Life Without You (27 page)

“You’re right,” I agreed. “And I know that, when it comes down to it, she wouldn’t want us to focus on that part of her life. Maybe that’s really why she didn’t want us to know about it. Part of her was afraid that we would be ashamed of her or think that she hadn’t been good enough for George. But maybe another part of her didn’t want us to think that it mattered to her anymore. Maybe
I’ve
let it matter too much,” I said thoughtfully. “I let it get so big in my head, like maybe it was something that she never really got past. So I was looking for answers, for signs that she was able to become happy and whole again, even after all the damage it did in the beginning. I got so focused on finding them that I was pretty much blind to them, as stupid as that is.”

“It’s not stupid, Dellie. I think it’s normal. You’ve been through a lot, and I know that part of you coming here was to help you try to get past that. I hope it’s helped at least get you started. You’ve changed, Dellie. I
see
it; everybody sees it. What you’ve been through—what you’ve
been
going through—and what you’re still going through. None of it is easy. You have to work at it. But you
can
. You’re strong enough for that. You just have to let yourself believe it.” She reached out and took my hand in both of hers, pressing the warmth of them into mine.

“Grammie would want that for you, too, Dellie. She was so proud of you and your writing, do you know that?” she asked. A small, guilty smile played on her lips. “I hate to admit it, but I used to feel a little bit envious over how proud she was.”

“Really?” I laughed. “That’s nuts. She was always talking about how proud she was of you, too, going to college while you’re working full-time and being with your company for so long,” I said, watching her expression closely as I spoke. “And I happen to know for a fact that she thought you were incredibly talented at making cakes. The last time she and Grandpa came for a visit—when I got married, actually—she had this huge stack of pictures to show us of the cakes you’d been making. If that’s not proud, I don’t know what is!”

Olivia’s face flushed with pleasure. “Isn’t it funny how we always wonder if we’re making people proud of us, and if we’re living up to their expectations? When we were little, I used to think that you and Charlie were Grammie and Grandpa’s favorites, since your mom was their only daughter.”

“And I always thought
you
were the favorites, since you lived so close and got to spend so much time with them during the summer. I always felt like I was missing out on something!” I said, shaking my head at the silliness of it all.

“Now that I’m older—and
so
much wiser, I might add—I think that
none
of us were really their favorites. We’re all so different from each other, and I think that they appreciated those differences. So they loved as all equally, each in our own ways. Maybe being understanding of that comes from being a mother now and being able to see the ways that Ethan is just his own little person. He’s such a special boy, Dellie. And whether or not I ever find a man who loves me and loves Ethan, my life is rich.”

I smiled at her, feeling warm fingers of sunlight caress my shoulders as a light breeze ruffled at my hair.
This is what happy feels like
, I thought as I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it fill my lungs until it seemed as though the air itself could touch my soul. For some reason that I couldn’t explain, this very moment seemed different from all the other moments I’d had in my time here so far.

The sudden slap of a ball hitting my ankle as it skittered to a stop broke my reverie, and I opened my eyes to see a wide-eyed little girl staring up at me, looking startled and shy. She squatted down on chubby legs to pick up the bright pink ball, her palms splayed out to grip it, never once breaking her gaze as her mouth suddenly broke out into a grin. “Ball!” she squealed.

“Ball,” I agreed encouragingly, smiling back at her.

“Georgia, come back here!” a young woman shouted from a few feet away, her quick steps showing both frustration and panic. “I’m so sorry about that. She gets away so fast sometimes it scares me,” she said as she came closer. “I swear, she’s going to send me to an early grave. Come here, Doodlebug, let’s leave these two ladies alone and go ride the carousel, okay?” She scooped the tiny girl up in her arms, ensuring that the impish little redhead would be unable to escape again.

“Ride!” Georgia repeated with a shriek of glee, clapping her plump fingers together as she widened her blue eyes at me. “Ride, ride!”

“Hush, honey, we’re going. Let’s get your ball, and then we can go for a ride,” Georgia’s mother said, smoothing her daughter’s little yellow-and-white-checked gingham sundress.

I reached down and picked up the ball from where it rested on the sidewalk, then held out the pink plastic orb to the toddler. She lunged forward to take it from me, grinning widely as drool gathered just below her chin.

“How old is she?” Olivia asked the woman, the sound of her voice reminding me that she was there. She’d been so quiet until then that I’d almost thought she might have walked away for a minute.

“She’s eighteen months.”

“Ride!” Georgia squealed again, bouncing up and down with excitement in her mother’s arms.

“We’re not going to do anything if you don’t settle down, Georgia,” her mother scolded, trying to keep her hold on the squirming little body in her arms.

Georgia stilled at her mother’s words, seeming to understand the tone more than anything. But the excited grin remained in place, never once wavering as she looked first at her mother, then back at me.

“Ride?” she asked.

“Yes, ride. Now tell the nice ladies bye-bye,” the young mother instructed, waving her own hand to demonstrate. “Bye-bye,” she said again, turning to go.

Georgia waved her plump hand at us, jerkily opening and closing her fingers as she mimicked the words. “Bye-bye.”

“Bye-bye,” Olivia and I said back in unison.

“Wow, she’s cute,” Olivia murmured as the pair walked away, heading toward the carousel.

I nodded, wondering if my cousin was thinking of her son right now.

“She is—and she seemed so sweet, too. Were we ever that little?” I marveled.

“Once upon a time,” Olivia said. “A long, long time ago. It goes by so fast, doesn’t it? It’s amazing. I look at Ethan all the time and just have this overwhelming wish that I could freeze it all, keep him tiny and safe and happy, just the way he is now and never let him grow up. I wish that was possible. It’s sad how, when you get older, things seem to get so serious that you forget what it feels like to be so little and joyful,
just because
,” she went on, shaking her head contemplatively as we stood watching another stream of children scramble to lay claim to their horses before the carousel began another set of turns.

I slid a sidelong glance at her, feeling a smile creep up my face. “So then, Olivia,” I said holding my hand out to her, hoping she wouldn’t think I was being ridiculous. “Ride?”

The look on her face told me absolutely everything I needed to know.

“Ride!” she agreed, laughing as she took my hand.

And so we rode, each climbing onto a horse, hardly giving a thought to who might be watching as we rose and dipped in time to the band music, feeling as though we had been given—if only for those few moments—a chance to feel the unabashed joy of childhood.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I’m happy I got to see you today, Dellie,” Olivia said, hours later when we were saying good-bye. She reached out and hugged me tightly. “I had so much fun, and it was nice to have some time to really talk.”

I nodded, squeezing her back. “It’s been too long. I’m sorry for that,” I said, hoping she knew just how much I was sorry for and how much she meant to me.

“You don’t need to apologize. Just remember what I told you, Dellie. Remember that you can get through this—you’re strong enough to get through this. And remember how proud we all are of you,” she added, pulling back to look me in the eyes. “I have something for you, something that I hope will remind you of that, whenever you look at it.” Olivia reached into the purse she’d laid on the kitchen table when we’d come back to the house. She pulled out a small package wrapped in pink-and-white-striped paper, tied with a white satin ribbon.

I looked at her questioningly. “Why did you do this?”

Olivia shook her head, shushing my protest. “I wanted to,” she said simply, with a small, thoughtful smile. “Now open it.”

I did as I was instructed, tugging off the ribbon and carefully undoing the paper, trying to rip it as little as possible as I freed a small white box and found, nestled within a cotton lining, a silver pen encrusted with dozens of seed pearls. I fingered the pearls, feeling shocked and somewhat mystified.

“I think I should explain,” she said, picking up on my confusion. “It might seem like an odd thing to give you, but I saw it in an antique shop and knew that it had to be yours, since your middle name is Pearl. And I think Grammie would have agreed with me,” Olivia said, watching me carefully.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my confusion growing by the second.

“After I made my first wedding cake, Grammie gave me something very, very special, with a very special story behind it,” she said. “She gave me a beautiful cake server with a silver handle, engraved with her initials on it. She told me she wanted me to have it and think of her every time I used it and to remember that there are so many beautiful things that can come even when it seems like our dreams have been lost.” Tears were pooling in her blue eyes as she spoke, intensifying the color. “I didn’t really understand the cake server at first, but when she told me where it had come from, it all made sense.”

“Annabelle?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Olivia nodded. “To Grammie, that cake server was a precious treasure, and it made her realize that people believed in her. She gave it to me to show me how much she believed in me, to remind me that there were beautiful things ahead, even though it wasn’t going to be easy. And she said she wanted me to know how talented she thought I was.”

“You are. You’re so talented,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

“And so are you, Dellie, with your writing. So use that pen, Miss Writer, and believe in yourself the way that we believe in you. Take all this struggle and make beauty come from it, like an oyster does when it makes a pearl. Remember how much you’re worth. You, Odelle Pearl, are a treasure, and you have a story. Write that story,” she urged.

“Thank you, Olivia. And thank you for believing in me,” I said, feeling a warm swell of love for the wise, wonderful woman my cousin had become. “And while you’re reminding me of that, let me remind
you
, as well. Grammie was proud of you, and she believed in
your
talent. We’ve all seen what you can do, and it’s magical. Have faith in that. Let Grammie be more than your teacher—let her inspire you to really use that. I have no doubt that you could make it, Olivia. And I think that everyone would agree with me,” I urged.

“If only it was that simple, huh?” she said with a sad smile. I knew what was behind those words, the sense of responsibility she felt to have more than just dreams and frosting to support her family on, lest the sugar dissolve and leave her feeling like a failure. It seemed too risky, especially when Ethan was so dependent on her.

“If only,” I agreed. “But then again, if things were always simple, maybe we would stop being able to see the treasures.”

“Grandpa, do you remember Grammie having a silver-handled cake server? One with her initials engraved on it?” I asked, settling into Grammie’s blue chair as he sat in his, deeply engrossed in studying the printed TV guide that had come in the newspaper.

“Sure. She didn’t really use it much, though. And I think she gave it to Olivia. Why?” he asked, not looking up from the printed guide in his hands.

“Oh, nothing. I guess I was just wondering if you knew where it came from.” I was trying to sound nonchalant, not that I was even sure he would have noticed.

Apparently, I was wrong—as was evidenced by the questioning look he was giving me over the top of the frames of his glasses. “I think one of the ladies who ordered cakes from her gave it to her. Why are you asking all of this?” He sounded impatient.

“It wasn’t just
any
lady, Grandpa. It was
Annabelle
. Annabelle gave her that cake server—her
very best
server,” I said, wondering if he would get my point in all of this, or if he was so closed off to seeing Annabelle as anything but the bad guy that it wouldn’t make any difference.

“Yes, it was a mighty fancy server. But if it was Annabelle giving it to her, that would only make sense. One more way to show off, knowing her,” he groused.

I gave him a scowl to match his own, hoping I wasn’t about to cross the line and cause him to completely shut down. “No, not one more way to show off—a way to say
thank you
. That was Grammie’s best server for reasons other than the fact that it was so fancy. It was because it came from
Annabelle
, and because of what Annabelle was saying when she gave it to her.”

“That money can buy apologies?”

“You don’t see it, do you?” I asked. “You just don’t see it. You’ve gotten so locked up and used to thinking of Annabelle as a bad person that you won’t even give her the chance to show how much she changed or how much she regretted things. That cake server was more than just a cake server—it was a thank-you and an I’m sorry. And it was Annabelle’s way to tell Grammie that she thought she was strong and special and talented.
That’s
what that cake server was.” I was being a little louder than might have been necessary, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to listen, and I felt like I was beating my head against the wall.

“You know what I’ve realized, Grandpa? It’s something that’s
really
important. Grammie wasn’t broken. Even after all of that, she wasn’t broken. She moved on and built a life with
you.
She healed. She hurt for a long time, and it definitely changed her; but she was still happy. She may not have been as confident in herself or really felt as special as she was, but she was still happy. And she was a
gift
,” I barreled on. “She poured out love in everyone around her, Grandpa. And I think that one of those people—eventually—was Annabelle. If Grammie could forgive her, why won’t you give her a chance?” I felt my fists clenching up, but I couldn’t help it. This was truly maddening, and he didn’t seem to want to give an inch. “Grammie saw the good things Annabelle was doing here for the community—the community
you
live in, by the way—so what makes you think she’s such a terrible person?”