Page 37 of Upstate

“Wow, that’s great.” An older woman trails Aisha across the lawn, oversized pink glasses perched on her nose and a canvas tote hanging from her arm. I’m a little starstruck as I recognize the Cozy Cozy Lady. I’ve binged all her videos, fascinated by the elaborate tea cozies that emerge from the woman’s busy hands and riveted by her stories about the Black history of the Adirondacks.

“Gramma Lulu, this is Audrey. Audrey, this is my grandmother Lucinda Green.”

If it weren’t for the pandemic, I suspect she’d give me a friendly hug. As it is, we wave at each other, smiles exaggerated to compensate for our social distance.

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Green.”

“Pleased to meet you, too, Miss Beacon.”

“Won’t you call me Audrey? Aisha does now.”

“All right, Audrey. In that case, you may call me Lucinda.”

Unmasked outside, I see the resemblance between generations. Given how petite Aisha is, though, her grandmother’s stature takes me by surprise, especially as I’ve only ever seen her seated with a pile of yarn in her lap.

“Aisha has only good things to say about you,” Lucinda continues. “I appreciate you for providing her with an internship so perfectly matched to her interests.”

“Aisha’s the one who’s perfect,” I say. In addition to managing social media and setting up a point-of-sale system, Aisha’s added dozens of listings to my online storefront, freeing me to research rare books and help in-person customers.

“Aisha is pretty perfect, isn’t she?” Lucinda twirls a finger through a twist in her granddaughter’s hair. “This damn pandemic is a curse, to be sure, but I can’t complain about the way it’s brought us closer together.”

“You want anything, Gramma? Audrey makes a great latte.”

“Actually, Oliver Campbell from the village café is coming up to do coffee today.” I check the time. “He should be here soon, but I’d be glad to make you something if you’d like, Lucinda.”

“No thank you. I’d rather get set up first. I’m a bit nervous about my first livestream, to tell the truth.”

“I posted that the Cozy Cozy Lady will be crocheting a cozy and telling a story in the sheep barn at Red Barn Books,” Aisha says. “I figured if we livestream, it would be more like an event. Most of her followers are out of state, and the comments are all like, ‘Wish I could be there’ and ‘I’ll be watching,’ so I don’t know if anyone will actually show up.” She glances at her grandmother. “I was super clear about wearing masks and staying distant.”

“I’ll be fine.” Lucinda places a hand on Aisha’s round cheek, then checks her wristwatch. “If I’m going to tell the story of how your grandpa Marcus’s sheep ended up in Miss Cabot’s barn, we’d better get a move on.”

“Okay, Gramma. Hey, Audrey, would you ask Wren if we can use that rocking chair he’s got in the workshop?”

“Sure thing.”

I convey Aisha’s request to Wren, then keep an eye out for Oliver Campbell. The barista rolls up on a touring bicycle, kitted out like he’s in the Tour de France. He coasts up the brick path, casually swings a sinewy leg over the back of his bike, and comes to an elegant stop.

“Are you Audrey?” He removes his wraparound sunglasses and bike helmet to reveal a soulful, bearded face that reminds me of the saints in Greek iconography.

“I am. You must be Oliver?”

“That’s me. You got someplace I can stash this?”

I lead him to the side porch, where he props his bike against the house before evaluating my espresso machine. “I guess I can work with this. Okay if I go in and out of your kitchen to wash up and fill the water tank?”

“That’s fine. All the windows are open, and no one else will be in the back part of the house.”

“Okay, great.” He trades his cleats for sandals that he pulls from his pannier. “The ride out here was fantastic. Some awesome views, and enough elevation to make it a challenge. Mind if I post it on my socials? I’m in a riding group that’s always looking for a dope destination.”

“Sure, go ahead.” I give him the wi-fi password. He focuses on his phone as he takes a picture and tags his location.

“Done.” Oliver looks out over the green lawn. “You ever let people camp here?”

“Camp?” I follow his gaze. “I’m not set up for camping.”

Oliver points to the hose spigot poking out of the stone foundation. “Does that work?”

“It does.”