“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result,” I tell him.
“Faith consists of believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe. Voltaire.” He looks at me like there’s no way I can top that nonsense.
“Love Bites. Def Leppard.”
“Jeff Leopard? Never heard of him.”
“Too bad because he was a genius.”
“Come sit with me, son.” Grandpa climbs into the passenger side of the plane.
I follow suit and settle myself in the pilot’s seat. I know a lecture is coming, but I also know there’s no putting off Grandpa Jack when he’s determined to say his piece. “When your grandmother died, I felt hogtied. I didn’t know who I was without her.” His eyes are glazed over like he’s lost in the past. “Adele was strong and beautiful and feisty as all get out. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve her. But it doesn’t matter. She picked me. We had a beautiful life together, and I would have never missed out on all we shared, just so I didn’t have to mourn her someday.”
“Grandma was the best,” I agree. “She’s pretty much the only mother I ever had. Even when my mom was home, her head wasn’t here.”
“Love is worth taking a chance on, Digger. I’m not saying you won’t ever be hurt again; you might. But you’re tough. And once you find the lady for you, you can handle any pain that comes with it, so long as you’ve known her love.”
“That lady will never be Shelby Mayfair,” I tell him. And it’s true. Shelby and I were high school sweethearts. We talked about getting married and starting a family, but the summer after we graduated, she backed out. She wanted something bigger than Gamble could offer—thanIcould offer.
While she had every right to live her life as she saw fit, she knew firsthand what my mom’s leaving did to me. There’s no way I could welcome her back into my close circle. “Look, Grandpa, I appreciate everything you’re saying. I really do. But I’m good. You have to trust me on this.”
“You’re lost, Digger. And you’re a bonehead. But I love you. I just don’t want to see you moldering away like a dead deer.”
“That’s pretty gruesome,” I tell him. “I’m hardly rotting.”
“You can’t see what’s in front of your face.”
“And you can?”
“I have the benefit of a much longer life than you. And I promise, if you don’t listen to me, you’ll regret your choices.”
The only way to get him off this topic is to say, “I’ll think about it, okay?”
He nods his head once and gets out of the plane. When he’s gone, I get back to scrubbing, only with a little more vigor. Once I’m done, I head back to the lodge to tackle the grill, giving it a full servicing even though it doesn’t need one. Afterward, I check all the chairs and tables to make sure they haven’t developed any wobbles, and then I top off the salt and pepper shakers.
The entire time, I fight to keep my mind off Harper Kennedy, but it’s no use. Finally, I have to lay some truth on myself: Harper Kennedy is going to leave Gamble as sure as every other woman I’ve let myself care for. The only reasonable thing to do is not to become involved.
The only problem is, I think it might be too late for that.
Chapter25
Harper
Dear Readers,
As the old folks say, it’s on like Donkey Kong! My manicurist’s street-sweeper’s garbageman saw Brett Kennedy boarding a plane for—wait for it—Alaska.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that reunion. Was there a reconciliation? Tears? Accusations? Someone on his knees begging for forgiveness? Whatever the scene, I’m sure it was epic.
A teensy bit of advice for Brett: If your angel wife decides to take you back, you might consider offering to have yourself chipped—via the animal shelter.
A little advice for Harper: Gurl, my mama always said, if you lie down with dogs, you’re gonna wake up with fleas. She also said something about not eating where you poop, but I’m not sure that’s relevant here. All I know is that if you take him back, you’re gonna need to wear a flea collar.
I’m going to go lie down (sansthe fleas) and meditate now. I’m going to visualize sweet Harper in a bubble of protective light. She’s surely going to need it in the days ahead.
Dishingly yours,
Ferris Biltmore