He looked away.
I smiled.
“Thanks.”
He nodded.
That was enough.
A few weeks after Erica moved, I brought Grandma’s recipe tin to the office.
I placed it on Erica’s desk before she arrived.
I’d made copies of the cards for myself.
The originals were still inside.
On top, I placed a sticky note.
“Start with the coconut cake.”
Erica came in carrying her lunch.
She stopped when she saw the tin.
For a moment, she simply stared.
Then she opened it.
She lifted the first card carefully.
Grandma’s handwriting.
The faded pencil marks.
The orange zest note.
Her eyes filled.
“Fletch.”
I looked up.
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Grandma would’ve wanted you to have these too.”
She touched the edge of the card.
Then smiled.
“I remember making cookies with her.”
I leaned back.
“She let you eat the dough.”
Erica laughed.
“She did.”
I smiled.
“She never let me.”
“Because you ate too much.”
I laughed.
“Probably.”
That Friday, Erica brought a coconut cake to work.
She’d made it herself.
It was a little dry.
The frosting was too thick.
And she’d forgotten the orange zest.
Gundy ate two pieces.
Then announced it was the best coconut cake he’d ever tasted.
Erica looked offended.
“You’re lying.”
He grinned.
“Absolutely.”
We all laughed.
Then I took a bite.
For a moment, I tasted Grandma’s kitchen again.
Not perfectly.
Not exactly.
But close enough that my throat tightened.
Erica watched me.
“Is it terrible?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She looked relieved.
Then I added, “Grandma’s first one was probably dry too.”
Erica smiled.
“Do you think?”
I laughed.
“I don’t know. She never would’ve admitted it.”
The following Sunday, Nina and I drove to Holmen.
Erica came with us.
LaVern met us at the church.
We walked around the side of the building toward the small cemetery.
The grass was damp.
The air smelled like earth and fallen leaves.
The lilac beside Grandma’s grave had grown taller.
Its branches partly covered the stone.
Erica stepped forward.
For a moment, she stood looking at the name.
Pearl Ann Heggie.
Beloved Mother and Grandmother.
Then she knelt.
She’d brought the last two pieces of her coconut cake on a paper plate.
She placed one near the stone.
Then handed the other to LaVern.
He took a bite.
Chewed thoughtfully.
Then looked at her.
“Needs orange zest.”
Erica laughed through tears.
“I know.”
LaVern smiled.
“Pearl would’ve liked it.”
We stood there for a while.
Then Erica looked toward me.
“Fletch?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think she knew I loved her?”
I looked at the gravestone.
Then at my sister.
I remembered Grandma sitting in her chair at Maple Ridge, asking whether Erica was doing well.
She’d never stopped asking.
Even when Erica stopped visiting.
I took a breath.
“Yeah. I think she knew.”
Erica began crying.
Nina put an arm around her shoulders.
LaVern looked toward the church.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then I noticed something.
The downspout on the rear corner of the building had come loose from its brackets.
Water had been spilling across the grass toward the cemetery path.
I stared.
Then followed the drainage line with my eyes.
The problem was simple.
A loose section.
Poor alignment.
And an outlet that needed to be directed away from the walkway.
I smiled faintly.
Grandma would’ve noticed it.
She would’ve told me to bring my ladder.
The following Saturday, Gundy and I returned with the truck.
I’d spoken with the church beforehand.
We replaced the damaged section, secured the brackets, and adjusted the drainage so water moved toward the appropriate landscaped area instead of across the path near Grandma’s grave.
When we finished, I poured a cup of water into the gutter.
Then stepped back.
It ran clean.
No hesitation.
No little gurgle at the joint.
Just a steady stream moving exactly where it was supposed to go.
Gundy watched me.
“Well?”
I nodded.
“Good.”
He looked toward the graveyard.
Then back at me.
“You charging the church?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Thought not.”
We put away the ladder.
Then I walked over to Grandma’s stone.