When in Rome

Noah pulls into the parking lot of an assisted-living home and cuts the engine. His face is full of worry, and if I had to guess, he might be regretting his choice to bring me here.

I look toward the long one-story building and back to Noah. “Who are we visiting?”

After our little lake adventure, Noah took me home so we could both quickly change and hop back in the truck. I took a little longer than anticipated, though, because while brushing out my tangled, wet hair, a new song lyric popped in my head. It’s been months and months since I’ve felt musically inspired, so after running to my room and quickly typing out the verse in a note on my phone, I fell back on the bed and laughed like you do when joy is just too much to contain. I wanted to call my mom and tell her since she used to be the first person I’d share songs with, but we haven’t had that kind of relationship in years. It would be too awkward and out of the blue to call and tell her I felt my first creative spark in a while, so I just kept it to myself instead.

Now, in the truck, Noah takes off the hat he’s been wearing all day and sets it aside. “My grandma.”

“Your—” I’m stunned. My head is reeling. I thought Noah’s grandma had already passed away based on the way he talks about her. “The grandma who raised you?”

He nods, weary eyes darting to the assisted-living entrance and back to me. “I know you thought she had already died, and I let you believe that, because honestly, it’s just easier than launching into everything. And I can’t stand it when I tell people and then they start awwing like I’m some saint or they give me these pity eyes for having to take care of my grandmother. So now when I meet someone new, I don’t tell them. Or at least…not until I can fully trust them.”

My mind grabs on to that last sentence like a support bar on a subway. “And you trust me now?”

He smiles and nods again. “I do. And if you’re up for it, I want you to meet her. But…she’s not the grandma that raised me anymore. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three years ago. That’s when my sisters and I moved her into this assisted-living home. It was such a difficult decision, but she’s so much safer here, and they have incredible care for Alzheimer’s patients.”

The last of the puzzle pieces snap together. “Your grandma is why you came home from New York?”

“Yeah. Her memory started getting really bad the year I was gone, and my sisters would call me almost daily saying how worried they were. Grandma would drive to the market and not remember how she got there or how to get home. Luckily, everyone in the town knows and loves her, so she was usually safe. But it was getting pretty scary. And after Emily took her to the doctor and had a confirmed diagnosis, I couldn’t stay away any longer.” He frowns, looking like his mind dipped back to a place that he tries to avoid. “Merritt—my ex-fiancée…” He clarifies as if I actually needed for him to remind me even though I already carved her name on my hate, hate, hate list. “She couldn’t understand why I needed to move home. She thought I should let my sisters handle her and live my own life.” He scoffs. “I still can’t believe she used that word. So demeaning. Like the woman who sacrificed her life, to raise and love me after my parents died, deserved to be reduced to being handled.” His hands clench into fists.

At a loss for words, I put my hand on his and squeeze. Noah looks down at it, and his fist relaxes. I can see the moment he lets go of some of that pain. “Anyway, it was for the best. Merritt wasn’t right for me in the end. Not even in the beginning if I’m being honest.”

There’s more to that story. I remember Jeanine at the diner saying Noah was cheated on, but I’m not going to bring that up now. Feels like a bit much. “Thanks for telling me,” I say, genuinely meaning it. “So this is who you come to have lunch with so often?”

“Yeah. My sisters and I rotate so she has someone here almost every day. And Mabel comes most evenings. In the summer it’s a pretty even schedule, but when school starts back, Emily and Madison can’t get out here in the afternoons, so Annie and I come more often.” He nods toward the facility. “The staff is incredible to my grandma. But…we still want to make sure she’s okay. That she’s not lonely.”

There’s so much I want to say right now. Actually, I want to dive over this bench seat to wrap my arms around him and squeeze. But I know that’s not what Noah wants. He’s not mushy. And I think lavishing him with how wonderful he is would only annoy him. “I’m glad. It’s good she has you guys.” I look in his eyes with a tender smile, making sure to keep any “pity eyes” far, far away.

“If you want, I’d like for you to come in and meet her. But you have to know that she doesn’t always live in the present. And it’s better for her if we don’t correct her when she’s wrong about something. I try to jump into whatever place or time she’s at in that moment.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” I say, hoping to put him at ease and prove that he can trust me with her.

His smile is tense and he looks like he wants to give more directions and caveats, but he ends up opening the truck door and hopping out instead. I do the same and we walk side by side through the sliding doors of the facility. I wish I could hold his hand, but I keep mine clasped behind my back instead.

We stop at the front desk and Noah offers a nice smile to the woman in scrubs behind the desk. “Hi, Mary,” he says, picking up a pen from the counter and signing both our names on a visiting sheet. Noah and Amelia. Side by side. In his beautiful cursive. Briefly, I wonder if they’d notice if I stole this sheet on my way out to keep it as a memento for the rest of my life.

“Noah! I was wondering when you’d be by today.” Her eyes slip to me and widen. I probably should have worn Noah’s hat in here, but I completely forgot. “You have…a friend with you today,” she says, turning into a dazed zombie. I know this look. It’s the look of a fan, and I’m worried it’s going to immediately make things hard for Noah. He’ll regret bringing me, and the nice bubble of trust we’ve formed will pop. The end.

“I do,” he says softly, leaning a little over the counter and dropping his voice even lower. “But we’d appreciate it if you not say anything about her being here to anyone else. It wouldn’t be good for my grandma if there was a sudden mob of nursing staff in her room.”

He twinkles at Mary, and…huh. Would you look at that? It does the trick.

Mary turns her eyes back to Noah and her fandom dies away as quickly as it appeared. “Of course. Y’all go on in and see her. She’s in a great mood today and very alert.”

“That’s good to hear. Thank you, Mary.”

As Noah and I walk through the facility, he stops and talks to no less than twenty people. All the old ladies adore him. He leans down often so they can pat his cheek. He gives out hugs like candy on Halloween. He’s so soft here. Tender and loving to all these people who desperately need both those things. Noah is such a natural at caring for others. And it’s that realization that has my heart leaping off a high dive straight into the deep end of the feelings pool.

Noah and I finally make it to his grandma’s door, both steeped in the scents of at least twenty different perfumes. I laugh when I see that someone left a red lipstick stain on Noah’s cheek, and I wipe it off. He rolls his eyes lightly with amusement like he’d forgive these ladies anything.

“One time I had an eighty-year-old lady pinch my ass when I leaned over.”

I laugh and give an exaggerated look to the buns in question. “Can’t say I blame her. You’ve got a good ass back there.”

“Stop it.” He groans before knocking lightly on the door and then opens it. He gives me one quick glance over his shoulder and I see the hesitation in his eyes. He’s worried about showing me this part of his life. I smile and make little pinchers out of my fingers, angling them toward his butt to get him to keep moving. He grabs my wrist before my fingers can make contact with any cheekage, and then he slides his hand down to clasp with my fingers. I’m light-headed from the emotional connection. More intimate than that kiss in the lake somehow.

He pulls me with him inside the happy, sunlit room. We pass a wall of pictures, filled with Noah and his sisters at all stages of their lives. I want to linger and stare at each one, but Noah moves me toward the sweet little woman sitting in a chair, looking out a massive picture window toward the facility garden.

“Well, hi there, darlin’,” Noah says and the buttery soft tone of his voice has each of my bones melting into goo.

His grandma—Silvie—looks up at him and it’s clear she doesn’t quite know what to think at first but is trying to understand. She has short, white hair, curled in that adorable way that many older ladies like to style their hair, and has porcelain skin so thin it’s nearly translucent. But Silvie is not wearing a sweat suit. No way. It’s clear that this woman is every inch the southern belle she’s always been. A strand of beaded pearls lies around her slender neck, and she’s wearing a bright pink cardigan with nice black linen capris.

“Well, yes, hi…” she says kindly with only a soft furrow to her brow. It’s clear she has no idea who Noah is, and my heart squeezes for him.

He doesn’t wait for her to ask any questions. He pulls me up beside him and wraps his arm around me like I belong here with him. “I’m sorry I’m late for our usual lunch date,” he says with a sunshine smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought an addition today. Mrs. Walker, this is my friend Amelia. Amelia, this is Silvie Walker. This lovely lady graciously has lunch with me a few times a week to keep me company.” I know he explains this for Silvie’s benefit rather than mine.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Walker. Do you mind if I stick around and intrude on your lunch date?”

Silvie’s eyes—green like Noah’s but more cloudy in color than his—bounce between us a little nervously. “Of course…you two go on and have a seat. But I’ll warn you, I can’t visit for too long. My grandson and granddaughters will be home from school shortly and I need to finish baking some cookies for them.” She winks at me. “Because all little ones need a cookie now and again when they get home from learning.”

Noah’s fingers squeeze my shoulder lightly and then he lets go of me, gesturing for me to take the chair beside him. “Lucky kids,” he says with a chuckle. “I love cookies.”

Her eyes brighten, and it’s amazing to watch how well Noah knows her. How to disarm her immediately and smooth her worry away. “Well, do you now? I’m more of a pie woman myself. But I do like a good cookie from time to time. I only make ’em because my grandson doesn’t like pie, the little rascal.” She smiles and I can see through her memories how loved Noah was as a child. Still loved…just in a different way.

If he’s hurt by her not realizing that he is her grandson, he doesn’t show it a bit. He crosses a leg over the other and looks at me. “What about you, Amelia? Do you like cookies or pie?”

I give an exaggerated look of consideration before I grin. “You know? I’m more of a pancake gal, actually.”

Silvie raises her eyebrows. “That so? Pancakes are good, too…” she says in a grandmotherly way that makes me feel validated and important.

The conversation continues like this for the next few minutes, and when it’s clear that Silvie starts to feel tired by our visit and look more distant, Noah makes an excuse for us, saying he needs to get back to work. He asks if he can hug her before he leaves and she opens her arms wide to accept him. And then shocks us both by doing the same for me.

And it’s in that moment, locked in Silvie’s warm hug, that I look up and see Noah staring at me, and I could swear his eyes are misty. Gregory Peck’s downcast face flashes in my mind and my heart sinks. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have let him introduce me to this important part of his life.

It’s going to make it that much more painful when I leave.