Chapter 28
I drive faster than I should, taking curves at a dangerous clip, and I have to struggle to calm myself down.
When I get home, I practically screech my car into its spot, slam the door, and nearly jog across the road and up Grace’s front steps.
The front door is standing wide open, so rather than knock, I grab the screen door handle, yelling, “Grace? Grace, where are you? I’ve got great news!
” I step inside. “I’ve found out where your picture belongs—your distinguished gentleman! ”
That’s when a man I don’t know with silvery hair—but who I recognize immediately as Grace’s son, Daniel—walks through the doorway from the dining room. “Hello?” he says. “Can I help you?”
Okay, this being-greeted-by-someone-I’m-not-expecting thing is getting to be an unpleasant habit. “I was looking for Grace,” I explain, then point over my shoulder. “I’m her neighbor across the road.”
“Jessica,” he greets me with a small smile.
I nod, pleased that she’s mentioned me. “You must be Daniel.”
“One and the same,” he confirms.
“Is she here? I have some exciting news for her.”
“I’m afraid she’s . . . not.”
My back goes ramrod straight. I can tell already that something isn’t right here, that she’s not just on an outing to town. “What’s going on?”
“We’re moving her to my home in Saint Louis.”
I simply stand there, dumbfounded, crestfallen. “Just like that?”
He nods. “It happened fast. She and one of my daughters are on the road home right now. I stayed behind to pack up another carload of her things, and we’ll come back to deal with the rest bit by bit.”
“She left ... for good? Without any warning?” I ask. I’m confused, remembering how many times she’s told me she doesn’t want to go to Saint Louis or leave her home or Walter’s magical backyard. “She didn’t even ... say goodbye.”
“That’s my fault,” he tells me. “I didn’t give her much time. You see, she took a fall. Yesterday. So we came straightaway. It’s just too dangerous for her to be alone now. I know it’s hard for her to leave her house, but it’s time.”
I stand there with my mouth hanging open, trying to take all this in. “When did she fall? Why didn’t she call me? Or Matt?”
“She couldn’t get to the phone.”
Of course. I feel like an idiot for even asking.
“Over the course of an hour or two, she managed to drag herself over to the couch and eventually pulled herself up onto it. That’s when she called me. She knew. She knew what I would insist on doing. She knew it was best, too, or she would have never let me know.”
I nod some, now nibbling my lip. To think at some point yesterday Grace was lying here, needing help, and I had no idea.
I feel sick to my stomach thinking how alone she must have felt.
And she didn’t call Matt or me afterward, either—she called Daniel.
He must be right—she must have finally been ready to go, even if she didn’t really want to.
And somehow, today, when I left the house for four or five hours, her family came and packed her up and took her away, that quickly. I can’t believe I wasn’t here to see it happening, wasn’t here to hug her and tell her how much she’s meant to me these past few months.
I want to crumble into pieces, but instead I hold myself together enough to say, “Tell her I’ll miss her. We were ... friends.”
“Wait right here.” He holds up one finger, then disappears into the dining room to return a moment later. “She asked me to give you this.” He’s carrying the framed photo of Grace standing in front of her house.
I tilt my head, staring at it, then lift my surely perplexed gaze back to her son. “She doesn’t want it?”
“She thought you’d value it more than she does,” he explains.
I could argue the point but decide to just take the gift at face value. “Please tell her I’ll cherish it,” I say, taking it from his hands. “What will happen to the house?”
“To be determined. We might keep it, for getaways, and ask Matt to keep mowing for us.” Same as he mows Mabel’s, he’s mowed Grace’s yard all summer as well. “Or we might sell it. If we can get anyone to take that mess out back.” He points vaguely in the direction of the backyard.
To that, I suggest with a soft smile, “Or you might find someone who thinks it’s as beautiful as she does.”
But Daniel looks tired, and like a man who has no time for my wishful whimsy. “I also need to do something with that cat of hers,” he laments on a sigh. “Matt has agreed to feed it for now, but if you know anybody who’d want it—”
“She didn’t take Ophelia?” I interrupt, horrified. And as if on cue, the pretty black-and-white kitty comes gliding smoothly around the corner, none the wiser that she’s just lost the person who loves her. She lets out one of her loud meows.
“My wife’s allergic,” Daniel explains.
“But ... how did your mother feel about that?”
He just shakes his head. “Not happy. But it wasn’t really a choice.”
My heart is breaking as I look down at sweet Ophelia, and I hear myself say, entirely unplanned, “Tell Grace I’ll take her home with me, and I’ll take care of her until I find a good place for her. Tell her I promise she’ll be cared for.”
“That’s ... awfully nice of you.”
“I just don’t want Grace to stress over it. It’s hard enough to lose someone you love without having to worry about their well-being.” Though I don’t mean to imply that Daniel’s the big bad wolf here—I know he’s in a tough position.
That’s when he says, “It’s only a cat.”
Okay, I liked Daniel well enough up to now, but he’s pushing his luck with that one.
“Ophelia was her pet—she loves her,” I remind him. As if to back me up, Ophelia lets out another hearty meow. “It matters.”
“You’re right,” he replies then, shaking his head. “Just a lot to deal with right now unexpectedly.”
And I feel like a heel. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“No, don’t apologize. I’m glad Mom has nice people who care about her.”
I’m not sure what else to say. I do care. And I’m heartbroken. Devastated, actually. But it seems like the conversation is winding down, because he has a lot to do in little time.
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Grace is gone. And even much more than with Jo, I’m almost certain I’ll never see her again. Ever. How did that happen?
“Can ... you give her a message from me?”
“Sure.”
“Tell her I found a home for the portrait of the distinguished gentleman who was hanging on her wall. I found his great-great-granddaughter.”
For the first time, something in Daniel appears to soften. “The bearded man? In the suit with the old-fashioned tie?”
I nod enthusiastically, somehow having forgotten that Grace had the photo his whole life.
“That picture has hung in our dining room since the day I was born. I noticed it was gone and wondered where it could be.” He’s smiling a little now. “So you really found a relative of his?”
I’m smiling, too, as I nod some more. “He was the first Black lawyer in Jackson, Mississippi. And his great-great-granddaughter is an attorney as well.”
“Well, how about that—ya don’t say. I can’t wait to tell her.”
I smile, happy and sad at the same time. “I felt the same way.”
Five minutes later, I’m crossing the road back home with a photo of Grace tucked under one arm and a meowing cat dangling from the other. The cat doesn’t seem to meow out of distress—I feel like she just enjoys hearing herself talk, and I wish I could understand what she’s saying.
Matt crosses the yard toward me, barefoot—apparently this strange and alarming sight left no time for shoes. Goldie trots merrily alongside him. “What’s goin’ on here?”
“I seem to be adopting a cat,” I inform him. “Temporarily anyway.” I meet his gaze. “I can’t believe Grace is gone. Just like that.”
He nods. “I know. It’s gonna be strange without her. She’s been in that house my whole life.” He blows out a long breath.
I feel like I’m about to drop something, and I still have to go back for the litter box and other cat supplies. “Can you hold this?” I ask, motioning to Ophelia.
He takes the cat awkwardly from my arm as she lets out another mew. “Do you, um, want a cat?” he asks. “Even temporarily? You don’t strike me as a cat person.”
“Not especially,” I admit. “And I’m not, really. But I refuse to let her be left alone.”
“I’d take her myself,” he says, “but I already have one left-behind pet.”
“And a killer at that,” I add, casting a judgmental glance down at the guilty party.
Matt looks down at her, too, then defends her honor. “I don’t think she’d mess with a cat.”
“Tell that to Darnell Henry’s chickens.”
He shrugs. “Good point.”
“If you want to help me out, you can take her inside and then go grab the litter box and cat food.”
“I’m on it.”
The last time I had a cat, I was ten. I did not provide the cat care—only the cat petting and the harassment of attempting to force it to wear doll clothes and drive a Barbie convertible. Neither endeavor worked out well for me.
So that night Matt instructs me in Cat 101, teaching me how to deal with the litter box, how often the cat should be fed, and informing me I should expect cat hair everywhere. Great.
But at least it’s Mabel’s furniture, not mine. It’s started to feel like mine, but it’s not.
Ophelia makes herself at home and continues blaring out random meows. I wonder if she’s missing Grace, realizing she’s gone.
Matt and I eat a sad sort of dinner consisting of hot dogs and French fries from a bag in the freezer that don’t taste much better baked than they probably would have if we’d left them frozen.
But neither of us has the energy for more.
The hot day has led to a drizzly, overcast evening and the weather matches our moods.
Sitting at Mabel’s kitchen table, I say, “I can’t believe I’ll never get to eat Grace’s brown beans again.”
Matt just slants me a glance. “You’re leavin’ soon—you probably wouldn’t have had ’em again anyway.”
The words slam into me like a punch to the chest. But I can’t argue them. “I guess you’re right.”