Chapter 3

I was fixing myself a grilled cheese sandwich when she returned from tilting at the local government windmill.

"I'm surprised you got done that quickly," I commented.

"I didn't, really," she said. She sounded tired. "It's a lot of work and there are so many records to go through."

"Yeah," I said.

"I did get some leads on graves, though. Have you ever heard of some place called Chapel Hill?"

"Maybe," I said. I was thinking of a little plot of land that was fenced with rusted wrought iron. It had a few dozen gravestones in it and was on private land. There was a buffer of trees around it, maybe twenty feet wide, with plowed fields beyond that. Nobody kept it up, exactly, but somebody at least kept the trees from taking it over. I was pretty sure the arching metal work over the entrance had the word CHAPEL on it. It was one of those things you think you remember, but you also know you never paid actual attention to before.

She hadn't eaten yet, so I put the grilled cheese sandwich in the fridge. I could always nuke it later for a snack. I asked her if fast food was okay and she said she didn't usually eat fast food.

Sherry had started shunning fast food early in the marriage, but it was because of immigrant wages or something like that. But Anna had also exhibited a couple of other signs that she might be--give me strength, Lord--a vegetarian.

So I asked her what she did eat and she said, "Real food."

I bit my tongue. I also curbed the impulse to take her over my knee and turn that bubble butt of hers bright red. She knew what I meant. She was just as stubborn as I was.

"Do you eat meat?" I asked.

"I eat chicken if it's prepared properly, fish, especially salmon, and once in a long while some ground beef in a taco salad."

"Tell me some of the places you like to eat back home, and what you order there," I said.

The list I got sounded very un-American. Not that I think there's a patriotic food or anything. It's just a lot more common to hear, "burger and fries," in America than, "Panang curry with coconut milk, bell pepper, kefir lime leaves and bamboo shoots."

"All right then," I said. "It's The Harvest Moon instead of Wendy's."

"I don't remember The Harvest Moon," she said.

"That's because they built it after you left."

"What if I don't like anything there either? That sounds vaguely Chinese, and I prefer Thai or Indian over Chinese."

I looked her up and down. "It's a buffet. If you can't find anything there you like, then you deserve to starve, and you don't look like you're starving. I'm not going to worry about it. On the other hand, if you're really worried about it, I'll stay here and eat grilled cheese with pork and beans while you go search high and low for some establishment that will meet your culinary standards. It's just food, Anna ... fuel for the body."

"Yes," she said coolly. "But there is good fuel and polluted fuel. Which would you use if you had the choice?"

"Okay, bad analogy."

"No it's not. You just don't like having to admit you're wrong."

"That's not true at all."

"Right," she snorted. "You're a typical male, who can't stand the idea that your hallowed grip on bloody meat and greasy fried foods might turn into the hug of death, as that millstone drags you to the bottom."

"Perhaps," I admitted. "But at least I'll die happy."

"I'm happy!" she snapped.

"I don't mind admitting when I'm wrong," I said, trying to pull one on her. "Like with you, for instance. The first time I saw you I thought you were a wacked out weirdo who was going to turn my life upside down."

"I get a lot of practice noticing that reaction," she said.

"Hmmmm. I thought I was better at shielding things like that. I'll have to work on it." I smiled. "Anyway, I'm most happy to announce that I was wrong, and that you're actually a delightful young woman with some very fetching attributes."

"You are so full of shit," she sighed. "Is that the kind of line you tried to use on girls back in the dark ages?"

I was a little alarmed that she'd seen through me so quickly. I had to change tactics, and my gut said that just the plain truth was the way to go. "It worked really well back then."

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, this isn't back then. We've made strides since then, and today women actually have this thing called a brain that they actually use to think with." She sounded disgusted, but she didn't look disgusted. This woman was a lot harder to read than most. She was a tough nut to crack.

But then I've always loved a challenge.

"Noted," I said. "In order to appeal to your libido I need to pay attention to and appreciate your intellect, rather than your more feminine attributes."

"Be still my beating heart," she said. "The dirty old man wants to appeal to my libido." She raised one eyebrow. "Isn't that incest or something?"

"I doubt it," I said. "I mean there's no blood connection."

"Be that as it may," she said. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to get the hots for someone people call your niece."

"I know that," I said, frowning. "But you're also a woman, and I'm a man, and things biological often go much deeper than things cultural. I can't help but notice you are female. Humans are wired to tell the difference. Why do you think it bothers people so much when they look at someone and can't identify what gender that person it?"

"Okay, I get that," she said. "But what is it that makes you think that the average female gets wiggly at the thought of grandpa lusting after her?"

"Wiggly?"

She rolled her eyes. "Excited ... disposed to the attentions of a male ... turned on."

It sounded like my playful attempt to compliment her had backfired.

"Look," I said soothingly. "It was just a bad turn of the phrase. I'm not trying to get into those lusciously filled jeans, and I promise not to go all caveman on you without warning. Culture can control biology once it's given a chance. All I'm saying is that I was wrong in my first assessment that you were a weirdo with no appealing traits. Now that I've gotten to know you a bit, I hardly even see that pink hair. I like having you around, and I hope you like being here."

"This just feels weird because I came here thinking of you as an uncle, rather than some random man," she said.

"I am a man, Dear Heart. That's the whole point. It's why I act like a man."

Her eyes, blue at the moment, stared into mine. I tried to put on a disarming smile. She shivered. It was just a quick little shudder, but it worried me. Shudders could mean several things, some good, some bad, and some ... well I didn't think it was that kind of shudder. It was pretty obvious that her cultural compass was pointed due north.

I decided we'd had enough of this particular philosophical discussion. "If you're not hungry at all we can just go straight to the graveyard."

She blinked. "I am hungry," she said.

The Harvest Moon turned out to have things she liked. I was greatly relieved, especially since they have a takeout and delivery service. That gave me at least one safe source of victuals for this fascinating and picky woman. No ... picky wasn't a fair word, because it has negative connotations. She was simply particular, and knew her own likes and dislikes. Nobody chooses something they dislike.

She didn't skimp on her plate either. She got something labeled Chicken Pakora, and then a helping of Salmon Tikka. She piled on Punjabi Chole and, I swear, something called Aloo Gobi Masala, or something like that. I was fascinated, because it was the first time I had actually looked at a lot of the labels. I'm the kind of guy who looks at everything and tries what looks good. If I like it, I get more. If not, I generally remember the next time and pass it by. I don't really care what it's called. She added a bowl of rice to her tray and gave it a bath of the yellow curry sauce I liked and had given the nickname "Bit-o-sun," because it was so hot.

While we ate, I interrogated her. She didn't know it, of course, but I coaxed the details out of her about her life that she'd declined to provide previously. Getting to the relationship that resulted in Spencer was delicate, and I only probed very lightly. I could sense some unhappiness there, and I didn't want her to dwell on that.

When we got around to jobs, I was astonished by what my questions revealed. She'd only had two, one of which she was currently making a living at. She'd worked in one of the big box toy stores until she got pregnant. Then she'd taught herself web development and she had been a fully qualified webmaster ... or webmistress ... for over five years. She had been web mistressing the previous night on her laptop, when I saw what I thought was her shopping. Whenever the company came up with a new product, she arranged the web page to display it for sale. I was fascinated.