The Firefighter. Susan Lyons
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for you, dear.” Her eyes narrow as she does a quick top-to-bottom appraisal of me, in my own navy pants and tailored shirt. “Though God knows it’s a good idea.” Then she shakes her head, seeming to dismiss that thought, and beams at me. “A man for me.”
“A holiday romance?” I raise my eyebrows. At seventy-seven, she’s been widowed for five years. She dates, but after more than half a century of marriage seems happy to play the field. God, I should have seen it coming. Of course she wants a holiday fling.
In some ways, the woman’s younger than I am.
Which is, of course, why I’m here to look after her. Good old rational Tash, looking after her passionate Nana. I want her to be happy, but I can’t believe a short term, long-distance romance is going to do it for her.
“Well, good luck with it,” I tell her, hearing the skepticism in my voice. Surely the odds are slim she’ll meet an eligible guy and actually—No, Tash, don’t go there. I absolutely do not want to think about Nana and some Aussie…you know.
Still smiling—it’s one of those secretive smiles—she sips her champagne and settles back to read her magazine.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and stand up to stretch and get my briefcase from the overhead compartment. From it, I take the papers sent by the lawyer in Clifton Beach, Queensland, and start reviewing them to ensure I didn’t miss anything the previous three times.
Nana’s asleep now, snoring softly. I tilt her seat back, drape a blanket over her and send a thank-you winging to Vancouver. The whole family chipped in to fly us business class, so we’d have some hope of being comfortable on the fourteen-hour flight.
I’m less sleepy than bored, so I shove aside the legal papers and pull out the book my older sister gave me. “So you’ll see what you’ve got yourself into,” she’d said.
The book is In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson. I leaf through, reading snippets here and there, sipping diligently from my bottle of water.
I learn about rip tides, sharks, poisonous jellyfish, and all manner of insects, snakes, plants, etc., etc.—each of which can kill me in its own extremely horrible way. Even those cute kangaroos might pummel you like a boxer with their front legs, and slash you with those huge hind ones. Yeah, apparently Australia has way more deadly et ceteras than anywhere else in the world. Nana and I are walking into a death trap. Shuddering, I swap the book for the legal papers, vowing never to set foot in the ocean or the Outback.
A little while later, Nana jerks, gives a back-of-the-throat snort, and she’s awake.
I reach over and give her arm an affectionate squeeze. “Nice sleep?”
“Nice dream.”
“What about?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Why not?” I hate being told what I do or don’t want to do or know.
Her lips twitch. “A sex dream, if you must know.”
A sex dream? She’s teasing. I hope.
She glances at the pile of paper on my pull-out table. “No sex dreams for you, I see.”
“Everything looks straightforward. Auntie Bet’s will, the real estate papers, the house insurance.”
“Tash McKendrick, you can’t tell me you didn’t already go through those papers a dozen times before we left home.”
Okay, there’s another adjective for me: thorough. And for her: perceptive.
“I researched house prices in Clifton Beach,” I say. “Depending on the condition of this place, you could get half a million. Beach front is pricey.”
“I don’t think so.” She pulls the airline magazine from the pocket flap in front of her and flips it open.
“Yes, really. Nana, when you visited Auntie Bet she was in Cairns. Have you even been to Clifton Beach?”
“We went for the day, last time I came home. When she was thinking of buying there. It’s beaut.” Her eyes now look a little tired and red, but they’re still sparkly. “Did I tell you I have mates there?”
“Yes, you said some other old friends moved at the same time your sister did.”
Nana nods. “They all wanted to live in a quiet beach town. Bill and Margaret, and Trev and Allison.”
“You knew them when you were growing up?”
“Bill, Margaret and Trev, yes. Trev met Allison when he was away at university in England.” She glances down at the magazine, flips another page or two. “Allison passed away earlier this year.”
“Oh?”
Nana looks up, the eye-sparkle stronger. “Did I mention that Trev was my first beau?”
“What? Before Granddad?” A horrible suspicion begins to dawn. What’s my impulsive Nana, the one who describes herself as passionate, up to? “Nana, you aren’t thinking the two of you might, uh…?”
“Hook up?” she says calmly. “Stranger things have happened. We’re both widowed, and we always did hit it off.”
“But you married Granddad.”
She shrugs. “I’m not saying I didn’t love him, or that we didn’t have a happy marriage. But it was a rebound thing.”
I’m in shock. This is a bit of family history she’s never seen fit to reveal before. “You were on the rebound from this Trev?”
“He was a couple of years older, wanted to be an engineer, and he let his family send him to England to study.” She sighs. “If we’d been more mature, maybe we’d both have waited. But I was right pissed at the bloke, and your granddad came along, a fine-looking, intelligent man, and—” She breaks off. “I married him. Then Trev met Allison at university.”
“Granddad swept you off your feet.”
She laughs, all the fine lines on her face crinkling. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“And the other?”
“Got me in the family way, as we said in those days, then went back to Canada. When my parents found out—and mind you, this was still the forties—they wrote his parents. Before you could say ‘bun in the oven,’ I was on a boat and a church was booked for our wedding. But that’ll be our secret, young lady. No one else in the family knows. Your Granddad and I lied about our anniversary date.”
For a few minutes, all I can do is stare at her. “Why are you telling me this now?”
She shrugs. “So you don’t think I’m too daft if, well, things move a little quickly once Trev and I get together.”
Poor old dear, I don’t want to see her get her heart broken.
“We’ve been writing, you know. We still hit it off.”
“Oh.” Again, she’s surprised me.
“At our age, there’s no time to waste.” She gives a chuckle. “Well, that’s true at any age. If something’s right, grab onto it.”
“Maybe. But there are so many things to do, before you know it’s right.”
“Like, have sex?”
“God, no!” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Okay, yes, but I really don’t want to know about your sex life. I mean, things like making sure you’re compatible.” Damn, now I’m sounding like her stupid magazine.
“Like, in bed?” Her eyes are sparkling with mischief.
“Good God,” I say wryly. “Who is this person who’s inhabiting my grandmother’s body?”
And suddenly—maybe it’s the effect of champagne—but