“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?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his bushy eyebrows knitted together in frustration.
“Maybe not, but you’re not even giving me the chance to. I’m not saying that you need to start having Annabelle over to the house to have tea and cookies, Grandpa. I’m just trying to get you to see her as someone who made mistakes and has learned from them. She’s different now.”
Admittedly, when I’d first learned of George’s abandonment of his engagement to Grammie, I’d also allowed myself to become locked onto things that I shouldn’t have. I had fixated on it, almost confining her to the limitations of the damage that it had initially caused her. And it had certainly caused significant damage. But she still hadn’t let it frighten her away from life. She had still found the good in it and had found things and people that she loved, built a family of her own and became a woman whose love for life was poured into every slice of cake she served and every person who walked through her doors. She did for other people what no one had done for her, taking care of their every need and sacrificing herself—sometimes to the point of exhaustion—because she wanted them to know that they mattered and that she cared. No, she wasn’t perfect, but she was someone to treasure.
Being here, talking to Annabelle and Savannah and Vivi and reconnecting with Olivia—all of them had shown me that I had focused on the wrong thing, given too much time and energy to seeing how much damage it had done, when I should have focused more on the growth that had come from it.
I had taken my own need to fix my life and distracted myself with Grammie’s long-lost tale of broken-heartedness, and it was time to stop. It was time to take my own advice and really see her as an inspiration, as further proof that fear—whether it be fear of another broken heart or fear of not being enough or fear of failure—fear, period, was no place to live. And I’d been allowing myself to live there for far too long.
“I could ask you that, too, Dellie. Why does it matter so much? Your Grammie never became friends with Annabelle, you know. She made cakes for her, but they didn’t have lunch together or get together to shop or ‘have tea and cookies,’” he blustered, thwacking the little table between us with the paper in his hand. “Annabelle is a busybody, plain and simple. Yes, she gets things done in my community, but she does it by throwing money around. Some people have to work all of their lives to get anywhere, but people like Annabelle think they’re entitled to whatever turns their heads!”
My jaw dropped and I stared at him in shock. Now it made sense. In the end, it wasn’t really about what Annabelle had done to Grammie. It wasn’t even really about Annabelle. It was about what Annabelle represented to my hardworking, blue-collar grandfather who had built his life and his family from the dirt up, sweating day in and day out and struggling for years to make ends meet and feed his children and give them a life he’d never had. He’d been working so hard, for so long, that he’d forgotten to stand back and look at what he had to be proud of. He was blind to his own accomplishments and to his own worth; and I realized as I watched him now that, in his own way, Grandpa had felt his own fear of not being enough, and he’d dealt with that fear by getting angry—and finding the wrong direction for that anger, namely Annabelle and George.
“Don’t you think Grammie would want you to get past it, the way she did, Grandpa?” I asked, finally finding my voice. “Isn’t it time to move on? It’s not doing you any good.” I was speaking very quietly, trying not to upset him further, wondering if I should just shut up and go to my room.
“I told you before, none of this matters anymore.”
“Then why won’t you forgive Annabelle?” I asked, mustering my courage. “You let it eat at you, even though you don’t realize it. I’m not saying you need to be her friend, but you need to let go of the resentment. She didn’t do anything to you. And she doesn’t buy her way into everything. She knows how to use her money, yes, but that’s not always how she gets things done. She’s a smart woman, and she really does like to help people,” I said, hoping he would truly hear and listen to what I was saying. “You’d know that if you gave her half a chance.”
“Leave it alone, Dellie. Just leave it alone,” he growled, smacking the table with the paper again. He reached down with his hand for the release lever on his chair and shoved the footrest back down, jumping up from the cushion as though he was going to a fire. “I’m going to bed.” He bit out the words, his voice tight and final as he walked away, leaving me stunned, hurt, and afraid that I had really and truly pushed him too far.
“Uncle Luke, was I wrong?” I asked, curled up in a ball in Grammie’s chair as I searched my uncle’s face for signs that maybe, just maybe this wasn’t as bad as I thought. “Is he so angry with me that he won’t forgive me?”
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “No, Dellie, he’s not so angry that he won’t forgive you. And yes, he still loves you,” he continued, somehow knowing what I would ask next. “He just needs some space, is all. You didn’t say anything we haven’t all said to him—including your grammie. He’s stubborn; and to him, Annabelle is pretty much a lost cause.”
“But it’s not even about Annabelle,” I protested. “Not really.”
“Maybe not,” he conceded, shrugging his shoulders and shifting a bit in the recliner, where he’d been sitting since he’d arrived twenty minutes ago after receiving my tearful call and request to come over. He frowned, looking lost in thought for a moment. “It’s a shame, really. But I don’t know if there’s anything any of us can do to change his mind. He has to do that on his own.”
I nodded silently, knowing he was right. “In the meantime, I guess I should just stay out of his way, then? Or should I pack and go home?” I asked, sincere in the question. Much as I would hate to leave now, I really wasn’t sure if that’s what Grandpa would want me to do.
“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Uncle Luke laughed, shaking his head. “Like I said, he just needs a little space. He’ll probably be fine in the morning, so stop worrying so much.”
“Easier said than done, Uncle Luke. I’m the poster child for worrying.”
“I know, and that’s something you need to learn. Not to worry about everything. It’s not good for you, and it’s not productive,” he said. He reached for the sweating glass of iced tea at his elbow and took a few healthy gulps before setting it back on the side table, perfectly centering it on the coaster. “Now. Forget about Grandpa for a minute. How are you? I haven’t seen you much while you’ve been here, and you’ve only got—what—a week left? How are you doing?”
I looked down at the blue upholstery of the recliner, tracing invisible patterns on the arm with the tip of my index finger.
How was I doing?
I’d come here with the hopes of refocusing myself, of starting to heal from the damage that I had been doing to myself for so long, of trying to unlearn the thought processes that had me so entrenched in fear that they controlled me.
How was I doing with that?
I continued to trace in silent reflection.
For one thing, I had forced myself out of my normal routine, out of the comfort zones I had at home. I’d started dressing with more thought and care again, realizing that even that small thing was part of taking care of me, part of allowing myself to enjoy my life. I had been so locked up with fear for so long that I wasn’t even sure of what, exactly I was afraid of anymore.
I had a good life, a job I loved doing, friends and a family who loved me. I’d been given a second chance to be happy, to live safe and free from the monster I’d married.
And I’d been wasting it.
And wasting away, while I was at it.
How limited I’d become, I marveled. And how pointlessly imprisoned.
Stepping out of my box had given me greater perspective, but I still had so very much left to do. And as I’d been told so many times, I was the only one who could do the choosing and the doing. I was the only one who could walk this journey.
How was I doing?
An official progress report would be hard to give, but I felt different somehow, after coming here. I had a new determination to change, to be…to just be.
To be healthy and free in ways that I hadn’t been in longer than I could remember.
“I don’t really have a great answer for you on that, Uncle Luke, except to say that I feel…different? I want more than what I’ve been giving myself, if that makes any sense. And I finally feel like I deserve more than what I’ve been giving myself,” I said quietly, hoping I didn’t sound like an absolute loon.
“You do, Dellie. And I really hope that coming here has helped you enough to really do something. Because thinking isn’t doing, and neither is feeling. Only doing is doing,” he said, the urgency clear in his voice, even though he was speaking softly.
They were words I’d heard before, of course, from my parents and my sister and from Bette. Words not unlike those that had been dosed out to me by counselors and psychologists and psychiatrists. But I hadn’t been ready. Something inside of me had still been locked and unable to move in any productive way.
But now? Now was different.
Now was now, and now I wanted more.
I smiled slightly at him. “You sound like Mama,” I said.
“I hope I do,” he replied with a smile of his own. “Your mama is one wise woman, Dellie. So if I sound like her, I take that as a compliment. Kind of like a sign that maybe I’m getting just a little bit wiser in my old age.”
“Oh, stop! You’re far from old age. But you’re right. Mama is very, very wise, and I’m so glad she’s mine. I hope that I’m even half the woman that she is one day.”
Uncle Luke reached out and softly, playfully tapped the end of my nose, lightening the atmosphere a little. “You’re so special, Dellie; always have been. Remember that.”
I blushed, feeling totally unworthy of the praise. “Thanks, Uncle Luke. And thanks for coming over. I’m glad you don’t think I did anything wrong,” I said, finishing with a tired sigh. “I just hope that Grandpa feels that way, once has a chance to think about things.”
“He’ll come around,” Uncle Luke said confidently. “He may put on a good show of being all crusty, but under all that, he really is soft—especially when it comes to his family.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said, still feeling unsure.
“I’m always right—just ask me,” he said with a laugh, echoing the words I’d heard so often from Grandpa.
“Yes, sir.” I laughed back. “I knew there was a reason I love you.” I sat up, starting to rise from the chair so that I could give him a hug good-bye.
“Aside from my obvious charm and good looks, you mean?”
“Of course. That’s a given.”
“Go to bed, Dellie,” he replied, getting up from Grandpa’s chair. “And remember what I said. About all of it.”
I nodded, slipping into his outstretched arms. “I will. Good night, Uncle Luke.