But why be surprised by that?
“Give yourself time,” Grandpa told Dillon. “You’ll get over it.” And now, in typical Grandpa style, he began to go over the upcoming weather forecast. “We really needed that rain, but it’s supposed to be sunny throughout the week. My tractor’s running good again. I think I’ll start tilling the south field first thing in the morning.” He turned to Dillon. “Did you hear your mom wants to grow lavender?”
“She mentioned that.” Dillon frowned. “Sounds like hard work.”
“Yep.” He nodded. “But hard work’s like medicine. Good for what ails you.”
“Well, maybe I can help out in the house,” Dillon offered. “Looks like you could use a good housekeeper.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that.” He slowly shook his head. “I’ve let things go . . . since Marie passed on.”
“Well, with the three of us working together, I’m sure we can get this place back into great shape in no time.” Margot held up her water glass for a toast. “Here’s to us being the Three Musketeers—able to conquer whatever comes our way.”
Dillon lifted her glass, but her heart wasn’t into the toast. Perhaps the best plan would be for her to start doing an online job search tomorrow, and move on and out as quickly as possible. Leave Margot and Grandpa to lavender farming . . . and housekeeping . . . without her.
Grandpa excused himself to bed early, which wasn’t so unusual, and Margot, claiming she needed to read up on lavender plants, made herself scarce as well. But Dillon didn’t mind being left with the cleanup. She was glad to be alone in Grandma’s kitchen. Losing her grandmother so suddenly last fall—hearing the news of the brain aneurism after it was too late—Dillon had felt robbed. With no warning, she’d never had the chance to say her goodbye. But being in Grandma’s kitchen helped some. It was almost like being with her.
While cooking dinner, Dillon had observed what must’ve been six month’s accumulation of grease and grime—understandable since Grandpa wasn’t accustomed to being a bachelor, but something Grandma never would’ve tolerated. It felt good to scrub things down now. Unlike her previous job, it was rewarding to see the fruit of her labors right in front of her. And by the time she finished, the kitchen was gleaming and orderly. But it was past eleven and she was worn out and ready for bed . . . and hopefully ready for that sofa.
By morning, Dillon’s back ached from a restless night on the saggy sofa. After a few stretches, she heard noises from the kitchen and, knowing Grandpa had always been an early riser, she suspected it was him.
“I’m making us oatmeal,” he said when she joined him. “Not as good as bacon and eggs. I put them on my shopping list—as well as some other food that never made it home. Stuff that Margot claims isn’t good for me.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I like bacon and eggs too. But if Margot doesn’t get up too early, maybe we can sneak some tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me.” He winked. “I’m almost sorry I gave Marie’s laying hens to the neighbor last winter. But I kept forgetting to feed them. Now I sort of miss those eggs.”
“Maybe you should get some more chickens.”
He nodded. “I’ll be thinking on that.”
“In the meantime, I’ll make a store run later today,” she told him.
“Margot’s really into this health-food nonsense. Tried to get me to drink some awful green stuff for lunch yesterday.” He made a face. “I poured it down the sink when she wasn’t looking.”
“She’s worried you aren’t eating right.”
“Well, drinking green slime doesn’t sound like eating right to me.”
Dillon laughed. “I agree.”
“Anyway, oatmeal’s quick and easy.” He paused to stir it. “And I wanted to get out there and get my tractor running while the soil is still damp from yesterday’s rain. It’ll dry up fast on this warm day.”
“Well, oatmeal sounds just fine to me.” She got out bowls and spoons and a few other things, setting them on the old maple kitchen table.
He dished hearty portions of oatmeal into their bowls, and she followed his lead in dousing hers with milk and dollops of butter and brown sugar. “Margot wouldn’t approve of this.” He chuckled. “But we won’t worry about that.”