He nodded as I spoke, his shrewd eyes moving over my face, never missing a thing.
“So, it’s over,” I declared then jerked my chin towards his brownie.“Have a bite.”
He tilted his head to the side.“Perhaps it’s the beginning of a new story,” he mused, lifting the brownie to his mouth.
“No, thank you,” I clipped.“I quite like the story I’m living right now.Just without all the past drama hanging over my head.”
“Life offers no guarantees.You take the good when it comes.”
“I’ve got plenty good,” I quipped.“Take a bite.”
He hummed around the brownie in his mouth and swallowed.“You have a gift, child.”
I preened, ready to snag him another when Darlene piped up.“You need a romance,” she declared, popping the last bite of her brownie into her mouth.
Eating lunch with Ansel every Sunday had introduced me to the one person I never thought to befriend, Deacon’s grandmother.
Darlene proved herself to be cut from an entirely different cloth than her son.In the time I’d known her, I’d grown to feel sorry for her, realizing she deserved far better than Deacon’s father.
Thank God, his and my paths rarely crossed when visiting Ansel, but on those rare occasions they did, he regarded me as suspiciously as always, and I kept a wide berth.
“No, thank you,” I clipped then winked to soften my message.“I’m an independent woman.”
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a good romance,” came from the other end of the table.
At that, they were off and running, making me blush as they delivered a steady stream of their more colourful adventures.
Old people.You never had to guess where you stood with them, but Lord have mercy if you were shy or squeamish because they had no filters.
Or boundaries.
A steady diet of rich stories from the past seasoned our lunch until, one after another, they drifted away from the table for their afternoon siestas, and only Ansel, Darlene, and I remained.
Glancing at my watch, I noted, “It’s almost time for me to go.I’ve got a few new recipes I want to try before I hit the grocery stores tomorrow.”
Darlene slanted a sly glance in my direction.“Deacon’s due to come home in January.”
The mention of his name, so soon after the raw revelations of the day before, sent a blast of frigid air to hollow out my chest.
I resisted the urge to rub it.
The rain beating against the windows didn’t help.
Rain, the force that held us hostage to its whim.It didn’t come when we needed it, and near drowned us when we didn’t.
I rose from my seat and began tidying the lunch trays on our table.
“That’ll be so nice for you,” I replied lightly.
“I was wrong, child,” she admitted.
I stilled, my eyes smarting as she confronted head-on that which we’d never discussed.
“We all were,” she continued, her mouth twisting to the side.“Except Deacon.He always knew.”
I snorted.“Until he didn’t.”
“Well, the only one who knew what happened wasn’t talking,” she scolded.
