“Heroes”—Shinedown
The drive up to northern Iowa wasn’t overly long, but it was a lot of the same. Plenty of time for a man to think. I did a lot of that every time I went up to deal with my stubborn grandmother.
Elbow on the door, thumb under my chin, and finger tapping nervously on my closed mouth and snakebite piercings, I drove. With no music playing, my wipers beat out a tempo that matched my heartbeat, and I kept an eye on the road.
Voodoo’s grandmother had called me right after I left with some cryptic weird message that she saw my path diverging from the one I had laid out. That I would have choices to make that would change everything I believed in.
When ringing filled the cab, I glanced at the display to see Raptor’s number pop up.
“Yeah,” I answered gruffly. “Everything okay?”
He scoffed. “Of course. Do you really think I’d let shit fall apart in three hours? I was only checking on your ass. Making sure you weren’t in a ditch somewhere. This weather is the shits.”
Shaking my head a bit, I chuckled. “Obviously I’m alive and kicking.”
“Well, give Margaret my love. You know she’s gonna give you shit for not bringing me along,” he teased.
“I will, and quit flirting with my grandmother. Jesus, that’s just weird.”
“She loves it, and you know it. Besides, she knows I don’t mean anything by it.” He giggled like a kid, and I rolled my eyes.
“Bye,” I loudly said over his laughter.
“Out,” he replied, still laughing, and ended the call.
I pulled into town and up to the retirement apartments she’d recently moved into. The lights were on, telling me she was up and likely ready. Glancing at the time, I noted that we needed to get back on the road soon to make her appointment.
Reaching up on the dash, I grabbed my beanie and pulled it down over my ears. Then I pushed the door open and hopped down into the blowing snow. Freaking snow in October was ridiculous. When I was a kid, it happened all the time. It was crazy to have as much snow as we’d had in the past couple of years.
The door swung open as I approached, proving my assumptions were correct.
“Decker Pruitt, you always were too damn stubborn for your own good,” the diminutive woman barked at me.
Grunting, I stepped inside and shook the snow off.
“You’re getting that all over my floor,” she chastised. Arms akimbo, she craned her neck to look up at me, all of five foot one. I dwarfed her, but you wouldn’t know it by her attitude.
The seventy-one-year-old woman had become a grandmother at the young age of thirty-three when my fifteen-year-old mother popped me out. Mom had moved to Florida after her second marriage and had tried to get Grams to go with her, but she refused to leave Iowa. So I’d done my best to watch out for her.
“It’ll dry, Grams. Or if you have a dirty towel, I’ll wipe it up for you,” I offered politely. She might be tiny, but she demanded respect. Even from my thirty-eight-year-old ass.
“Hmpf,” she huffed. “It’ll dry. Besides, we need to go so you have time to buy me a coffee.”
I fought rolling my eyes at her reiteration of exactly what I’d said, with the addition of me buying her a coffee. “You’re not supposed to have coffee.”
“If it’s decaf, I can. One cup. Doc said. Now let’s go before we have to rush and end up in a ditch thanks to this crazy weather.” She handed me her coat to hold out for her, which I dutifully did. Then she wrapped a scarf around her neck, regally pulled on gloves, and hooked her purse over her forearm.
Pressing my lips flat to keep from smiling, I held the door as she exited, reached down for the folding stool, and followed her to the truck. She was only pissed because I was going with her to get the info firsthand from the doctor about her condition and needs.
After setting up the stool and helping her into the truck, we hit the McDonald’s drive-thru, then got on the road.
She literally didn’t speak for the first twenty minutes. Then she swiveled her head in my direction and stared for a moment. “So, you meet a nice woman yet?”
“Grams,” I started in warning. We’d had this discussion over and over.
“Decker, you’re not getting any younger. Is that more gray in your beard? You’re going to be a grumpy old lonely man one day. I’d like some great-grandbabies before I’m too old to enjoy them, too.” I practically choked.
“I’m not having kids, and I don’t want a woman,” I muttered.