“Sure. She didn’t really use it much, though. And I think she gave it to Olivia. Why?” he asked, not looking up from the printed guide in his hands.
“Oh, nothing. I guess I was just wondering if you knew where it came from.” I was trying to sound nonchalant, not that I was even sure he would have noticed.
Apparently, I was wrong—as was evidenced by the questioning look he was giving me over the top of the frames of his glasses. “I think one of the ladies who ordered cakes from her gave it to her. Why are you asking all of this?” He sounded impatient.
“It wasn’t just any lady, Grandpa. It was Annabelle. Annabelle gave her that cake server—her very best server,” I said, wondering if he would get my point in all of this, or if he was so closed off to seeing Annabelle as anything but the bad guy that it wouldn’t make any difference.
“Yes, it was a mighty fancy server. But if it was Annabelle giving it to her, that would only make sense. One more way to show off, knowing her,” he groused.
I gave him a scowl to match his own, hoping I wasn’t about to cross the line and cause him to completely shut down. “No, not one more way to show off—a way to say thank you. That was Grammie’s best server for reasons other than the fact that it was so fancy. It was because it came from Annabelle, and because of what Annabelle was saying when she gave it to her.”
“That money can buy apologies?”
“You don’t see it, do you?” I asked. “You just don’t see it. You’ve gotten so locked up and used to thinking of Annabelle as a bad person that you won’t even give her the chance to show how much she changed or how much she regretted things. That cake server was more than just a cake server—it was a thank-you and an I’m sorry. And it was Annabelle’s way to tell Grammie that she thought she was strong and special and talented. That’s what that cake server was.” I was being a little louder than might have been necessary, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to listen, and I felt like I was beating my head against the wall.
“You know what I’ve realized, Grandpa? It’s something that’s really important. Grammie wasn’t broken. Even after all of that, she wasn’t broken. She moved on and built a life with you. She healed. She hurt for a long time, and it definitely changed her; but she was still happy. She may not have been as confident in herself or really felt as special as she was, but she was still happy. And she was a gift,” I barreled on. “She poured out love in everyone around her, Grandpa. And I think that one of those people—eventually—was Annabelle. If Grammie could forgive her, why won’t you give her a chance?” I felt my fists clenching up, but I couldn’t help it. This was truly maddening, and he didn’t seem to want to give an inch. “Grammie saw the good things Annabelle was doing here for the community—the community you live in, by the way—so what makes you think she’s such a terrible person?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his bushy eyebrows knitted together in frustration.
“Maybe not, but you’re not even giving me the chance to. I’m not saying that you need to start having Annabelle over to the house to have tea and cookies, Grandpa. I’m just trying to get you to see her as someone who made mistakes and has learned from them. She’s different now.”
Admittedly, when I’d first learned of George’s abandonment of his engagement to Grammie, I’d also allowed myself to become locked onto things that I shouldn’t have. I had fixated on it, almost confining her to the limitations of the damage that it had initially caused her. And it had certainly caused significant damage. But she still hadn’t let it frighten her away from life. She had still found the good in it and had found things and people that she loved, built a family of her own and became a woman whose love for life was poured into every slice of cake she served and every person who walked through her doors. She did for other people what no one had done for her, taking care of their every need and sacrificing herself—sometimes to the point of exhaustion—because she wanted them to know that they mattered and that she cared. No, she wasn’t perfect, but she was someone to treasure.
Being here, talking to Annabelle and Savannah and Vivi and reconnecting with Olivia—all of them had shown me that I had focused on the wrong thing, given too much time and energy to seeing how much damage it had done, when I should have focused more on the growth that had come from it.
I had taken my own need to fix my life and distracted myself with Grammie’s long-lost tale of broken-heartedness, and it was time to stop. It was time to take my own advice and really see her as an inspiration, as further proof that fear—whether it be fear of another broken heart or fear of not being enough or fear of failure—fear, period, was no place to live. And I’d been allowing myself to live there for far too long.
“I could ask you that, too, Dellie. Why does it matter so much? Your Grammie never became friends with Annabelle, you know. She made cakes for her, but they didn’t have lunch together or get together to shop or ‘have tea and cookies,’” he blustered, thwacking the little table between us with the paper in his hand. “Annabelle is a busybody, plain and simple. Yes, she gets things done in my community, but she does it by throwing money around. Some people have to work all of their lives to get anywhere, but people like Annabelle think they’re entitled to whatever turns their heads!”
My jaw dropped and I stared at him in shock. Now it made sense. In the end, it wasn’t really about what Annabelle had done to Grammie. It wasn’t even really about Annabelle. It was about what Annabelle represented to my hardworking, blue-collar grandfather who had built his life and his family from the dirt up, sweating day in and day out and struggling for years to make ends meet and feed his children and give them a life he’d never had. He’d been working so hard, for so long, that he’d forgotten to stand back and look at what he had to be proud of. He was blind to his own accomplishments and to his own worth; and I realized as I watched him now that, in his own way, Grandpa had felt his own fear of not being enough, and he’d dealt with that fear by getting angry—and finding the wrong direction for that anger, namely Annabelle and George.
“Don’t you think Grammie would want you to get past it, the way she did, Grandpa?” I asked, finally finding my voice. “Isn’t it time to move on? It’s not doing you any good.” I was speaking very quietly, trying not to upset him further, wondering if I should just shut up and go to my room.
“I told you before, none of this matters anymore.”
“Then why won’t you forgive Annabelle?” I asked, mustering my courage. “You let it eat at you, even though you don’t realize it. I’m not saying you need to be her friend, but you need to let go of the resentment. She didn’t do anything to you. And she doesn’t buy her way into everything. She knows how to use her money, yes, but that’s not always how she gets things done. She’s a smart woman, and she really does like to help people,” I said, hoping he would truly hear and listen to what I was saying. “You’d know that if you gave her half a chance.”
“Leave it alone, Dellie. Just leave it alone,” he growled, smacking the table with the paper again. He reached down with his hand for the release lever on his chair and shoved the footrest back down, jumping up from the cushion as though he was going to a fire. “I’m going to bed.” He bit out the words, his voice tight and final as he walked away, leaving me stunned, hurt, and afraid that I had really and truly pushed him too far.
“Uncle Luke, was I wrong?” I asked, curled up in a ball in Grammie’s chair as I searched my uncle’s face for signs that maybe, just maybe this wasn’t as bad as I thought. “Is he so angry with me that he won’t forgive me?”
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “No, Dellie, he’s not so angry that he won’t forgive you. And yes, he still loves you,” he continued, somehow knowing what I would ask next. “He just needs some space, is all. You didn’t say anything we haven’t all said to him—including your grammie. He’s stubborn; and to him, Annabelle is pretty much a lost cause.”
“But it’s not even about Annabelle,
” I protested. “Not really.”
“Maybe not,” he conceded, shrugging his shoulders and shifting a bit in the recliner, where he’d been sitting since he’d arrived twenty minutes ago after receiving my tearful call and request to come over. He frowned, looking lost in thought for a moment. “It’s a shame, really. But I don’t know if there’s anything any of us can do to change his mind. He has to do that on his own.”
I nodded silently, knowing he was right. “In the meantime, I guess I should just stay out of his way, then? Or should I pack and go home?” I asked, sincere in the question. Much as I would hate to leave now, I really wasn’t sure if that’s what Grandpa would want me to do.
“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Uncle Luke laughed, shaking his head. “Like I said, he just needs a little space. He’ll probably be fine in the morning, so stop worrying so much.”
“Easier said than done, Uncle Luke. I’m the poster child for worrying.”
“I know, and that’s something you need to learn. Not to worry about everything. It’s not good for you, and it’s not productive,” he said. He reached for the sweating glass of iced tea at his elbow and took a few healthy gulps before setting it back on the side table, perfectly centering it on the coaster. “Now. Forget about Grandpa for a minute. How are you? I haven’t seen you much while you’ve been here, and you’ve only got—what—a week left? How are you doing?”
I looked down at the blue upholstery of the recliner, tracing invisible patterns on the arm with the tip of my index finger.
How was I doing?
I’d come here with the hopes of refocusing myself, of starting to heal from the damage that I had been doing to myself for so long, of trying to unlearn the thought processes that had me so entrenched in fear that they controlled me.
How was I doing with that?
I continued to trace in silent reflection.
For one thing, I had forced myself out of my normal routine, out of the comfort zones I had at home. I’d started dressing with more thought and care again, realizing that even that small thing was part of taking care of me, part of allowing myself to enjoy my life. I had been so locked up with fear for so long that I wasn’t even sure of what, exactly I was afraid of anymore.
I had a good life, a job I loved doing, friends and a family who loved me. I’d been given a second chance to be happy, to live safe and free from the monster I’d married.
And I’d been wasting it.
And wasting away, while I was at it.
How limited I’d become, I marveled. And how pointlessly imprisoned.
Stepping out of my box had given me greater perspective, but I still had so very much left to do. And as I’d been told so many times, I was the only one who could do the choosing and the doing. I was the only one who could walk this journey.
How was I doing?
An official progress report would be hard to give, but I felt different somehow, after coming here. I had a new determination to change, to be…to just be.
To be healthy and free in ways that I hadn’t been in longer than I could remember.
“I don’t really have a great answer for you on that, Uncle Luke, except to say that I feel…different? I want more than what I’ve been giving myself, if that makes any sense. And I finally feel like I deserve more than what I’ve been giving myself,” I said quietly, hoping I didn’t sound like an absolute loon.
“You do, Dellie. And I really hope that coming here has helped you enough to really do something. Because thinking isn’t doing, and neither is feeling. Only doing is doing,” he said, the urgency clear in his voice, even though he was speaking softly.
They were words I’d heard before, of course, from my parents and my sister and from Bette. Words not unlike those that had been dosed out to me by counselors and psychologists and psychiatrists. But I hadn’t been ready. Something inside of me had still been locked and unable to move in any productive way.
But now? Now was different.
Now was now, and now I wanted more.
I smiled slightly at him. “You sound like Mama,” I said.
“I hope I do,” he replied with a smile of his own. “Your mama is one wise woman, Dellie. So if I sound like her, I take that as a compliment. Kind of like a sign that maybe I’m getting just a little bit wiser in my old age.”
“Oh, stop! You’re far from old age. But you’re right. Mama is very, very wise, and I’m so glad she’s mine. I hope that I’m even half the woman that she is one day.”
Uncle Luke reached out and softly, playfully tapped the end of my nose, lightening the atmosphere a little. “You’re so special, Dellie; always have been. Remember that.”
I blushed, feeling totally unworthy of the praise. “Thanks, Uncle Luke. And thanks for coming over. I’m glad you don’t think I did anything wrong,” I said, finishing with a tired sigh. “I just hope that Grandpa feels that way, once has a chance to think about things.”
“He’ll come around,” Uncle Luke said confidently. “He may put on a good show of being all crusty, but under all that, he really is soft—especially when it comes to his family.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said, still feeling unsure.
“I’m always right—just ask me,” he said with a laugh, echoing the words I’d heard so often from Grandpa.
“Yes, sir.” I laughed back. “I knew there was a reason I love you.” I sat up, starting to rise from the chair so that I could give him a hug good-bye.
“Aside from my obvious charm and good looks, you mean?”
“Of course. That’s a given.”
“Go to bed, Dellie,” he replied, getting up from Grandpa’s chair. “And remember what I said. About all of it.”
I nodded, slipping into his outstretched arms. “I will. Good night, Uncle Luke.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My mother’s reaction to things when I called her the next morning was much like my uncle’s, firm in the belief that—given a little bit of space and time to think about things—Grandpa would be calm and back to his usual self, holding no grudges against me for my line of questioning the night before.
The silver-handled cake server, naturally, was quite a point of interest, and we spent a substantial amount of time discussing it.
“I remember that cake server,” Mama said, sounding far away and contemplative. “I always thought it was so pretty, and your grammie always said it was one of the best presents she’d ever gotten. She kept it in a special drawer in that old china cabinet in the dining room, in the box it came in,” she went on. “When I was little, I used to love to take it out of the drawer and just look at it. And when your Daddy and I got married, she let me use it as my Something Borrowed.”
“Really? I bet that made you feel special,” I replied, thinking of my wedding and how, rather than having the traditional cake, we’d decided to go with individual cups of different flavors of frozen yogurt and a toppings bar so that our guests could customize their desserts. It was my decision to go the more untraditional route, finding something that I felt comfortable with, now that the idea of even a bite of cake caused my anxiety levels to skyrocket. True, Grammie had already made the declaration that she was no longer up to the challenges of making a multi-tiered wedding cake; but I knew, deep down inside, that even if she’d offered, I would have dreaded every crumb of the cake I would have had to swallow for the cutting. One more thing I had robbed myself of.
“It did,” Mama agreed, breaking into my thoughts. “I’d actually forgotten that, as amazing as it may sound. Otherwise, I would have asked to borrow it for Charlie’s wedding, make it a tradition…” She trailed off, not mentioning my doomed day. My parents had given me away with a sense of apprehension that they’d felt unable to express, fearing that telling me would only drive me harder to make it all happen. If only they had known of the doubts I had been feeling for myself.
“I’m glad she gave it to Olivia. I think that was the perfect thing to do, don’t you?” Mama aske
d.
I nodded, even though I knew she couldn’t see me.
“Definitely, especially knowing the story behind it and all.”
I looked around at all the people in the cafe with me this morning, my unofficial coworkers for the day. I’d been here so many times now over the past three weeks of my stay that I could pick out the regulars and even had a nodding relationship with some of them. Each of them had their own tales by now, ones I’d constructed in my head after observing them during my workdays. Who knew if I was anywhere close to guessing right on any of it; that wasn’t the point. The point, quite honestly, was to look at the people around me and realize that none of us was without our flaws or our challenges. The important thing was how we handled the things that happened in life. Some things were easy to overcome; some were not. That was a given. And there were so many ways that I’d been failing to meet and overcome the difficulties in my own life; changing that course was now even more crucial than ever.
Much to my delight and surprise, fitting all of my work into this new, less-structured arrangement of living was going far better than I could have anticipated. I’d been able to keep up with all of my assignments for my various magazine editors and still have time to spend with actual people—Vivi, Annabelle, Savannah, Grandpa. It made me realize how much I’d allowed my worry about staying so tightly focused on getting and maintaining enough work to keep my bills paid that I was letting the rest of my life just go by without me. It was, as I was seeing now, unnecessary and really not benefitting me in any way, if I was to be perfectly honest about it.
Hopefully, this realization would be remembered when I was back home, in my own environment, where I could so easily fall back into unhealthy patterns.
“Dellie,” Mama said, drawing me back to the conversation. “I hope being there has been good for you. I mean, I think it has, based on everything you’ve been telling me,” she hurried on. “But I hope that it helps you make and keep making real changes, once you’re home again.” It was as though she’d been reading my thoughts, and I almost laughed. She knew me too well.
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