Close to Home. Deborah Raney

“I mean, I’d miss having you close by in Langhorne, but I already see you here all the time anyway.”

      Bree joined the others in murmurs of approval—right on cue.

      She was surprised and a little disconcerted by how easily CeeCee had been persuaded. Grant reached to pat his mother’s knee again, and it struck Bree that Grant had become the parent and CeeCee, the child. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and pushed away an irrational thought: what would Tim say when he found out about today’s events?

      “You’re probably tired now,” Audrey said.

      “We’ll sit down again soon and come up with a plan,” Grant said. “And a timeline.”

      “You and your infernal timelines,” CeeCee huffed. “Your father always had to put everything on a timeline, too. I say just get it over with. Call that Realtor, whatever her name was, and get the ball rolling. Before I change my mind.”

      “Are you sure?” Audrey asked, sounding a bit bemused.

      “Sure as I’ll ever be. And you’d better move on this before I forget I agreed to it.”

      That produced quiet laughter around the table. Bree couldn’t be sure, but she was pretty sure CeeCee knew exactly what she’d said. In fact, she thought the familiar twinkle was back in CeeCee’s eyes. Or at least a tiny glimmer of it.

      CeeCee seemed to be thinking over the proposal, but maybe she was thinking of reasons why it wouldn’t work. In all the talk about her declining health over the last year or two, Bree had never heard anyone mention this possibility. It must be something Grant and Audrey had just come up with.

      “Well! When do you propose this blessed event to happen?” CeeCee finally said.

      Bree felt the whole table breathe a collective sigh of relief. CeeCee hadn’t dismissed the idea out of hand, as they’d all obviously expected.

      “If you kids will all pitch in”—Grant looked at each of them in turn around the table—“we could probably have CeeCee’s house on the market by September first and we could start building as—”

      “Whoa! Whoa now . . . What’s your rush?” CeeCee looked stricken. “And what are you going to do with me if the house sells right away? You can’t get a house—even a cottage as you call it—built before winter. And how would I get to my bridge club? Assuming this little proposal of yours involves relieving me of my car, too.”

      “Those are things we can figure out when the time comes, Cecelia.” Audrey’s tone took on the patronizing lilt that sometimes got on Bree’s nerves. And judging by the scowl on CeeCee’s face, it wasn’t going over too well with her either.

      “I’m not going anywhere or signing anything, for that matter, until I have your sworn promise that I’ll still have my car and that I will not be shut out of my bridge games. I refuse to be tucked away in some turret like a prisoner. I don’t care how much it might inconvenience the lot of you!”

      Good for you, CeeCee! Bree admired the old woman’s spunk. Even while she understood the dilemma this caused the rest of the family.

      “We have every intention of making things as comfortable and normal as possible, Mother.” Grant pressed his hands together, steepling his fingers. “We’re not trying to imprison you. We’re trying to be sure you’re safe. When we can get started on the cottage will depend on how soon we can get your house sold and on how much it brings. But Audrey and I have been looking at some nice plans that could probably be built for what your house would bring.”

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Don’t worry about that. I’ve got money in the bank. If we’re going to build a house, let’s get it built. We can worry about selling the house in Langhorne later.”

      Grant frowned. “I’m not sure you understand how much it costs to build a new house these days, Mother.”

      “I’m not a complete imbecile. And I’m not sure you understand how much money I have in the bank. Do you think we could build your little cottage for under half a million?”

      A few muffled gasps went up around the table, and Link actually gave a whoop.

      CeeCee held her chin in the air and glared at Link. “Your grandfather didn’t exactly leave me destitute, you know. Plus”—an ornery gleam shone in her eyes—“I’m no slouch with the stock market. And I win the kitty at bridge at least once a week.”

      Audrey looked dubious, but Grant chuckled as if he believed his mother. Although Bree knew CeeCee handled her own finances, surely Grant had some idea of her financial situation.

      “I think we could cobble something together for half a million, Mother.”

      “Spare no expense, son. I’m worth it.” She stabbed a piece of roast beef and popped it into her mouth.

      The table erupted in laughter, and Bree patted CeeCee’s hand. “You are definitely worth it, CeeCee. Every penny.”

      Later, while they finished dessert and resumed the comforting rhythms of a Tuesday night at the Whitmans, Bree looked out the windows to the shadowed meadow below the house, where the children were playing now. She could almost picture CeeCee’s little cottage in the clearing. And if Tim’s grandmother eventually had to move into a nursing home, the cottage would be there, a perfect retirement home for Grant and Audrey. Likely one of Tim’s sisters would eventually make the Chicory Inn her home. Maybe even keep it running as an inn after it became too much for Tim’s parents to handle.

      It was an ideal solution. And CeeCee had taken it better than anyone expected. Bree fought against the lump of sadness tightening her throat. She felt wrenched between her past and her future. Would she even be coming to the inn, still be a part of this family, by the time the cottage was finished?

      Chapter 8

      8

      The drive-thru line at Starbucks was six cars long when Bree got there. Things were a little calmer at work, and she and Aaron had stayed late last night, so Sallie wouldn’t get too bent out of shape if she was a few minutes late getting in to work.

      Bree had been trying to avoid Sallie as much as possible since her friendship with Aaron had turned into something more.

      She edged her way forward in the line, put the car in park, and pulled her phone from its holder on the dashboard. Dialing Aaron, it struck her that they’d already found a “routine” with each other. He answered on the second ring.

      “Hey, I’m in line at Starbucks. Do you want me to bring you a caramel Frappuccino?” She even knew his favorite drink. This must be getting serious.

      “That’d be awesome,” he said. “Want me to tell Sallie you’re on your way?”

      “Why? Is she asking about me?”

      “No. But you know she soon will be. Unless you’re next in line.”

      “No, I’m”—she did a quick count—“five cars back. It’ll be a few.”

      “I’ll let her know. You want to grab supper after work?”

      She hesitated. “Um . . . It’s Tuesday, Aaron.”

      “Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”

      “I’ve only told you about eight times.” It was only a slight exaggeration. She tried to keep her voice light, but had he seriously not heard her tell him all those times?

      “Couldn’t you skip? Just this once?”

      He knew she always picked CeeCee up. Why was he pushing her? “How about tomorrow night?”

      “Never mind. I get it.” But he sounded frustrated. Or even angry.

      “Thanks.” She put the car in gear and pulled forward a car length. “Only three cars ahead of me now. I’ll be there shortly.” She despised the unnatural brightness in her voice.