Providence by Lisa Colozza Cocca

struggled with the last tape on the diaper.
    “I had John put up the crib in this bedroom,” she said, leading us to a room the color of sunshine.
    “John?” I asked.
    “He comes by to cut the grass and fix things up outside. It was my way of showing my granddaughter there was no need for me to move out of my house. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years now. I figured for what I pay John, he could come inside and do a little work, too,” she answered.
    “Will your granddaughter be coming for dinner?” I asked as I laid Baby Girl down.
    Rosie threw her head back and laughed. “Not likely. I haven’t seen her around here in years. I raised her in this house. But ever since she up and moved to Atlanta, she acts like she’s too good for these parts. She sends a little cash every week and calls once a month.”
    I saw such sadness in her eyes that I had to look away. It made me think about being away from my family, and I wondered what Mama and Daddy would tell folks about me.
    We walked out into the hall and Rosie took a deep breath. “It smells like those boxes will have to wait,” she said. “Dinner is ready.”
    I set the table with the china she handed me. I had never held such fancy things before and was afraid I would drop something. When I finished, Rosie came in with a casserole. “Will you look at that?” she said. “You set a table as pretty as you set a window.”
    I was never much of a cook, having been taught by Mama, whose greatest talent is having babies. But after one bite of Rosie’s chicken and dumplings, I found myself begging for the recipe.
    Rosie blushed. “Next Sunday, we’ll make it together,” she said.
    By the time I bit into the chocolate chess pie, I was wishing every day was Sunday.
    After we cleaned up from dinner, we went up into the attic. One look and I knew Rosie had been right. I would never be able to find anything on my own up there. If the Second Hand Rose ever did sell some of its wares, there was enough up here to stock it again twice over.
    What looked like a mess to me made perfect sense to Rosie. She pointed to three cartons without so much as a peek inside and led the way down the stairs. By the time I carried the third box down, Rosie had begun pulling flags out of the other cartons. “I think we have enough of these to put some out in my flower boxes and still have plenty for the store,” she said.
    With an armful of miniature flags, we went to work on the boxes. We must have poked half a dozen flags in between the flowers in each container. The wind was picking up, causing them to flap and wave. It was a pretty sight until it hit me. When the hot, still air is replaced by cool winds, a storm is sure to follow. No quicker did I think it than the black clouds rolled over us. A flash of lightning split the sky and a boom of thunder shook the house. This was too much excitement for Baby Girl. The next sound I heard was her howling. The thunder was no competition for her cries.
    I paced back and forth on the front parlor rug, rubbing Baby Girl’s back and trying to soothe her. The sky had opened up and sheets of rain coated the windows. Rosie had run around closing everything as soon as the rain began falling. It was the fastest I ever saw her move.
    Rosie settled herself into the overstuffed chair in the corner. She rested her head back on the crocheted doily and stretched out her arms. “How about you give Georgia to me for a little bit,” she said.
    “She’s awfully fussy,” I answered.
    Rosie sat there with her arms outstretched, smiling at me until I handed Baby Girl to her. I stood by the window wondering when the rain would stop and worrying about where we were going from there. When the lights started to flicker, Rosie said, “You should fix Georgia another bottle before the house goes dark.”
    I was changing Georgia’s diaper again when the lights went out. “Looks like you girls aren’t going anywhere