“Vivi, when was the last time you took a good, hard look around you and really thought about what you’re seeing here?” I asked, drumming my fingers on the menu that sat on the table in front of me.
Two days left here, I marveled as I glanced quickly around the dining room at Azalea’s. Two short days. I had to get this right.
Vivi scowled at me in confusion. “What kind of nonsense question is that? I look around me all the time—I’m not blind.”
“I know you’re not blind, Vivi. You might be stubborn enough that it makes you deaf sometimes, but you’re far from blind.” I paused, hoping she would really listen. “Look around a minute. What do you see?”
“A bunch of hungry people who complain way too much about every last little thing?” she asked, her eyebrow arched and a smirk playing over her glossed pink lips.
I sighed. Nope, not quite getting it. “There’s more to it than that, Vivi,” I said quietly, hoping I would be able to explain. “You told me before that sometimes you’re still afraid—even after all this time—that you’re going to fail, that this place is going to fail.” I shook my head firmly. “You’re not going to fail, Vivi. Look at all these people here. They’re here because they like it here. They love it here. And they love you, too.” More headshaking. “You’re not going to fail, because this place is special; and that’s all on you. Your mama may have started this place, but you’ve kept it going. You.”
The smirk had gone from Vivi’s face, and the sarcasm in her eyes was replaced by a watery look that she seemed not to be able to control quite as much as she would have liked. Obviously, something I was saying to her was sinking in, and that bravado she seemed so determined to maintain was crumbling just a bit.
“You are enough, Vivi. You’re more than enough. Do you see that?”
Tears were spilling down Vivi’s face by now, and she scrambled to pluck napkins from the dispenser to mop them away before anyone else in the restaurant could see.
“I see it, and all these people see it, too. It’s what keeps them coming back, day after day. Not your mama. You,” I said, watching her face as she tried to regain her composure.
“You do know how to do it, don’t you, Dellie?” she said, keeping her voice low as she dabbed away at the last of the tears. She sniffed, patted at her hair as if it might have slipped out of place along with her emotions.
“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely bewildered by the question. Or statement. I wasn’t quite sure which.
“You and those words, Dellie. You’re a writer, but you read people, too. And you know how to nail them with words.”
“Is that a gift or a curse, in your opinion?” I really was curious to know her answer, and I knew she would pull no punches.
She cocked her head, her gaze thoughtful as she studied me. “Both, I would think. Depends on the situation. And how you choose to use it.”
“I try to use my powers only for good,” I quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “Words can be far too damaging if they’re not used carefully.” Much, much too damaging, I thought, recalling some of the words that had been spoken over me like curses during my short marriage. And in the years before, as well—words spoken by people I had trusted, people I had loved and had supposedly loved me back. Words that had, in the end, became the tipping point into a life too long lived in fear and crippling doubt.
Something must have shown in my eyes, because Vivi’s studied expression had become one of concern.
“Are you okay, Dellie?” she asked, laying her hand lightly on my shoulder as she stood next to me.
I smiled, sweeping away the heavy thoughts. None of those. Not now. Now was about Vivi and doing what I had come to Azalea’s today to do.
I wasn’t delusional enough to think that I—or any of my words—was going to be the magic bullet and fix everything for any of them: Vivi, Annabelle, or Savannah. But I was hopeful enough to believe that something in all that I had said to them would matter just enough to make them think, to make them see things from a different perspective, to open their eyes just a little bit to the fact that they were irreplaceable and important and beautiful. To show them that, even in their flaws, they were priceless and that their lives touched more people that they knew.
Just as Grammie and her cakes had touched each of them, they had touched others without ever really realizing it. And they had touched me.
“We’ll be there to pick you up at the airport, Dellie,” Mama said later that evening. “It’s going to be so nice to see you. I feel like it’s been so much more than a month!” She laughed on the other end. “Are you sure it wasn’t?”
I smiled. “Nope, just a month. But you’re right, it does seem like longer, in a way.” I was sitting out on the deck, rocking slowly back and forth on the porch swing and savoring the last few minutes of sunset before I went into the house for the night. Grandpa was inside, showering after spending most of the late afternoon taking care of manly things like mowing the lawn and weed-whacking. Dinner was still up in the air, but I had a feeling we were probably just going to chow down on leftovers of one of the soups he’d made in the crockpot earlier that week.
“I’m proud of you, Dellie,” Mama said, breaking into my thoughts. “Have I told you that?”
I paused my swinging, as though it would make me understand her words. “What are you proud of me for?” I asked. It was a genuine question, not a fishing expedition. I wasn’t looking for compliments.
“I’m proud of you for going out there, even though it was scary for you. I’m proud of you for doing things that are out of your comfort zone. I know that trip to Wilkes was hard for you. I know going to the cemetery was hard for you. But you did it anyway, and I’m so very, very proud of you for that.” Mama paused, and I knew she was probably thinking about everything she had gone through in her own life, dealing with anxieties of her own. She had survived them, yes. But more than that, she had overcome them. She had taken the steps to reclaim her life and her joy, and she had made a beautiful life, when others might have given up. She had persevered, and she had found her strengths.
“You’re starting to do it, Dellie. Now you just have to keep doing it, even when it’s so hard and so scary that you don’t feel like you’ll make it. You have to choose,” she urged. “And know that we’re here for you. You’re not alone.”
My nose was running, the tears were streaming down my face, and I had no doubt that the mascara I’d swiped on that morning was probably running in streaks down my cheeks. But I didn’t care. She was right. I had been doing things that felt dangerous to me, even though they were perfectly normal things for the rest of the general population. Things that had me so anxiety-ridden that I would much rather have retreated from them back to the safety of my protected little cocoon. I had done them anyway, choosing to face the fear instead of bending to it and allowing it to steal even more from me, and that was something to be proud of. Something to celebrate. Something to inspire me to keep going, keep pushing, keep fighting.
“I love you, baby girl,” Mama said and I could hear the tears in her voice.
“I love you, too, Mama. And thank you for being proud of me,” I squeaked.
“We’ve always been proud of you, Dellie. It’s not a pass or fail here—we’re proud of you for being you. But you need to know that we see the changes you’re making, and we realize how important even the little ones are.”
I swiped the back of my hand across my cheeks, wishing I had a tissue. Or a whole box of tissues.
“It’ll be nice to be home,” I said at last, not really knowing what else to say. “I miss your hugs.”
“I miss yours, too. And when you get home, I’ll give you the biggest one ever.” Mama laughed. “We have a whole month to make up for!”
There was much more than a month to make up for. More than missed hugs. There was missed life. But making up for it wasn’t a matter of paying penance or of begging for forgiveness. It was about changing, about taking back my life by seizing the moments that came my way. Moving forward, not looking back. I’d made many, many mistakes; but I wasn’t alone in that. Life was full of mistakes.
Learning from them, turning them into good, was the most important thing. I wanted to live my life, not run from it. This was the only life I was going to get, and I wanted to make it the very best life it could be.
“We do,” I said quietly, wondering if she had any inkling of all the thoughts and emotions swirling through me as I spoke those simple words. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds around me—the bark of the neighbor’s dog, the soft swish of the tree leaves as the breeze rifled them. I would miss this place, but I was glad to be going home. It was going to be different, though, I vowed silently. I wanted more now than just that little world that had become so small, so limiting. I wanted more, bigger. Better. Brighter.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes again, noticing that the sun had finally slipped away, the color-washed sky of sunset now replaced by the darkness of nightfall.
Time to go in, I thought.
I blinked, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw something I hadn’t seen in all the days I had been here so far—I finally saw the very first flash of a lightning bug.