Read Online Changing Lanes: A Novel by Kathleen Long - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathleen Long
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question,” she said.
“Question?” Suddenly, I couldn’t seem to hold a thought in my head.
“What are you going to do?” She repeated her words slowly and firmly, as if I were once again six years old.
I blinked. “I’m going after Fred.” I tamped down the voice inside me that wondered how in the heck I was going to do that. “That’s my top priority.” I nodded, searching for approval in Nan’s eyes but finding none.
Nan sank back against the plush leather seat, her lips pressed to a thin line. I leaned to kiss her cheek as she slid toward her door.
Just before she slammed the massive door shut, I could have sworn I heard her say, “That’s what I was afraid of.”
I scooted across the seat to roll down the window, suddenly filled with sadness at the idea of my grandmother sitting alone in the library every night with only her memories and a cup of Earl Grey.
“Do you want some company?” I called to her.
She slowed and turned, a warm smile gliding across her lips. “Thank you, dear, but not tonight. Go find some fun.”
I watched until she disappeared beyond the sliding glass entry doors of the Paris Public Library.
Find some fun.
There seemed to be a theme developing along those lines.
I pulled the Beast away from the curb but then slowed to a stop a short distance down the street.
As I stared at the parked cars, I remembered my own Beetle, still sitting in the municipal lot near the inn. The least I could do would be to drive by to check on the poor thing.
I thought again of Nan and the idea of her sitting alone night after night. I glanced back at the library just in time to spot a familiar shape at the entrance.
Nan reemerged, carrying a disposable hot beverage cup. Her steps were sure and solid, as if she’d done this countless times before. She headed down the center walk and turned left, away from where I sat parked.
I pulled the Beast into an open parking space, cut the ignition, and climbed out. I moved quickly, trailing behind Nan butstaying far enough back that I could duck and hide should she suddenly spin around to check for a tail.
I might be leading a boring life, but my imagination hadn’t lost a step.
I glanced down at the colorful sheath in which my mother had dressed me and realized I could duck all I wanted to, but I’d never be able to hide.
When I glanced back to the sidewalk in front of me, Nan had vanished.
So much for my detective skills.
Yet I didn’t have to be a detective to know where Nan had gone.
The majestic iron gates of the Paris Cemetery loomed before me. I slipped inside and cut over to Section C, ducking behind the Morris Tomb. From there, I could see Nan sitting beside my grandfather’s headstone.
Her lips moved, but I couldn’t make out her words. She sipped on her tea and then laughed as if someone had told the funniest story she’d ever heard.
In that moment, I understood what drew Nan to the library every night. It was the perfect cover for a nightly trek to the cemetery.
Memories
, Nan had said.
She’d moved in with my parents not long after Grandpa died. Since that time, Nan had told stories about her marriage, including how she and Grandpa would sit and chat after dinner each night, he with his coffee and she with her tea.
Six years after his death, Nan was still sitting with Grandpa after dinner.
For all of her talk about moving on, she hadn’t moved an inch.
Nan had grown quiet, and she swiped at her cheeks.
I tiptoed backward, shame washing through me. Even though I hated to see her so sad, this was her time, her space. I had no business watching.
So I walked away, back toward the cab, leaving Nan alone with her memories.
Instead of going back home, I drove toward Bridge Street and pulled Bessie to the side of the road before the ground ended and the river began.
I climbed out of the cab and smoothed the front of my mother’s dress. While I typically wouldn’t go out for an evening stroll in an outfit more suited
“Question?” Suddenly, I couldn’t seem to hold a thought in my head.
“What are you going to do?” She repeated her words slowly and firmly, as if I were once again six years old.
I blinked. “I’m going after Fred.” I tamped down the voice inside me that wondered how in the heck I was going to do that. “That’s my top priority.” I nodded, searching for approval in Nan’s eyes but finding none.
Nan sank back against the plush leather seat, her lips pressed to a thin line. I leaned to kiss her cheek as she slid toward her door.
Just before she slammed the massive door shut, I could have sworn I heard her say, “That’s what I was afraid of.”
I scooted across the seat to roll down the window, suddenly filled with sadness at the idea of my grandmother sitting alone in the library every night with only her memories and a cup of Earl Grey.
“Do you want some company?” I called to her.
She slowed and turned, a warm smile gliding across her lips. “Thank you, dear, but not tonight. Go find some fun.”
I watched until she disappeared beyond the sliding glass entry doors of the Paris Public Library.
Find some fun.
There seemed to be a theme developing along those lines.
I pulled the Beast away from the curb but then slowed to a stop a short distance down the street.
As I stared at the parked cars, I remembered my own Beetle, still sitting in the municipal lot near the inn. The least I could do would be to drive by to check on the poor thing.
I thought again of Nan and the idea of her sitting alone night after night. I glanced back at the library just in time to spot a familiar shape at the entrance.
Nan reemerged, carrying a disposable hot beverage cup. Her steps were sure and solid, as if she’d done this countless times before. She headed down the center walk and turned left, away from where I sat parked.
I pulled the Beast into an open parking space, cut the ignition, and climbed out. I moved quickly, trailing behind Nan butstaying far enough back that I could duck and hide should she suddenly spin around to check for a tail.
I might be leading a boring life, but my imagination hadn’t lost a step.
I glanced down at the colorful sheath in which my mother had dressed me and realized I could duck all I wanted to, but I’d never be able to hide.
When I glanced back to the sidewalk in front of me, Nan had vanished.
So much for my detective skills.
Yet I didn’t have to be a detective to know where Nan had gone.
The majestic iron gates of the Paris Cemetery loomed before me. I slipped inside and cut over to Section C, ducking behind the Morris Tomb. From there, I could see Nan sitting beside my grandfather’s headstone.
Her lips moved, but I couldn’t make out her words. She sipped on her tea and then laughed as if someone had told the funniest story she’d ever heard.
In that moment, I understood what drew Nan to the library every night. It was the perfect cover for a nightly trek to the cemetery.
Memories
, Nan had said.
She’d moved in with my parents not long after Grandpa died. Since that time, Nan had told stories about her marriage, including how she and Grandpa would sit and chat after dinner each night, he with his coffee and she with her tea.
Six years after his death, Nan was still sitting with Grandpa after dinner.
For all of her talk about moving on, she hadn’t moved an inch.
Nan had grown quiet, and she swiped at her cheeks.
I tiptoed backward, shame washing through me. Even though I hated to see her so sad, this was her time, her space. I had no business watching.
So I walked away, back toward the cab, leaving Nan alone with her memories.
Instead of going back home, I drove toward Bridge Street and pulled Bessie to the side of the road before the ground ended and the river began.
I climbed out of the cab and smoothed the front of my mother’s dress. While I typically wouldn’t go out for an evening stroll in an outfit more suited
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