I moseyed into the study and reached into the closet to retrieve another journal.
Granny, I’m not sure I can do your story justice, but I feel I’m supposed to try. Actually, I have to write it. It won’t leave me alone.
I sat down at Granny’s writing desk. Words began to flow. My hand could hardly keep up. The next time I chanced to look at the clock across the room, evening had come. I put my pencil down and stretched. I carried my journal and pencil into the kitchen where I popped some popcorn and grabbed a diet soda. I juggled it all up the stairs to the bedroom. I changed into my pajamas and propped myself in the bed. I alternated between crunching on my snack and continuing my writing. My cell phone buzzed, breaking the silence, and I jumped.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing?”
It was Chase. My breath caught momentarily in my throat. He had called! I wanted to do a little happy dance, but I calmed myself. “I’m eating popcorn in bed.”
“Do you have on those adorable pajamas you had on the other day?”
I giggled. “I wouldn’t call them adorable, comfortable maybe, but not adorable.”
“Matter of opinion.”
“Are you home?”
“Yeah, but I miss you, Alex. Will you at least come to New York for the debut of your granny’s book?” His voice held a bit of a whine.
I bit my bottom lip. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I’m not sure I would fit in there. I guess I see why Granny Olivia stayed incognito. I do better that way too.”
“Please come for me.” There was a long silence and then he spoke again. “Think about it, okay? I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay. Thank you for calling.”
“You’re welcome. And, Alex, I...Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
As I put my phone on the bedside table, I was still in shock Chase had called. He said he missed me. But, did he just miss me casually as a friend? I missed him. More than casually. Could we have begun a serious relationship in the short amount of time he was here? Was I slipping into my hopeless romantic act? After the mess that was my first marriage, I wasn’t sure how to do this thing called love. Did I even know what love was? I wanted to know and experience it, but it might be too late for me.
My journal beckoned again, and I continued to write Granny’s story. My hand began to ache, and I reluctantly stopped for the night. As I placed my journal and pencil on the bedside table, the framed picture of Granny and me caught my eye.
“Granny, is this how the writing came to you?”
I wished she were here. I had so many questions I would ask her, knowing what I knew now. Wait, why not take a trip to the bookstore? Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I needed to read Granny’s books. I was so anxious to find and read her books I could barely go to sleep.
The next morning I sprang from the bed. I showered and dressed and headed to a little bookstore I had seen on the other side of town. I purchased every book the store had that had been penned by Granny.
The beautiful fall day compelled me to sit on the screened-in porch. I opened the cover of the first book and dove in. By the second sentence I found myself transported into the world of the story. With each page I turned I found goose bumps on my arms or misty eyes or sometimes even a chuckle. No wonder she was a bestselling author.
When I took a break to make a sandwich, I grabbed some loose leaf paper. I needed to take some notes on the writing techniques I noticed in Granny’s book. Late that evening I finished the first book. I had scrawled several pages of notes. I stared at the book’s cover. Where might I find Granny’s rough drafts? She was inclined to write in longhand and then have someone else type. One place I hadn’t explored yet was the attic.
I rushed to the small hall between the bedroom and bathroom. A short string hung from the ceiling. I stood on tiptoes and pulled it. A panel lowered, and a ladder glided down to the floor in front of me. I mounted the first rung and prayed I wouldn’t encounter any bats. My mother had had trouble with those gruesome flying rodents in her crawlspace and had to call an exterminator. I climbed slowly. Another string hung down as I neared the top. Upon pulling it, light flooded the attic. I waited a moment, holding my breath. Nothing. I sighed with relief. A musty smell accosted my nostrils.
When my head popped up above the attic floor level, several plastic totes came into view. I hoisted myself the rest of the way up. The totes weren’t labeled. I would just have to open them. I approached the nearest one and snapped off the lid. Jackpot! The tote was filled with green journals. I picked one up and opened the cover. On the front page was printed in Granny’s handwriting—Until We Meet Again—Chapter Three.
I remembered that book. I had purchased that one at the bookstore. If this was here, I was sure I could find the book I finished reading today. I started to snap off lids and check for the title. The fifth crate brought success. I searched until I located the journals for the first few chapters. I climbed back down the ladder with my find and replaced the attic door. I rushed to the bedroom and spread out the journals, my notes, and the finished novel. I studied the journals comparing them with the completed novel. This was like being in a private writing class with Granny as the teacher. If I couldn’t talk to her personally about writing and strategies, this was the next best thing,
I must have given in to exhaustion at some point, because I woke up lying across the bed with journals around me and on my chest. I stumbled to the kitchen for some sustenance. I could hardly wait to finish eating. I had a new story idea of my own buzzing in my head I needed to write down. I prayed God would allow the stories He was giving to hold meaning for someone. I had no hopes of being as good as Alexa Livingston, but I was beginning to understand the allure of writing Granny had possessed.
Chase had called every other night since he had left. Three weeks had passed. I hadn’t told him what I had been doing when he called. I laughed, imagining what people must think of me. I had concentrated on writing so much, I had been a recluse for these past weeks. I had at least started attending church—Granny’s church. I immediately could see why she enjoyed being there. It was a warm place. The pastor preached the Word. I would never forget the day I walked forward in the church to make the best and biggest decision of my life.
I sat down Sunday morning in the seat I remembered was Granny’s. The opening hymn twanged out in familiar southern drawl. During the fellowship song several people greeted me with hugs and smiles. I sensed God’s presence with us in that small sanctuary. I had a sudden realization that this place and these people were all a part of who Granny was as well. After the service I noticed a Circle meeting scheduled for the next morning at ten listed on the announcement section of the bulletin.
“Millie, was this Granny’s Circle group?” I pointed to the printed announcement.
“Yes, the same one I’m in.”
“Do you think the other women would mind if I came and sat in?”
“No, child. I’m sure they’d love it.” She patted my shoulder.
Was Millie right about the ladies not minding if I visited to their meeting? The more I learned about Granny, the more I realized that I truly didn’t know her. I wanted to know her more, and this was the best way. She would have liked knowing I was involved in the church and the things of God.
When I entered the church’s small fellowship hall, there was already a group of women sitting around a long rectangular table. There were probably ten of them, all white or gray-haired. I definitely brought the age in the room way down by my presence. Millie waved me over to a chair near her. I must have been the last one expected, because a lady at the end of the table began immediately when I sat down.
“We are glad to have Alex Lyndon with us today.” She smiled my way, and I returned her welcome with a smile and a nod.
She proceeded to have their program, which was from their mission magazine. Millie elbowed me lightly to indicate I could share hers. After that, they went right into discussing what type of projects they wanted to be involved with this month. Before I knew it, they were sharing Granny’s love for different service projects as well as her continued involvement throughout her time as a member of their group.
“I’m sure they are missing Miss Olivia down at the shelter and soup kitchen. She never missed her shifts at either one,” a petite woman said.
“Yes, we should try to make sure her times are covered. We could never live up to her devotion, but we could certainly offer to give assistance nonetheless.”
“You’re right. She did love her work there. I do wish she could have realized her dream to go on a mission trip.”
“Well, now I think she went on one anytime she helped anywhere she found herself.”
“She did get to send Alex’s mother. That was the next best thing from what she said.”
All of the women nodded in unison. I had to bite my lip to keep from giggling. When the meeting was over they invited me for their luncheon. I started to decline, but they were persistent. During lunch, many of the ladies told me about specific projects Granny headed. She had made a difference in her community as well as her church and friends. It was obvious she didn’t talk about her faith, she lived it out. This was yet another part of the story of Granny’s life that had to be included. I was tired from just considering the schedule Granny kept. How did she get everything done? What an amazing woman! With all her accomplishments, how could she ever have been proud of me? I was suddenly humbled and challenged all at once.