Redwood Bend

old unless you wanted it to be. Adele hadn’t started playing the matronly or grandmotherly roles until five years ago. She had an excellent surgeon and colorist. She was, after all, a bit younger than Carol Burnett.
“Oh, darling,” Muriel said, rushing toward her, arms open. “It’s so wonderful to see you!” They embraced and Muriel immediately introduced her gentleman. “This is Walt, my neighbor and boyfriend. Walt, this is Adele Childress. We’ve known each other for—”
“Very long,” Adele cut in. Adding up years always made her weary. “I appreciate the hospitality, Muriel. I hope it’s not a major inconvenience.”
“It’s none at all. There’s a guesthouse, and there’s a bedroom in the house on the second floor. Now, bear in mind, it’s an old farmhouse that I restored, so there’s only the one bath upstairs, claw-foot tub. I have no trouble sharing it. You decide if you want to put your driver in the guesthouse with a private shower but no tub or take it for yourself and I’ll put him up in the house.”
Randy was pulling suitcases out of the trunk and lining them up beside the car. “Let Miss Daisy have a look at the guesthouse,” he said. And then he added, “Ma’am.”
Adele tsked. “Impertinent,” she muttered. “Pain in my ass.”
“Her knee bothers her—that tub won’t work as well as a shower,” Randy said.
Muriel laughed. “Put her bags in the guesthouse,” she advised. “You’ll have everything you need, even a refrigerator. The shower is perfect for you, the mattress is fairly new, there’s a flat screen, and if you need anything more than you find in the refrigerator, the front door is always unlocked. And you,” she said, looking at the driver.
“Muriel, it’s Randy. You remember Randy?” Adele asked.
Muriel stepped closer. “You grew a beard!” she said. “I can’t believe it’s you. My God, you two have lasted longer than most marriages!”
“Through no fault of hers,” the driver said. “Ma’am.”
Muriel laughed, covering her mouth. “Well, then, come up on the porch. Let me get you both a drink. Walt and I had dinner, not knowing exactly when you might be here, but saved you some in the warmer. And don’t worry—Walt cooked and he’s gifted. Now, about that drink?”
“Make mine vodka on the rocks with either a couple of olives or a twist of lime, whatever is handy. Make it good and strong—I just saw my grandson.”
“Beer,” Randy said. “Any old beer. Can or bottle, just cold. Nothing fancy.” And then he pulled off his black jacket and tossed it into the car, rolled up his white sleeves, unbuttoned his collar and carted the suitcases off to the guesthouse.
“Sit right here, Adele,” Walt said, placing her beside the table that held a few flickering candles. Then he pulled a couple of chairs near the grouping, but when Randy had delivered the suitcases to the guesthouse and arrived on the porch, he immediately pulled one chair away, to the end of the porch, not too far but isolated nonetheless.
“Antisocial,” Adele muttered by way of explanation.
Muriel brought drinks, handing Adele hers first. “One heavy on the liquor for the lady. Now what’s wrong? I can’t believe Dylan gave you trouble!”
Adele took a sip. “Ah, nicely done,” she said, praising the drink. “Dylan doesn’t make trouble, just his personal brand of contrariness. He’s independent, the ingredient that allowed him to become successful, and I approve of that. He appears to have himself a lovely lady friend, a serious one, and I find myself hoping he won’t mess it up. It’s the first time he’s lingered around a woman’s front door for weeks on end, ignoring all other business. And yet he has nothing to say? He’s still suffering from that old fear of commitment.”
“Your friend Muriel has the same issue,” Walt said.
“Yes, but Muriel’s fear comes from another place—she’s afraid she’s not good at commitment. Dylan is afraid he has inherited an inability to commit.”
“I’m right here,” Muriel reminded them, motioning for Walt to pass her drink from the table.
“Having you show up unannounced must put him at ease,” Randy added from his much darker side of the porch.
“I only want to help,” Adele said. “I only want Dylan to be happy. I could resolve ninety percent of his problems if he’d let me.”
“Let him make himself happy,” Randy said. “He’ll appreciate it more.”
Adele turned her head in her