Page 13 of You're the Reason

“Then why don’t you sound happy?”

“Because he said possibly.” Grace leaned forward putting her elbows on her knees letting her head fall forward. “And it will take at least a month. Who knows what that type of time off looks like to my career. Not to mention, what if I take the time off and it gets worse, and I can’t even get secondary roles.”

“When do you have to decide?”

“Today.” Grace sat up and ran her hand over the shiny brass ear of the hippo. “Any answers for me, Otis?”

“Otis?”

“My town hippo.”

There was long pause on the phone and Grace checked to see if they were still connected. “Should I be concerned?”

“Grace?” A feminine voice came from behind her. Grace jumped up and spun around. Margret Bunting, her old ballet instructor, stood about twenty feet away on the sidewalk. Her gray hair was a little thinner and her skin almost paper thin. But the twinkle in her eyes remained. “Are you going to give your old teacher a hug?”

“I need to go.” She waved at Ms. Margret and stepped around Otis as she started making her way toward her. “I’ll call you later.”

“Wait. What about Seth and the jail?”

“Later.”

“I am holding you to it.”

Grace ended the call and embraced the woman in a quick hug. “How are you?”

The older woman gripped her hand with the strength of a much younger woman. “How am I? What are you doing parked in front of my house? Aren’t you supposed to be in Chicago?”

“I . . . well . . . it’s a long story. I’m only here for the morning.”

The woman slipped her hand in Grace’s arm and half led, half dragged her toward Margret’s porch. “Well, turns out long stories go great with tea, and I was just going in to have my morning tea. Will you join me?”

Tea wasn’t her favorite. But even dirt-flavored water sounded better than sitting here waiting for her mom to leave.Not to mention, with Ms. Margret’s grip on her arm, the invitation wasn’t really a question.

Grace opened the door and held it for Ms. Margret. The woman stepped in and pulled her hat pin from the blue old fashioned straw hat that rested at the back of her head. She hung it on a hook just inside the door before motioning Grace inside. The entryway was covered in dark paneling and wood flooring. It looked original. Maybe it was. After shedding her coat and shoes by the door, Grace followed the woman to the kitchen. After the dark elegance of the entryway, the kitchen was unexpectedly light and bright. Big windows, gauzy curtains, and a white crocheted tablecloth.

The dining nook off the kitchen had the same large windows and enough shelves for a room twice that size. Every space filled with a knickknack, photo, or souvenir. Every one so unique, it was as if they each told a story more fantastic than the next. Yet all shouting one common theme—this woman has lived. It was a stark contrast to her parents’ plain house.

Ms. Margret filled a brass teakettle at the sink and then set it on the stove. “So, what brings you back to Heritage? I am guessing it wasn’t just to have tea with an old lady?”

“You aren’t old.”

“If I’m not old, something has gone terribly wrong with this body.” Ms. Margret pointed to the cupboard. “My shoulder is aching today. Can you reach the cups for us?”

Grace hurried over and pulled two china teacups from her cupboard as Ms. Margret pulled a canister of tea from the pantry. “How does peach tea sound?”

Extra gross. But Grace just smiled and set out the cups on the table.

“Thank you, dear.” Ms. Margret dropped a tea bag in each cup, then hurried over to get the teakettle as the whistle began to blow. She poured in the hot water, then carried the kettle back to the stove. “My great nephew keeps trying to talk me into moving into an assisted living place. He’s afraid I will fall with no one to help. I have lived here for sixty years. I’m not moving anywhere just because I struggle with getting dishes to and from the high shelves.”

“Have you considered a roommate?”

“Why? Are you looking?” The woman carried a delicate sugar bowl to the table, then sat in the seat next to Grace.

“I live in Chicago.”

“I’m just teasing, sweetheart. Now tell me about dancing. What’s the summer production this year?”

“My company is doingGiselle.”

---