back to the party, she had obviously noticed her distraction. She asked, “See something you like?”
“A good-looking guy I haven’t seen before, but I don’t like the company he’s keeping, sooooo . . . no. Oh, did you mean from the menu?” Sara asked innocently, giving her grandmother a grin.
Helen Whiting laughed.
They had an easy, playful relationship. Sara never had to censor her words in front of her grandmother. She knew Helen adored her, loved her sense of humor, and respected her intelligence. When Sara had gotten the full scholarship to Harvard, she called her grandmother and asked if she could live with her. Sara told Helen she didn’t want to be a part of the dorm scene. She needed a quiet place to study.
Helen had readily agreed. She’d been astonished when Sara showed up on her doorstep, saying, “It seems like just a short time ago, you were a skinny tomboy with freckles who always had her nose in a book. Now you’re a beautiful woman I almost don’t recognize.” Within five minutes, Sara managed to convince her that she hadn’t changed.
Helen had been, and still was, a striking woman. Tall and still slim with silver hair pulled up in a chignon, she sat up straight, looking past Sara through the window at the twinkling lights of the harbor. Many people came here to hobnob with the rich and famous. Helen came for the excellent food. She had no desire to socialize, and couldn’t care less if anyone saw her. She’d intentionally sat with her back to everyone, hoping no one would notice her and stop by to chat. She wanted this time with Sara all to herself.
Sara wore a jade green dress that brought out the green in her eyes, the one feature both Sara and Helen shared. Eyes that were a clear emerald green, not the muddy brown green that most people had. Even today, when Helen’s eyes had faded with her hair, people still asked if she wore contacts because the color was so unusual. Helen wondered, not for the first time, whether Sara would find her beauty an obstacle. Sara wanted to be a physicist. In Helen’s day, beautiful women struggled in serious careers. Helen had to fight for acceptance to medical school. Even after graduating at the top of her class, it had taken her years to be able to specialize in neurology. In her experience, most men did not react well to a combination of both brains and beauty. She spent many years trying to do serious work while fending off advances, only to be labeled a feminist or a lesbian. Only now, as a senior citizen, was she respected as an authority in her field.
“I‘d stick with the dessert menu, if I were you,” Helen replied with a smile. “While good looking men can be pleasantly distracting, chocolate will never break your heart.”
It was Sara’s turn to laugh. “I hear a story there. Did a good looking man ever break your heart, Grandma?”
“More than once.”
“Details—I need details. Tell me about your first love. I’m going to assume it wasn’t Grandpa, since I’ve heard you say you divorced him because he deserved more love than you were able to give him.”
Helen looked down, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “You don’t want to hear an old woman reminisce. I’d rather talk about you.”
“Yes, I do. I’m tired of talking about me, or thinking about school. I need a distraction.” She grinned, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Either tell me a story, or I’m getting up and going after one of those young men,” Sara threatened.
“Sure you won’t just settle for the chocolate?”
“How about chocolate and a story?” Sara wheedled.
“Very well,” Helen conceded. They both ordered the house specialty, a molten chocolate soufflé. When it arrived, Sara looked at her expectantly.
Resigned, Helen began. “I was just about your age in my first year of college. I met him at a dance some of my girlfriends had talked me into attending. I never believed in love at first sight until then. From the moment I met
“A good-looking guy I haven’t seen before, but I don’t like the company he’s keeping, sooooo . . . no. Oh, did you mean from the menu?” Sara asked innocently, giving her grandmother a grin.
Helen Whiting laughed.
They had an easy, playful relationship. Sara never had to censor her words in front of her grandmother. She knew Helen adored her, loved her sense of humor, and respected her intelligence. When Sara had gotten the full scholarship to Harvard, she called her grandmother and asked if she could live with her. Sara told Helen she didn’t want to be a part of the dorm scene. She needed a quiet place to study.
Helen had readily agreed. She’d been astonished when Sara showed up on her doorstep, saying, “It seems like just a short time ago, you were a skinny tomboy with freckles who always had her nose in a book. Now you’re a beautiful woman I almost don’t recognize.” Within five minutes, Sara managed to convince her that she hadn’t changed.
Helen had been, and still was, a striking woman. Tall and still slim with silver hair pulled up in a chignon, she sat up straight, looking past Sara through the window at the twinkling lights of the harbor. Many people came here to hobnob with the rich and famous. Helen came for the excellent food. She had no desire to socialize, and couldn’t care less if anyone saw her. She’d intentionally sat with her back to everyone, hoping no one would notice her and stop by to chat. She wanted this time with Sara all to herself.
Sara wore a jade green dress that brought out the green in her eyes, the one feature both Sara and Helen shared. Eyes that were a clear emerald green, not the muddy brown green that most people had. Even today, when Helen’s eyes had faded with her hair, people still asked if she wore contacts because the color was so unusual. Helen wondered, not for the first time, whether Sara would find her beauty an obstacle. Sara wanted to be a physicist. In Helen’s day, beautiful women struggled in serious careers. Helen had to fight for acceptance to medical school. Even after graduating at the top of her class, it had taken her years to be able to specialize in neurology. In her experience, most men did not react well to a combination of both brains and beauty. She spent many years trying to do serious work while fending off advances, only to be labeled a feminist or a lesbian. Only now, as a senior citizen, was she respected as an authority in her field.
“I‘d stick with the dessert menu, if I were you,” Helen replied with a smile. “While good looking men can be pleasantly distracting, chocolate will never break your heart.”
It was Sara’s turn to laugh. “I hear a story there. Did a good looking man ever break your heart, Grandma?”
“More than once.”
“Details—I need details. Tell me about your first love. I’m going to assume it wasn’t Grandpa, since I’ve heard you say you divorced him because he deserved more love than you were able to give him.”
Helen looked down, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “You don’t want to hear an old woman reminisce. I’d rather talk about you.”
“Yes, I do. I’m tired of talking about me, or thinking about school. I need a distraction.” She grinned, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Either tell me a story, or I’m getting up and going after one of those young men,” Sara threatened.
“Sure you won’t just settle for the chocolate?”
“How about chocolate and a story?” Sara wheedled.
“Very well,” Helen conceded. They both ordered the house specialty, a molten chocolate soufflé. When it arrived, Sara looked at her expectantly.
Resigned, Helen began. “I was just about your age in my first year of college. I met him at a dance some of my girlfriends had talked me into attending. I never believed in love at first sight until then. From the moment I met
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