The little old lady doesn’t seem too surprised by his behavior. She just opens the door to her home wider and says, “I've got a nice fresh bed all made up for you, isn’t that nice? Crazytown whispered in my ear this morning that I should make up a bed because maybe I was gonna have a visitor. He's always telling me things like that. Still watching over me. Even from the other side.”

The inside of her home is just as pleasant and inviting as the outside. Peak little old lady— sofa covered in a flowered fabric, blonde-wood dining table with a lazy susan on it dividing the space between the half-kitchen and the half-dining room. She even has figurines lining the windowsill as if to say, “I really am just a sweet little old woman. You don't have anything to worry about from me, Amira.”

As strange as this whole situation is, I feel myself relaxing for the first time since I woke up two days ago.

“Can I make you anything?” she asks. “Coffee? Tea? Got the Brita all filled up if you want a glass of water."

I smile at her kind offer, and some more of the tension from my argument with Waylon flows out of me. “I guess I'll take a glass of water. Thank you…”

I trail off, realizing I don't know her name. “Um, sorry Waylon didn’t introduce me. I’m Amira. What should I call you?”

“Oh, you can call me Meemaw,” she answers, bustling over to the refrigerator. “Just like Waylon.”

I widen my eyes. “You’re Waylon's grandmother?"

“Oh, I was never blessed with children or grands related by blood.” Meemaw shakes her head regretfully over the glass of water she’s pouring. “So I'm everybody's Meemaw. That's what we all decided when we set up the new town—by the way, there’s another bathroom off that upstairs bedroom. The boys plumbed it special for me. You can take a nice hot shower before you go to bed if you’re wanting one.”

Bless her heart. She was basically saying I stink without outright declaring that. But I just about weep when the warm water hits my overtired body a few minutes later. There wasn't another pain killer in the world that could compare with a nice hot shower after two days on the road.

And when I come back into the room, wrapped in a towel, I find a cup of tea waiting for me as if Meemaw knew I’d be ready for one after I finally got clean.

So this is Waylon’s idea of the hard way? I wonder what he was thinking in bringing me here as I sip on the cup of hot tea I didn't know I needed. Meemaw’s guest room is honestly the only place in this unnamed Iowa town I would’ve felt comfortable resting in after the last two days.