A Likeable Woman by May Cobb

Author:May Cobb [Cobb, May]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

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• • •

A pair of sun-bleached oars rests under the metal seats of the canoe Jack noses into the water. He holds on to the tip of it and I climb in. Once I’m seated, Jack hops in after me and the boat rocks a little before he shoves us off the red clay shore, takes his place at the rear. I slide the heavy oar from beneath my seat, but Jack’s already paddling, thrusting the canoe farther toward the middle of the pond. I dig the oar into the water, and in just a few minutes my biceps start to burn.

We reach the center and stop rowing. I bring the paddle back into the canoe and inadvertently sling water across my lap; it’s icycold.

I turn around in my seat so I can face Jack. His eyes are scrunched from facing the glare of the sun, which is still hidden behind a veil of clouds, but it pulses white, like a fluorescent moon.

“So,” he says, his face now serious, “tell me.”

“Whew.” I blow my bangs skyward. “Where shall I start? Shall I start with the fact that after you dropped me at Gran’s, I happened upon the word WHORE spray-painted on the front yard? Or, should I start with Gran’s dismal diagnosis? Or the fact that her housekeeper is batshit?”

“Wait, what?” His voice clatters off the surface of the pond.

“Yes and yes. And yes. At least the batshit housekeeper scrubbed the lettering off before Gran could see it.”

“Jesus Christ! I knew I should’ve dropped you off closer to the house. Texting is one thing, but someone actually going over to your gran’s property?”

Fear climbs up my throat. I had wanted Jack to reassure me, not freak me out even more. I pull my cell from my pocket, show him the latest text, the one that arrived last night before I passed out:

Why are you still sticking around? You don’t belong here. LEAVE.

Jack shakes his head, scratches his jawline. “I’m so sorry. It’s maddening that we don’t know who’s sending this.”

I swallow the rough lump that’s lodged in my throat, nod.

“And what’s this about your gran?”

I sigh and tell him all I know. Then ask him his medical advice.

“Yes, arrhythmia and heart failure can be serious, and even”—he pauses a beat before he says this next part—“in some cases, fatal. I’m surprised she’s not seeking treatment. But seriously, at her age, I can’t say I blame her. Heart surgeries are no gimme. I’m so sorry.”

Because of the strong wind, gentle waves lap against the canoe. The water smells marshy, earthy—smells like home—and I feel another pang of sadness and guilt over Gran, for staying away all these years.

“Thank you. I’m sad. And feel bad I never come home.” I fight the tears that are threatening to erupt and change the subject. “But I haven’t even told you the biggest thing.”

“What is it?” he asks, his voice small and soft.

“Mom was writing a book. A book for me to read one day.

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