My heart swells at the sight of my grandmother’s house. My house now, since she left it to me. But I still think of the two-story yellow beach house as hers.
After all these years, I still miss her so much it hurts. But even if she won’t be walking outside to greet me with a hug and an ice-cold glass of her famous Arnold Palmers, I can feel her down here, where we shared so many summers together, just the two of us. I hope it will be like that with Tommy, that I’ll be able to feel him with me. But I’m not ready to think about that. Not now. Not yet.
CeCe has the door open before the car comes to a full and complete stop. I watch as she takes the porch steps in one giant leap, finding the spare key where it’s always been hidden, underneath the ceramic bullfrog Gran bought at the dollar store back when it was a five-and-dime.
If Tommy had his way, we’d have moved down here full-time. He says that his home is wherever I am, but his heart is always happier here, where the ocean is blocks, not hundreds of miles, away.
Every year, we say we’re going to try to come down more often, but life keeps getting in the way. My work, mostly. But I thought we had plenty of time; this was going to be our retirement home. Tommy would take up golf, I’d try my hand at pickle ball, and we’d spend our sunset years holding hands and walking the beach, reminiscing about the good old days. We had a plan. We’re supposed to have more time.
I push the ignition button to turn the engine off, but I don’t open the door. As ready as I am to get out of the car, I’m not ready to start this farewell tour. While it might seem like any of the hundreds of times we’ve made this same drive before, it’s not. And I can’t ignore the fact that while three of us are arriving, only two of us will be going home.
Tommy gives my leg a squeeze. “Ready?”
“Or not,” I say, putting my hand on top of his. “Here goes nothing.”
I get out of the car and pop the trunk, ignoring the oxygen he thankfully hasn’t had to start using yet—a big tank for the house and a portable oxygen concentrator that looks like a cross between a briefcase and a purse. His doctor back home put us in touch with a specialist here to help with his “comfort care.” Tommy told me to stop before I even suggested that maybe he should try to get a third opinion from this doctor.
As much as I’m trying not to get my hopes up, I do hope being down here will remind Tommy how good life can be, that he’ll realize we’re worth fighting for before it’s too late.
“I’ve got it,” Tommy says, bringing me back to the moment. He reaches for my oversize suitcase, weighed down with anything and everything I might need over the next few months.
I watch as he lifts it out of the trunk before grabbing his suitcase, which is just as big and probably just as heavy. With a suitcase in each hand, he heads for the house, trying so hard to maintain the picture of strength.
He doesn’t know I’ve noticed that his appetite is barely there these days. That his face has already hollowed out, that his shirts are starting to hang on his frame and he’s wearing his belt a few notches tighter.
We don’t talk about those things.
There’s a cardboard box in the trunk I don’t remember seeing when we packed everything, but I leave it for now, grabbing CeCe’s suitcase in one hand and the oxygen tank in the other. I shut the trunk without bothering to lock the doors because this is Destin, and bad things don’t happen here. At least, they didn’t before this summer.
INSIDE, I HALF expect to find things the way they used to be, with Gran’s furniture from her house in Atlanta that always felt a little out of place here. I walk into the only room that escaped our redecorating—the “piano room” with Gran’s beloved Steinway holding court in the corner. I used to love listening to her sing as she played everything from Broadway hits to Billie Holiday and the Andrews Sisters while I sat at the card table, drawing or playing Solitaire.
Back when Tommy and CeCe spent whole summers down here, they’d use the table to work on a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. Every time I came down to spend a long weekend, it was a little more complete. Somehow, the timing always worked out so the last piece was in place just before it was time to pack up and head home.
“Babe,” Tommy calls from the kitchen.
I walk down the hall toward him, stopping to straighten a framed photo that Jill’s daughter, Abigail, snapped of the three of us last summer on the beach.
“Looks like Jill was here,” Tommy says, holding up a pitcher of Arnold Palmers—the half iced tea and half lemonade drink she knows my grandmother always kept in the fridge. My eyes well up with tears of gratitude, but I blink them away.
“Did she leave anything else?” I ask, hoping there’s a sweet treat from her bakery café to go along with the drink.
“Just a note for you to come by The Broken Crown after we get settled.”
I nod, wishing I could leave the unpacking and adulting for later. But rules are rules, and I know if I put it off, I’ll end up using my suitcase as a drawer for the rest of the summer.
“Go ahead,” Tommy says. “I’ll get everything put away.”
“I’ll go later,” I tell him. “We have to go to the grocery store.”
Tommy smiles. “I can handle that, too. I do it at home, don’t I?”
He’s not wrong. “Are you sure?”
Tommy grabs my waist and pulls me closer, answering with a kiss. “Just bring me back something from Jill’s?”
“Deal.”
I give him one more kiss before walking down the street to get the hug my heart’s been aching for since this nightmare began.