Life Without You (35 page)

The kitchen felt the hardest room of all to look at, this space so crammed with memories, every inch so layered in sugar and flour, so infused with the smells of meals cooked and shared and savored, so alive with conversations and secrets; its floors so well worn under the feet of those who had walked them every day, of those who had lived here and loved here and those who had come through this space for only a taste of the love that lived here.

This was the room I would miss most of all.

I sniffed, feeling my nose burn as I thought about all of it, and tried to shift my focus back to Grandpa and getting out the door. We had things to do and rubber to burn. I could think about this once I was strapped into place on the plane, with my tray table locked and my seat in its upright position as I awaited takeoff.

“Ready?” Grandpa asked.

“Ready,” I said, nodding in an attempt to make myself feel it.

“Let’s go, then.” Grandpa took my suitcase from me, giving me a smile as he did. “This thing is heavier than you are!” he exclaimed. “You must have a dead body in there!” He laughed.

“Nah. Although, I was thinking about the possibilities of packing up one of the carousel horses. I think it would really look nice in my apartment—definitely a conversation starter,” I quipped, trying my best to sound a little more perky than I actually was.

Even though I was anxious to go home, I was having a rough time leaving. I wanted to be able to take this place—this experience here—home in my pocket, to keep my family and friends safe and close, to never lose them again the way I had before.

What would I do without them, now that I had gotten so used to their faces?

Go back to the people you love at home, Dellie—people you love and who love you back. Go back to reclaim your life and make it whole again. Make it better. Never lose sight of the fact that you are special, someone to treasure and celebrate. Someone who deserves the very best in life.

We hustled out the door, first me and then Grandpa, through the heavy old oak door and then the screen door, impatient on its hinges to bang shut behind us. I stepped out onto the wooden plants of the deck, looking out at the neighboring street and the yards around us, a familiar sight after so many years, and even more so now after my month here. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, committing the sights and sounds and smells to memory as Grandpa locked up behind me.

“What’s this?” His voice startled me, and I opened my eyes to see what he was talking about. “It’s got your name on it, Dellie, so I’m guessing it’s for you,” Grandpa said, picking up a small gift bag from the wooden picnic table near the door. It was tiny, with white tissue paper spilling out the top and a little round gift tag spelling out my name in carefully lettered cursive.

He handed the bag to me. “Go on and open it; let’s see what’s inside,” he directed with a nod.

I took the little parcel in my hand and carefully fingered my way through all the tissue paper, then pulled out a white satin bag with a little crystal jewel sewn onto the flap of its envelope-like shape. A smile formed on my lips as I began to realize what I was looking at, feeling not even a shred of doubt at what I would find inside. I unsnapped the flap and tipped the bag to spill its contents into my hand, then gasped in delight as a silver charm bracelet tumbled out.

A single charm dangled from the silver links—a slice of cake with tiny pink crystals as the frosting. It was, I knew, a special message, a reminder of this time here and the lessons I had learned. My eyes and my throat burned with the sting of tears, and I almost couldn’t see the card that still waited to be opened, tucked just inside the gift bag.

It was creamy, thick stock. Simple yet elegant. I had no doubt of the writer’s identity, so familiar was that hand by now.

Wear this bracelet and let it be a reminder to you—of who you are, of where you come from, of the sweetness that life can hold. Your grammie’s cakes brought us together in such a special way and gave us all a gift: a taste of love and friendship and generosity and forgiveness. She was an inspiration to us all, and a message of hope. Remember that you, Dellie, are special as well. Celebrate your life and your triumphs—allow yourself to savor those moments, to taste them all, to celebrate the victories with cake and lick the bowl clean of batter.

All our love,

Annabelle, Vivi, and Savannah

Despite the fact that the four of us appeared, on the surface, to have nothing in common, we had bonded in the shared memories of my grandmother and her cakes, of the ways that she had touched all of us; in the ways that so many hard lessons in our lives had tested us all.

There were so many layers to each of these women, layers that had taken time to see; and I felt honored that they had given me the chance to become a part of their lives.

They could have easily shut me out, dismissing me without a second thought. Yet they had welcomed me as one of their own, never judging me for my many flaws. Annabelle, seeming at first such as strange old woman with too much time and money on her hands, had revealed herself to be a woman of infinite depths and great influence. Vivi, who had seemed so flippant and fearless, had shown her softer, much more vulnerable side. And Savannah, the carefree, bubbly blonde, had divulged her greatest dreams and her fears of failing.

Each of them—each of
us
—had come into one another’s lives so unexpectedly, encouraging one another, supporting one another, reminding one another of our strengths and our worth. Never again would I be the same, simply because these women had come into my life.

“Who is that from, Dellie?” Grandpa asked, looking at the bracelet in my hand with surprise.

I felt a small smile creep across my face as my eyes pooled with tears. “They’re from three very beautiful, precious women, Grandpa,” I said quietly. “Women I’ll treasure always.”

He asked no further questions, and I offered no further answers.
I
knew, and that was what mattered. I knew who it was from and what it represented. I knew the blessing that was being spoken over me, and I would hear whispers of that blessing with each wearing.

“We’d better get a move on, or we’re going to miss getting you to the airport on time,” Grandpa urged, moving toward the steps that led from the deck to the sidewalk and down to the garage.

I nodded silently, gathering my things and tucking the delicate satin bag and the card back into the little gift bag. I kept the bracelet in my hand, closing my fingers tightly around it as I thought about the women who had given it to me.

They had reminded me to find my own worth and let it shine. To embrace life and see that it was full of so many things—sorrows and struggles, yes. But also countless joys to celebrate, simple things to savor every day.

“Let’s go,” I said at last, following Grandpa down the steps and along the path, feeling with each step of my own a greater sense of anticipation and excitement at returning home. There was a full life waiting for me there, a life overflowing with possibilities that my mind hadn’t even begun to imagine. There were people I loved there, people who were part of my life who wanted nothing but the best for me, people who had stood by me even in the worst of times. People who would never leave me, even when I tried to push them away because of my own fears.

We loaded up the truck with my bags, and as we pulled out of the driveway, I took one last long look at the house, so familiar a sight, the scene of so many of my childhood memories. This house built of wood and nails, but held together with the glue of love and life. So many moments shared here, so very many memories created. But they were far from being over; and I was determined that I would be back soon to make some more of my own here, in this place where I had so unexpectedly reconnected with myself and with those around me. I would be back, even stronger than I was now.

Now, though, it was time to go home.

I looked away from the house as it finally faded from view, dropping my gaze to the bracelet I still clutched in my hand. I gingerly unhooked the clasp and fastened it around my wrist, carefully double-checking to make sure that the enclosure was fully secure before I let my hands drop back into my lap.

“How does it look, Grandpa?” I asked, lifting my wrist and turning it slightly so he could see.

Grandpa took his eyes off the road long enough to look at me, his blue eyes sweeping over me as a smile formed. “Beautiful, Dellie,” he said back, his smile growing wider. “Just like you.”

I blushed under the compliment, feeling a bit unworthy of the word.

It was such an ingrained response, to take a compliment like that and find ways to poke holes in it, to disallow that there might be any truth to it.

But why? We all deserved to be reminded that we were beautiful and special.

We all deserved to be shown appreciation for our uniqueness.

Remember that you, Dellie, are special…
Annabelle’s words came like a whisper.

I smiled back at my grandfather, letting my fingertips dance ever so lightly over the bracelet around my wrist.

I am special
, I thought.
I am strong, and I am unique. I have a beautiful life to live and a story to tell. This time is a sweet gift, one to be tasted and savored. One to celebrate every day. One to embrace and not to run from. One to show up for. One to be hungry for.

I settled deeper into my seat, closing my eyes as I let the thoughts wash over me, letting the words sink into my bones. The smile never lefts my lips as I sat there, still touching the bracelet, imagining a future so bright with possibilities it was blinding.

Go home, Dellie. Go home and make that life shine.

Epilogue

Six months later…

“We want to thank all of you for being here to celebrate this with us,” Steve said, looking quite proud as he stood next to Bette at the front of the small chapel they attended. He was dressed in chinos and a pink button-down shirt, his dark hair freshly trimmed for the occasion, his brown eyes dancing in delight behind the rims of his glasses. These past few months, he’d seemed happier and more at peace than I’d seen him in longer than I could remember, a change that I could only accredit to his new role as a daddy, finally seeing his dream fulfilled when his daughter made her debut.

“We’ve been waiting a long time for this little girl,” he said, his voice starting to crack with emotion. “And now she’s here, and we’re so honored to have so many people we love here as we have her baptized.”

Bette beamed out at us all, her green eyes wide and bright, looking as though the baby in her arms had been meant for her since the moment she was conceived. And while others might have argued otherwise, I believed it to be true. Every inch of this tiny little person, swaddled in a white cotton baptismal gown that had once been Bette’s, was loved with a fierceness so great that no one would have ever guessed that she was adopted. No one would have suspected that she was the product of a pregnancy that hadn’t been planned, the result of a foolish night shared between two rebellious teenagers whose paths would never cross again.

“Dellie, would you come up here? Mason, you, too,” Steve said, motioning us closer to his sweet little family.

I knew it would be coming, but I still felt myself blush under the attention. I glanced nervously at Bette, and her smile just widened as she gave me an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. She looked so radiant, bearing no trace of the many nights of no sleep, the days filled with feedings and diaper changes and naptimes and bathings. Bette had finally found her bliss, the place where she felt more like herself than she realized she ever could. She’d given her notice at work, leaving the familiar routine of her nine-to-five to begin one with hours that knew no definition, whose demands were not regulated by corporate policies, whose paycheck could never be cashed.

As she stood next to Steve, holding her baby in her arms, she seemed the perfect picture of a mother. Today she wore a sapphire blue shirtdress dress, nipped at the waist with a bright fuchsia patterned leather belt that highlighted her fantastic hourglass figure. Matching pumps added an extra three inches to her height, and her expertly applied makeup was dewy and fresh, rather than sleekly sophisticated, the way she’d always worn it when she’d been on the fast track. Her dark hair was in a loose updo that softened her. She smiled at me again, waiting patiently for me to take my place next to her as she held my sleeping goddaughter in her arms.

I inched forward, self-consciously smoothing my skirt, feeling so unprepared to be in the limelight, despite the fact that mine was only a supporting role. There would suddenly be more than thirty pairs of eyes on me, and the thought of it all made me feel a bit faint. What would they see, looking at me as I stood as part of this little collective? I had dressed simply for the occasion in a pale pink blouse and a black A-line skirt that hit just below the knee, hoping the ensemble would give me the illusion of a little more weight. It was the first time I’d worn anything so dressy in years; and while I loved the femininity of it all, I also felt worried that maybe I had jumped the gun.

I took a deep breath and touched a light hand to the silver bracelet clasped around my wrist, fingering the charm that Vivi, Annabelle, and Savannah had given me. I wore it almost every day, using the sight of it as my reminder to stay strong when I felt at my lowest, to see my own inner beauty, to find the moments worth celebrating. I had hardly been an overnight success, but I was making progress, relearning a healthy relationship with food, slowly putting on weight as I worked through the fears.

I’d come home with a new perspective, ready to find my freedom and claim it, and I’d certainly been making improvements. I never could have soldiered on by myself; but Mama, Daddy, Charlie, and Bette had all been there to love and support me whenever I needed them.

I had a new niece to love, a sweet little bundle of unadulterated joy. Mike and Charlie had named her Ivy Grace, and from the minute she had entered the world, she seemed to do nothing but smile. Her eyes, much like Charlie’s, were saucer-like and intensely blue; and they took everything in with a curiosity that was almost insatiable. Her tufts of blonde hair curled at the base of her skull, and she smelled that indescribably sweet baby smell that made you want to bury your nose in her neck.