changed.
Jessie nervously swept her gaze past the short hallway leading to the antique room—then to the wall on the right. Dominated from top to bottom by a collage of photos, it was a mosaic of faces. There were pictures of happy families, giggling children, and cranky old gentlemen eating ice cream, fishing by the lake, sitting at picnic benches. All posed for the trusty camera of the town historian, Betty Robinette. Photos of flowers, framed and priced, were intermixed with the other photos.
A thin woman who looked to be about eighty emerged from a back room, wiping her hands on a towel. She wore a green apron tied tightly over a white T-shirt, her white hair confined by a thin mesh netting. She had a tiny nose and chin, and her heart-shaped face seemed shrunken with deep wrinkles. Her pinkish lips were stark against her pale white skin, but her eyes were kind and gentle with a hint of no-nonsense scrutiny. She wore glasses around her neck for close viewing, just as Jessie had remembered.
Betty Robinette delivered a plate of chili and hot dogs to a waiting family, then retreated to the back again. When Jessie’s turn at the counter finally came, one of the young girls in matching green aprons took her order. Jessie asked for a single dip of pistachio, then wandered over to the wall of photos, licking her cone.
She recognized many of the faces—neighbors from long ago and classmates who had grown up but apparently never left the sleepy town. After a bit, it occurred to her that she was looking at friendships she might have nurtured, memories she might have made, a past that might have been.
Eventually people began to leave, and just a trickle of customers remained. Jessie was still standing at the wall, lost in the pictures, when she was startled by a familiar voice behind her. “Like my artwork?”
Jessie turned to see Betty Robinette, only a few feet away, her right hand gripping a cane. The woman stood there motionless, looking proud, and then her eyes flickered. She frowned, scrutinizing Jessie’s face.
Jessie opened her mouth to introduce herself but stopped. Betty was already smiling broadly. “Well, I’ll be. Is that you, Jessie?”
Jessie broke into a smile. “I didn’t think—”
“That I’d remember you? Oh, for pete’s sake. Stop talking and give me a hug.”
Jessie melted into her arms. Her old friend smelled the same but felt much smaller. The Mrs. Robinette she remembered was a towering woman. People seem bigger when you’re a kid, Jessie realized.
“How’s Mr. Robinette?”
“Oh, he got to go a few years back.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessie whispered.
“Weak heart, you know,” she said. “He didn’t suffer, thank the Lord.”
She held Jessie by the arms, examining her face. “You look wonderful, Jessie. Look at you, all grown up. It’s so good to see you. I’ve been hoping you’d come back.”
Jessie suppressed a smile. In spite of her kind manner, Betty was never one for mincing words.
“I’m just passing through,” Jessie hedged. “I’m on my way out to Oregon for grad school. Just thought I’d stop by.”
“I’ve been so worried about you. I’ve called your grandmother for years, but …” She hesitated.
Jessie shrugged, knowing that if Betty had kept in touch with her grandmother, she would be aware of the estrangement. It was an awkward moment. Betty glanced away, nodding thoughtfully. She pointed at her wall. “Did you find yourself?”
“You mean I’m still up there?”
Studying the photos near the middle of the wall, Betty placed her glasses on the end of her tiny nose. She crooked her head back, peering downward through the lenses, then tapped a photo of a brown-haired boy and a blond girl straddling bikes. The two held up ice-cream cones like trophies, smiling at the camera.
It really happened, Jessie thought again, feeling terribly honored.
Twelve years later, I’m still there… .
“Remember how you kids used to come by after
Jessie nervously swept her gaze past the short hallway leading to the antique room—then to the wall on the right. Dominated from top to bottom by a collage of photos, it was a mosaic of faces. There were pictures of happy families, giggling children, and cranky old gentlemen eating ice cream, fishing by the lake, sitting at picnic benches. All posed for the trusty camera of the town historian, Betty Robinette. Photos of flowers, framed and priced, were intermixed with the other photos.
A thin woman who looked to be about eighty emerged from a back room, wiping her hands on a towel. She wore a green apron tied tightly over a white T-shirt, her white hair confined by a thin mesh netting. She had a tiny nose and chin, and her heart-shaped face seemed shrunken with deep wrinkles. Her pinkish lips were stark against her pale white skin, but her eyes were kind and gentle with a hint of no-nonsense scrutiny. She wore glasses around her neck for close viewing, just as Jessie had remembered.
Betty Robinette delivered a plate of chili and hot dogs to a waiting family, then retreated to the back again. When Jessie’s turn at the counter finally came, one of the young girls in matching green aprons took her order. Jessie asked for a single dip of pistachio, then wandered over to the wall of photos, licking her cone.
She recognized many of the faces—neighbors from long ago and classmates who had grown up but apparently never left the sleepy town. After a bit, it occurred to her that she was looking at friendships she might have nurtured, memories she might have made, a past that might have been.
Eventually people began to leave, and just a trickle of customers remained. Jessie was still standing at the wall, lost in the pictures, when she was startled by a familiar voice behind her. “Like my artwork?”
Jessie turned to see Betty Robinette, only a few feet away, her right hand gripping a cane. The woman stood there motionless, looking proud, and then her eyes flickered. She frowned, scrutinizing Jessie’s face.
Jessie opened her mouth to introduce herself but stopped. Betty was already smiling broadly. “Well, I’ll be. Is that you, Jessie?”
Jessie broke into a smile. “I didn’t think—”
“That I’d remember you? Oh, for pete’s sake. Stop talking and give me a hug.”
Jessie melted into her arms. Her old friend smelled the same but felt much smaller. The Mrs. Robinette she remembered was a towering woman. People seem bigger when you’re a kid, Jessie realized.
“How’s Mr. Robinette?”
“Oh, he got to go a few years back.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessie whispered.
“Weak heart, you know,” she said. “He didn’t suffer, thank the Lord.”
She held Jessie by the arms, examining her face. “You look wonderful, Jessie. Look at you, all grown up. It’s so good to see you. I’ve been hoping you’d come back.”
Jessie suppressed a smile. In spite of her kind manner, Betty was never one for mincing words.
“I’m just passing through,” Jessie hedged. “I’m on my way out to Oregon for grad school. Just thought I’d stop by.”
“I’ve been so worried about you. I’ve called your grandmother for years, but …” She hesitated.
Jessie shrugged, knowing that if Betty had kept in touch with her grandmother, she would be aware of the estrangement. It was an awkward moment. Betty glanced away, nodding thoughtfully. She pointed at her wall. “Did you find yourself?”
“You mean I’m still up there?”
Studying the photos near the middle of the wall, Betty placed her glasses on the end of her tiny nose. She crooked her head back, peering downward through the lenses, then tapped a photo of a brown-haired boy and a blond girl straddling bikes. The two held up ice-cream cones like trophies, smiling at the camera.
It really happened, Jessie thought again, feeling terribly honored.
Twelve years later, I’m still there… .
“Remember how you kids used to come by after
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