Page 9 of A Taste of Grace

“Uh…yes.”

“Alrighty then. See you then. Rest well, Grace.”

“You too.”

I hung up with a keen interest in her. She was anxious to engage. Could she be the friend Uncle Keith said she might be?

That night, I had a vivid dream. I stood over the Edmund Pettus Bridge, looking into the brownish waters of the Alabama River. My heart raced as my mind told me to turn back.

“I want to live.”

When I said the words out loud, a firm hand pulled me back.

“It’s okay, Grace,” a man said in a voice that melted my fear like a piece of warmed chocolate.

I couldn’t see his features, but his presence comforted me. I pressed my face into his broad chest, inhaling the spicy cologne that covered his soft cotton shirt. This stranger rescued me from death.

I woke with a start and sweat popping off my face. After going to the kitchen and drinking a glass of water, I finally settled down and went back to sleep, wondering what the dream meant.

The next morning, I finished my hygiene routine quicker than normal since I overslept. I threw on a flowing teal wrap dress and cardigan with my favorite ballet flats. Translucent Fenty peach lip gloss Mama bought me last Christmascompleted the look. She told me that it reminded her of how cute I was as her baby girl. That memory made me smile.

I pulled my late-model Kia into the only empty parking space on crowded Main Street five minutes before ten. When I stepped out of my car, I took a deep breath, something I did often since my suicide attempt. I didn’t take life for granted anymore, even down to the air I breathed.

Small groups of people walking up and down the street smiled and laughed as if they wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. I loved that for them.

When I entered the Sunbeams Coffee Shop, my eyes instantly landed on a beautiful older woman with snow white pressed hair and red-rimmed eyeglasses. When her eyes met mine, I knew it was Nita. She rose as I walked toward her, giving me one of the sincerest smiles I’d ever seen. The closer I got to her, the more familiar she felt. Like Patricia at the hospital, unspoken joy and peace radiated from her.

When I was inches away from her, she opened her arms. Although I wasn’t a hugger by nature, I wanted to embrace her. I clutched her tightly as she squeezed me back. The longer she held me, the more I felt…something. I closed my eyes as unexpected tears welled up in me.

What was going on?

I stepped back and wiped my eyes with the pads of my fingers.

“Sorry about that. I haven’t been this teary since my mama died.”

Nita reached for the napkin holder in the middle of the table and pulled a couple of rough brown napkins out before handing them to me. I dabbed each of my eyes and sniffled, eventually balling up the used napkin and slipping it into the deep pocket of my dress. Before Mama’s death, I knew how to hold everything in, but rehab opened up emotions I couldn’t bottle up.

“There’s no need to apologize, sweetheart. You only get one mother. Let’s sit.” She gestured to the table where her red leather purse lay.

I slid into the metal chair closest to the door and briefly lowered my eyes to the wooden floor of the shop before giving Nita a closed-lip smile. I set my arms on the table and composed myself as best I could. Nita didn’t flinch as I squirmed, feeling like a little girl under her steady gaze.

“Crying is cathartic. It’s better to get it all out.” Nita reached across the round table and covered my hands with hers.

Her gentle voice and nurturing presence soothed me as the scent of shea butter entered my nose.

“Thanks, Nita. I learned that recently.” I mustered a faint smile.

“You’re beautiful with that voluminous hair and smooth skin.” She gushed over me in the most animated way.

Her hands moved toward my hair. She patted it lightly as if she were in awe of what she saw.

“Thank you. I’m cute but not anything special.”

As a naturally reserved person, I wasn’t comfortable receiving this kind of attention.

“You are gorgeous.” She emphasized each word dramatically.

“Thank you for the generous compliment.” I placed my hand on the patch of hair Nita touched, patting what I used to think was an unruly lion’s mane.

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