Della
I was working in the store when the bell over the door rang. I looked up. Astrid. Wearing new designer jeans and a stylish cotton sweater.
How Christine finally squeezed the money from their account, I’d never know. But I’d heard through Cleva that the school band had new uniforms, and both kids had new bikes. Enoch had come through, making the plan work in a way he could live with.
At first, neither one of us knew what to say. Like a wimp, I let a ten year old break the ice. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by much, but it’s been hard,” she said.
“Honey, you don’t have to explain to me. Just glad to see you.” We settled in the back and shared some Earl Gray tea and Linzer cookies I’d recently ordered. She licked off the confectioners’ sugar first, then ate the shortbread part, popping the jammy center into her mouth last.
“It’s nice in here,” she said, looking around the backroom. She acted almost her age again and seemed relaxed. “I couldn’t come for a while, you know.” I did know. Bad memories. Then she added, “I won’t be needing to stop by much anymore. Daddy’s hiring a housekeeper to do most of the cooking and cleaning.”
“That’s great news.”
“Well, yes and no,” she said, systematically dismantling another cookie. “Seems a distant relative died and left us some money.”
I played along. “Did you know this relative?”
“No, but it’s still sad, in a way, isn’t it? I wish I’d met him so I’d know who to thank for what he’s doing for us.” Back to age twenty-something.
“Well, just send up your thanks to whomever. And you know, you’re welcome here whether you buy anything for supper or not. In fact, I’d be delighted to see you, knowing you’re not slaving over a hot stove!”
That made her giggle. She reached for another cookie.