“Anytime you want to leave, just say the word.”
“Don’t worry. Grandma is the complete opposite of my mother. You’ll like her.” She got out of the car and watched the house as she waited for Will.
They walked to the front door together, standing side by side on the porch as Emma rang the doorbell. A gray head peered around the curtains in the side window and Emma smiled. The door flew open and a small elderly woman clutched her chest, her eyebrows raised in shock.
“Emma?”
“Grandma!” she choked out as the woman threw her arms around her. To Emma’s horror, her grandmother was crying. “Grandma? Are you okay?”
Her grandmother pulled back and dabbed her tears with a tissue she pulled from the pocket of her housedress. “These are tears of happiness! Come inside.” She stopped and finally seemed to notice Will. “And who’s this young man you’ve brought with you?”
“Grandma, this is—”
Will reached his hand toward her. “Will Davenport, ma’am. I apologize for our intrusion.”
The respect he showed her grandmother caught Emma by surprise, but then again, Will was the master of charm. Except he seemed genuine, and she was suddenly proud that she could present this man to her grandma.
The older woman eyed him carefully as she took his hand, then pulled it free and patted his arm. “This is no intrusion! It’s a cause for celebration!” She turned to Emma and took her hand, pulling her through the door. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Emmanuella.”
For some reason, her grandmother was the only person Emma felt comfortable using her given name. A wave of guilt surged through her. Emma’s mother and grandmother might not get along, but that wasn’t a reason to not visit. Then again, the last three years of her life had been on the run. Not exactly the right time to drop in on your grandmother for cookies and tea.
The house was exactly how she remembered it. Lace doilies covered the worn armrests of the 1960s sofa and armchair. Faded prints papered the walls. Threadbare lace curtains covered the windows. The ranch house was small, a typical midcentury tract house, but Emma always remembered it neat and clean. And more importantly, inviting. Coming to her grandmother’s was like coming home.
“Have you kids had lunch?” her grandma asked.
“No.”
She clasped her hands together, a broad smile filling her face. “Well then, let me fix you something.”
Emma looked over her shoulder at Will and lifted an eyebrow in an I-told-you-so look.
Will grinned. “We don’t want to put you to too much trouble, Mrs. Thompson.”
She waved her hand with a pft . “It’s no trouble at all. I rarely get to cook for anyone other than myself.”
Emma sat in a vinyl upholstered chair at the Formica-topped kitchen table. Nothing had changed since she was a small child. Will sat beside her, a smile on his face. She knew he’d like her. She shouldn’t care whether he liked her or not, yet she found herself surprised that she did.
Her grandmother opened the refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients. “I hope you like fried chicken, Will. It used to be one of Emma’s favorites when she was a little girl.” She winked at Emma before she turned back to the counter. “I was going to make it for the church picnic tomorrow, but this seems like a better occasion.”
Sitting at her grandmother’s table brought a rush of familiarity and home. How had she forgotten this feeling?
“Emma, where’s your boy? Your momma said you had a little boy a few years back.”
To her dismay, her eyes filled with tears and before she could stop herself, sobs broke loose.
Her grandmother turned in surprise and pulled Emma’s head against her stomach, patting her shoulder. “There, there, child,” she soothed. “There, there.”
***
Emma must have cried a good five minutes. Will watched in helplessness, a feeling that made him uncomfortable. If there was a problem, he acted. But in this
“Don’t worry. Grandma is the complete opposite of my mother. You’ll like her.” She got out of the car and watched the house as she waited for Will.
They walked to the front door together, standing side by side on the porch as Emma rang the doorbell. A gray head peered around the curtains in the side window and Emma smiled. The door flew open and a small elderly woman clutched her chest, her eyebrows raised in shock.
“Emma?”
“Grandma!” she choked out as the woman threw her arms around her. To Emma’s horror, her grandmother was crying. “Grandma? Are you okay?”
Her grandmother pulled back and dabbed her tears with a tissue she pulled from the pocket of her housedress. “These are tears of happiness! Come inside.” She stopped and finally seemed to notice Will. “And who’s this young man you’ve brought with you?”
“Grandma, this is—”
Will reached his hand toward her. “Will Davenport, ma’am. I apologize for our intrusion.”
The respect he showed her grandmother caught Emma by surprise, but then again, Will was the master of charm. Except he seemed genuine, and she was suddenly proud that she could present this man to her grandma.
The older woman eyed him carefully as she took his hand, then pulled it free and patted his arm. “This is no intrusion! It’s a cause for celebration!” She turned to Emma and took her hand, pulling her through the door. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Emmanuella.”
For some reason, her grandmother was the only person Emma felt comfortable using her given name. A wave of guilt surged through her. Emma’s mother and grandmother might not get along, but that wasn’t a reason to not visit. Then again, the last three years of her life had been on the run. Not exactly the right time to drop in on your grandmother for cookies and tea.
The house was exactly how she remembered it. Lace doilies covered the worn armrests of the 1960s sofa and armchair. Faded prints papered the walls. Threadbare lace curtains covered the windows. The ranch house was small, a typical midcentury tract house, but Emma always remembered it neat and clean. And more importantly, inviting. Coming to her grandmother’s was like coming home.
“Have you kids had lunch?” her grandma asked.
“No.”
She clasped her hands together, a broad smile filling her face. “Well then, let me fix you something.”
Emma looked over her shoulder at Will and lifted an eyebrow in an I-told-you-so look.
Will grinned. “We don’t want to put you to too much trouble, Mrs. Thompson.”
She waved her hand with a pft . “It’s no trouble at all. I rarely get to cook for anyone other than myself.”
Emma sat in a vinyl upholstered chair at the Formica-topped kitchen table. Nothing had changed since she was a small child. Will sat beside her, a smile on his face. She knew he’d like her. She shouldn’t care whether he liked her or not, yet she found herself surprised that she did.
Her grandmother opened the refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients. “I hope you like fried chicken, Will. It used to be one of Emma’s favorites when she was a little girl.” She winked at Emma before she turned back to the counter. “I was going to make it for the church picnic tomorrow, but this seems like a better occasion.”
Sitting at her grandmother’s table brought a rush of familiarity and home. How had she forgotten this feeling?
“Emma, where’s your boy? Your momma said you had a little boy a few years back.”
To her dismay, her eyes filled with tears and before she could stop herself, sobs broke loose.
Her grandmother turned in surprise and pulled Emma’s head against her stomach, patting her shoulder. “There, there, child,” she soothed. “There, there.”
***
Emma must have cried a good five minutes. Will watched in helplessness, a feeling that made him uncomfortable. If there was a problem, he acted. But in this
Similar Books
