Georgia on Her Mind(20)

“I adored my grandmother.” She holds her tea and gazes absently across the room into her past.

I let her reminisce in silence for a moment. “Do you have grandchildren?”

She shakes her head. “No, just one son. He’s been married several times, but no children.” She spoons sugar into her tea.

“Does he visit? I’ve never seen him around.” I hold out the plate of gingersnaps.

“He and his father argued over money. When I sided with my husband, Walter—” she takes a cookie “—James became very angry and left.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He accused Walter of hoarding cash and he wanted some of it to start a business. But I assured him we did not have a secret bankroll.” She sighs. Even her sigh is elegant. “We raised James the best we could, but he turned out spoiled and selfish.”

“Time mends relationships, Mrs. Woodward. Don’t worry.”

“It’s been too many years to worry now.” She presses her hand on mine as if to comfort me.

We lapse into casual talk for the next fifteen minutes or so, sipping tea and munching cookies. I tell her about my work in Atlanta and the weekend in Beauty.

She tells me the news of our community, The Gables, and assures me she’s had no more stomach episodes.

“Nevertheless, you need to see your doctor.” I pop the last cookie into my mouth. I’m worried about her. Regal and lovely, she also seems fragile and frail.

“Perhaps, dear. We shall see.”

Did I say fragile and frail? Forget it. She’s stubborn and feisty.

At eleven-thirty she thanks me for the tea and announces she must go.

“Thank you for coming over.” I escort her to the door, realizing that in the three years I’ve lived here, I’ve never invited her inside until tonight.

“Your home is lovely, Macy.” I notice she shakes slightly when she speaks.

(Mental note 4: be a better neighbor, get Mrs. Woodward to the doctor, second reminder to rejoin the gym, find a place to write down dumb mental notes.)

I watch her walk home, making sure she’s safe before locking my front door and flipping off the porch light. Such an odd visit—no purpose, no reason. Just for company.

My heart is content as I wash my face, slip into my nightshirt and crawl into bed. Thinking of the Single Saved Sisters, my grocery-aisle epiphany and Mrs. Woodward’s visit, I’m reminded of the good things in life. I’ve been missing them for too long. I poured everything I had into Chris and Casper. Now I’m emotionally and spiritually bankrupt.

Clicking on my bedside lamp, I reach for my Bible. It’s covered in dust, an embarrassing discovery. I run for a damp cloth.

Has it been that long since I read my Bible? That’s like Christianity 101. I hop back into bed and flip to the verse Pastor Gary used Sunday morning at Beauty Community Church.

Isaiah 61:3. “To console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes.”

I close my eyes and slip down under the covers. Change is in the wind. What, when, where, why and how? I’m not sure. But I’m ready for the path of beauty. I set my Bible aside and click out the light.

“Thanks, Lord, for Your love and patience, and that I still have a job. Thanks for my home and car.” I close my eyes, fading. “For the Single Saved Sisters, for Mrs. Woodward and for simple things like food—”

I bolt up in the darkness. Food. Supermarket. I scramble out of bed and tumble to the floor, my foot caught in the sheets. My groceries are still in the bags on the counter. And I bought ice cream!



Mike pops his head around my office door. “S-o-o-o, Macy…”

I eye him over my laptop. Nothing that starts out “S-o-o-o, Macy” is ever good.

Several weeks have passed since my Atlanta trip and I’ve adjusted well, if I say so myself, to my new role at Casper.

Not much has changed, really, other than that I report to Mike and he reports to Roni. Since he’s so clueless about how to manage anything but his TiVo machine, much less a customer service team, I graciously assist. I could be pigheaded about it—he and Roni deserve it—but in the end that will only make me look bad and there is enough of that going on already.

People stop talking when I pass by in the hall. Sometimes they meet my gaze and smile with sympathy. I hate that expression the most. I’d rather be the target of their gossip.

But seeing Mike in my office makes me churn with suspicion. I haven’t seen him ride off with Roni again and I’m glad I don’t have any more of those scenes added to my arsenal.

“What can I do for you?” I ask in my most professional tone.

“I put a couple of trips on your schedule. Suddenly the sales team is frantic for W-Book installations.”

“We knew it’d be a hit.”

“It’ll put Casper & Company on the map.”

“Kyle Casper gets what he wants.” I finish the e-mail I was typing and click Send.

Kyle, a contemporary of Bill Gates, seethes to this day that Bill beat him to the market with his everyman’s computer company. Then he invested a chunk of change in search-engine technology and spent a night in hospital with heart palpitations when the Google guys launched their search engine six months before the Casper engine was ready. He had to scrap the whole project.