CHAPTER 21
Rebecca
The Monday after giveaway night brought the most beautiful sunrise Rebecca had seen since she’d arrived in Dahlia.
She’d awakened before dawn, tried to remember the barest hint of a dream but couldn’t.
Unable to go back to sleep, she’d given up and found herself in the kitchen, nursing a quiet cup of coffee.
When the sun peeked over the trees, a giant nectarine against a hazy rose-gray sky, a gasp slipped from her.
Somehow, the massive sun, the dim sky, and the faint hint of trees at the horizon made her feel timeless, reverent, and incredibly, incredibly small.
She heard the pad of slippered feet behind her. “God sure did create a masterpiece, didn’t he,” Granny murmured, her voice still husky with sleep.
“It’s beautiful,” Rebecca whispered, eyes still on the sun.
Granny filled a cup, took a chair beside her, and together they watched the sun make its slow ascent.
After a few minutes, Rebecca took a sip from her mug, the sound breaking the hush of the room. She smiled at Granny.
“Mornin’, sunshine.”
Granny brought her mug to her lips. “You stole my line. Busy day today?”
“Very. We lay out the paper tomorrow, so today is finalizing—last minute stories, typing, calls to advertisers dragging feet. Oh, and read over Tiff’s stories to make sure they’re not so syrupy sweet.” She made a face.
“Tiff’s your reporter? How’s she coming along—still very junior?”
Rebecca toyed with her mug. “Tiff’s, well, sweet. It’s a struggle to get her to think like a newshound. She loves feature stories, and she’s a good writer, so I can pawn off most of those on her, but sometimes ...” She shook her head. “Her favorite color’s pink, if that tells you anything.”
“Your favorite color used to be pink, might I remind you.”
“When I was five!”
Granny fanned a brow. “I remember a certain young woman who used to refuse to wear old clothes fishing with her Gramps and threw an all-out hissy fit when her favorite pink sneakers got soaked.”
Rebecca covered her mouth. “Oh, those shoes! They were magnificent.”
“And pink as the risen day.”
Rebecca giggled again. “You’re right. I did love pink.”
They watched the sun rise higher, and Rebecca stood to refill their mugs.
She remembered those mornings with Gramps, how at first she’d hated being awakened at dawn.
On a weekend, of all times. But Gramps had said he’d needed help, and Granny had been insistent, so she’d gone.
Those reluctant mornings ended up becoming one of her favorite things about summers in Dahlia.
She missed them, missed so much of that time, and wondered why she’d never come back to visit in all those years except that once, for the funeral.
It wasn’t just the fishing. It was the way you could be with Gramps and not have to say anything at all.
“You just be you, and let everybody else worry ’bout the rest, girl,” he’d been fond of saying.
His words still echoed in her ears at times.
She remembered the feel of the pole in her hands, how Gramps would show her how to pull it back, just so, and barely flick it out over the water.
“Easy, girl. You don’t need much, just enough to do the deed,” he’d say.
She thought of young JJ, the look of pride on his face when he’d landed that bass the other day. The way Josh had stood back, let his son have his moment, before helping with the net.
A flood of warmth rushed over her.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Granny said, and Rebecca remembered the mugs in her hands.
“Thinking of Gramps, I guess. How much I miss him.” Rebecca set the mugs on the table, took her seat. “You know, I went fishing the other day and ended up casting with my old friend JJ—well, I guess he goes by Josh Jamison now.”
“Now that was a nice boy. He’s turned out to be a fine man, too. And not too shabby on the eyes, if I don’t say so myself.”
Rebecca laughed. “He is a good guy. Though it’s hard to get used to calling him ‘Josh’ and his son ‘JJ,’ I have to admit. Fishing with him made me think a lot about the old days. It’s funny how you don’t realize how precious something is until it’s gone.”
“Got that right. You know, I still hear him sometimes, your Gramps,” Granny leaned back. “I hear the floorboards shift, and it sounds like him, walking through the house, like he’s going to walk in here any moment and say, ‘Helen, have you seen my watch?’” Granny’s voice dropped in imitation.
“He was always looking for his watch! Or his slippers. What’d he call them, home shoes?”
Granny grinned, the years dropping from her face.
“And his keys. That man would lose his head if it weren’t latched on.
I used to tease him all the time about that.
” She shook her head suddenly. “I’m a silly old woman.
Hearing footsteps like he was here just yesterday. It’s been fifteen years this March.”
“It doesn’t seem that long.” Rebecca closed her eyes, ticked off the years in her head. She’d been twenty-five, had flown in from New York and barely made it in time for the funeral. “You must miss him terribly.”
“It’s hard sometimes. It was worse at first, those initial years.
” Granny fiddled with the mug, voice soft.
“I remember not even wanting to get out of bed.” She cleared her throat.
“But a good friend did the trick. Betty. Told me, ‘Get through today, Helen. That’s all you have to do.’ And today turned into tomorrow, and tomorrow turned into the next, and soon I was out there again, doing my part.
The missing never goes away. But you learn to go on, somehow. ”
“You always seemed so strong.” Rebecca took Granny’s hand. “I didn’t realize how hard it was. To go on. To deal with everything.”
“Oh, honey, it was so hard. But you know what? Faith kept me going. Still does. And I know he’s up there, waiting for me in heaven.”
Granny squeezed Rebecca’s hand twice. Love you.
Love you back, Rebecca squeezed in reply.
“I’m sorry, Granny.” Her grandmother’s wrinkles were smooth and comforting beneath her fingers, and Rebecca squeezed tighter. “Sorry I wasn’t here for you, afterwards. Not in a better way. I was so caught up in my—my own stupid little world, and I didn’t realize.”
She’d been a jerk. A selfish, self-absorbed jerk. And that was the plain truth. A lump began to form in her throat.
“Sweet girl, you weren’t meant to be. You needed to spread your wings, do your thing. Learn to be you.”
“I needed to be there for the people I love.” Rebecca let out a long breath.
“Granny, I mean it—I’m sorry. I love you.
I learned so much from you. You and Gramps.
And even if I haven’t acted very grateful since you brought me here …
” She squeezed Granny’s hand once more, then let go. “I’m very, very thankful you did.”
She meant it. Dahlia could be boring, and it drove her crazy most days, but this time with Granny, the chance to heal and get away from everything, had been exactly what she’d needed. Somehow, Granny had known that. Known her better than Rebecca knew herself, perhaps.
“Oh, girl, you are a good one. Always did have my heart. That reporter of yours? Her sweet’s got nothing on yours. Even if you do say you don’t like sappy stories anymore.”
Rebecca made a face, and they laughed, scraped the chairs on the linoleum as they rose from the table.
◆◆◆
As she drove to work, she passed the turn that led to Devon’s side of town, which led to remembering how much fun she’d had at his church giveaway Friday.
She smiled at that, at how much things had changed.
A year ago, “fun” would have been a great party or restaurant, some exciting trip with friends or Peter.
She frowned; now that she thought about it, she wouldn’t exactly call times with Peter “fun” at all.
They had gone out on the town quite a bit, which was always exciting, but it was usually for business, not pleasure.
To see or be seen, or as he called it, networking.
In a million years she wouldn’t have thought spending four hours folding old clothes and chatting it up with homeless guys at a church giveaway would be a good time, and yet it was the best night she’d had in ages. Even counting New York.
And to think she almost hadn’t gone.
But she had, despite her misgivings, despite worries that she’d get sucked into some obligatory donation or church invite, or have to stand there all night with a cheesy way-too-wholesome smile on her face saying “oh golly” and “shucks” and commenting on the weather.
They, the volunteers and guests, had been nice. Really nice. Some wouldn’t meet her eye or say a word, but others were personable, funny, like those two guys who kept her rolling with jokes all night. No wonder Devon liked it, went week after week. Plus the food was amazing.
She couldn’t tell if half the people were volunteers or homeless, and maybe that was the point.
The man with the musical accent, Sammy, who called her “Miss Lady” and reminded her of one of those Gullah men who’d woven her a palm basket once, down in Charleston, acted like he ran the place.
Sweet, perky Mrs. Martha with the white hair and the clipboard.
Mike, who had a killer dry sense of humor.
She found out after that he’d lost his wife to cancer four months ago.
She was half surprised Granny didn’t walk in and help, though she knew Granny had another commitment that night with a couple of her longtime pals.