Going to Memaw's

Papa Whit found Maisie sitting beside the creek with both front paws in the water, swirling little circles she seemed to think were invisible to him.

"Maisie."

She glanced back over her shoulder. "Yeah, Papa?"

"Why are your paws wet?"

She looked down at them as though noticing for the first time. "The creek did it."

"Did it." Papa raised an eyebrow. "I didn't see it move."

Maisie was trying very hard not to laugh when she flicked both paws as hard as she could, sending a spray of water straight across Papa's nose. He blinked. She clapped both paws over her mouth.

"Did you do that on purpose?"

"No."

"You're getting very good at that word." He wiped his nose, and that was what finally broke her — she dissolved into giggles right there on the bank. "Come on," he said, once she'd recovered enough to hear him. "We've got somewhere to be."

"Where?"

"Surprise."

She climbed to her feet, already suspicious. "I don't like surprises."

"You love surprises."

"I like them after I know what they are."

Papa considered that with real seriousness. "Fair enough."

They set off down the woodland path, Maisie skipping ahead and doubling back every few steps for whatever had caught her eye — a feather, a beetle picking its way across a root, a mushroom growing pale and secretive at the base of an old tree. Each discovery got the same delighted "Papa, look!" and each got the same patient "I see it," until the mushroom, which earned a longer pause.

"Do you think it's good to eat?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know mushrooms."

She studied it a moment longer, unconvinced. "I think we should ask Mama."

"That," Papa agreed, "is probably the safest plan," and she scrambled up to catch him.

The farther they walked, the less familiar the woods became. The creek widened beside them, slow and brown, until it wasn't really a creek anymore but the river, and Maisie started paying closer attention to where her paws were landing.

"Papa? Where are we going?"

"I told you. Surprise."

"You've said that three times now."

"And you're still asking."

"Yes."

He smiled down at her. "We're going to visit your grandparents."

She stopped dead in the path. "My grandparents?"

"Papaw and Memaw Whit."

"I have grandparents?" She hurried to catch back up, half-tripping over a root in her rush.

"You certainly do."

"Why haven't I met them?"

"They live on the other side of the river. It's a long walk for little legs."

She managed almost three whole steps of silence before the next question got loose. "What are they like?"

"Papaw likes climbing trees. When I was your age, he could climb higher than anyone around for miles."

"Higher than me?"

Papa laughed. "Much higher."

Her ears tipped forward, already scheming. "I'm going to beat him."

"I wouldn't tell him that."

"Why not?"

"He'll make you prove it."

"Good," she said, grinning, and Papa just shook his head. "And Memaw?"

Something in his smile shifted, warmer. "Memaw makes honey treats."

Maisie stopped again, immediately. "What kind?"

"The best kind."

"That's not an answer."

"Honey cakes. Honey biscuits. Little honey candies, when she's in the mood for them."

That was apparently answer enough — Maisie's pace picked up so sharply Papa nearly had to jog to keep beside her, and when he pointed out she'd claimed to be tired ten minutes earlier, she informed him she wasn't anymore, in the tone of someone explaining something extremely obvious.

By the time they reached the far bank, she'd asked enough questions to fill the whole walk twice over. Then she saw the house.

It sat low in a field of tall grass and wildflowers, a windmill rising behind it with blades so wide they seemed to belong to a different, larger world, turning slow and creaking faintly with every pass.

Maisie stopped and simply stared. "Papa. That thing is enormous."

The windmill creaked again as if agreeing with her, and she took one careful step back.

"Does it always do that?"

"Pretty much."

"Does it ever fall down?"

"Not yet."

"Not yet?"

"You'll be fine," Papa said, smiling, and before Maisie could decide how much she trusted that, an older fox came around the side of the house, spotted them, and flung both paws wide like he'd been waiting all day for exactly this moment.

"Well, would you look at that! They finally made it!"

Papa sighed. "Here we go."

The old fox crossed the yard grinning. "You must be Maisie."

She pressed a little closer to Papa's leg. "Are you Papaw?"

"Depends. Are you the little fox who's been keeping your papa so busy he forgets to visit?"

Maisie glanced up at Papa, who just shook his head — careful — and she turned back with a small, testing smile. "Maybe."

Papaw laughed, delighted, and crouched down in front of her. "Then I'm Papaw. Been waiting a long time to meet you, little one." He studied her face, then looked her up and down with an appraising eye. "You're bigger than Papa."

That got a full slap-the-knee laugh out of him while Papa closed his eyes like a fox bracing for something he'd known was coming his whole life.

"Your papa wasn't always this big, you know," Papaw said, leaning in conspiratorially.

Maisie's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Don't listen to him," Papa warned.

Papaw ignored this entirely. "Used to be able to pick him up with one paw. And once he tried climbing that windmill."

"Papaw."

"I did not," Papa said flatly, but Maisie had already spun around to face him.

"You climbed the windmill?"

"No."

Papaw scratched his chin, thoughtful. "Maybe I'm thinking of someone else."

"You are."

"Hm. Could've sworn it was you." He winked at Maisie, who was already grinning. "Tell me another one," she said, and Papa pointed firmly toward the house.

"Let's get inside before you two finish assembling a whole file on me."

"I've got plenty more," Papaw said cheerfully.

"I like Papaw," Maisie announced.

"You've known him for two minutes."

"I know."

The door opened before they reached it, and Memaw stepped out onto the porch. "Well, what's all this noise?"

Papaw jerked a thumb at Papa. "Your son finally came to visit."

"Our son," Memaw corrected.

"That's what I said."

"It is not what you said."

Maisie was still smiling at the two of them arguing when Memaw noticed her and simply stopped, her whole face going soft.

"And there she is."

Suddenly shy, Maisie managed only a small "Hi."

Memaw came closer and opened her arms, and Maisie looked to Papa first — got a small nod — and ran the rest of the way, letting herself be folded into a warm, tight hug. When Memaw finally pulled back, she held Maisie at arm's length and looked her over properly.

"Would you look at those ears. Just like your papa's."

"See?" Papa said, pleased.

Maisie looked at his ears, then reached up and touched one of her own, considering. "Mine are better."

Papaw howled with laughter from behind them. "She's right, you know."

"I may have made a serious mistake," Papa said, "bringing all three of you into the same yard."

Memaw only winked at Maisie. "He's outnumbered now," she said, and disappeared back into the house without further explanation.

Maisie watched the empty doorway. "Where'd she go?"

Papa shrugged, and a moment later Memaw reappeared carrying a small basket, at which point Maisie's nose twitched before she'd even seen what was in it.

"What's that?"

Memaw swept the basket behind her back. "What's what?"

"That."

"I don't see anything."

Maisie leaned to one side. Memaw leaned the basket the other way, perfectly matching her, until Maisie planted both paws on her hips.

"Memaw. Is that honey?"

"Maybe."

That was all the confirmation she needed — Maisie darted around behind her and peered straight into the basket. "Honey treats!" She reached for one, then hesitated, paw hovering. "Can I?"

"Of course."

She took one and bit in, chewing slowly, with everyone else watching her like the verdict actually mattered.

"Well?" Papa asked, arms crossed.

"They're better than yours."

He put a paw to his chest. "That hurt."

"You'll get used to it, son," Papaw said solemnly, and Memaw handed him a treat of his own just to keep him occupied.

"You stay out of it."

"Yes, dear."

The afternoon slipped by before Maisie noticed it going. Papaw took her out to the big tree behind the house and pointed out the exact branches Papa used to climb as a kit.

"Think you can make it up there?"

Maisie looked all the way up to the highest branch. "Yes."

"That's exactly what your papa used to say." From clear across the yard came Papa's voice — "I can hear you!" — and Papaw only winked and let her climb.

She didn't make it to the top, not quite, but she got high enough that Papaw stopped teasing halfway up and started looking honestly impressed instead.

Afterward, Memaw walked her out toward the windmill to pick berries, the great blades sweeping their shadows slowly across the grass each time they turned. Maisie watched one pass over her.

"Does Papaw really climb the windmill?"

"No," Memaw said, dropping another berry into the basket, and Maisie looked genuinely disappointed — until Memaw leaned in and added, "but your papa did get his head stuck in a fence once."

Maisie's mouth fell open just as Papa's voice carried across the yard again. "I can still hear everybody!"

Memaw and Maisie laughed so hard they had to stop picking for a minute.

By the time the sun started sinking behind the trees, Maisie's legs were tired, her paws were properly dirty, and a smear of honey had dried into the fur beneath her chin. She curled up against Papa's side while Memaw and Papaw talked quietly nearby, the windmill still turning behind them.

"Getting sleepy?" Papa asked.

"No."

"You've been yawning."

She yawned, right on cue.

"That wasn't a yawn."

"What was it, then?"

"Practicing."

"Practicing what?"

"Being sleepy."

"I think you've got it down," he said, and she closed her eyes for a moment, though they drifted back open almost immediately.

"Papa?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we come back?"

"Of course."

"Tomorrow?"

"Maybe not tomorrow."

"The next day?"

"We'll see."

She sighed the sigh of someone who has heard that phrase before and knows exactly what it means. "That's Papa talk for no."

"Sometimes." He felt her settle in closer against him. "I still want to come back," she murmured, already half gone.

"You will," he said, and that seemed to be enough — a few minutes later she was properly asleep against his side.

Papaw came over quietly to look down at her, and for once his booming voice dropped to something much softer.

"She's a good one."

"She is," Papa agreed.

Memaw came out from the house a moment later with one last honey treat, crouched beside Maisie without waking her, and tucked it carefully into the little pouch Papa carried for the walk home.

"You're going to spoil her," Papa said, watching.

Memaw straightened up, entirely unbothered. "That's what grandparents are for."

The windmill creaked on behind them, blades turning lazy circles in the last of the evening light. Papa looked down at Maisie asleep against him, then over at Memaw and Papaw standing together in the doorway, and found that the walk home suddenly didn't feel quite so urgent.

They could stay a little longer.