Blossom Street Brides (Blossom Street #10)(19)

—Sivia Harding,

designer and teacher

“Grandma, today was the worst day ever, even worse than Tuesday,” Casey said the instant Lydia opened the door to her mother’s small apartment in the assisted-living complex.

Mary Lou Hoffman looked away from the television screen. “Casey and Margaret. I’m so pleased you’ve stopped by.”

“Grandma,” Casey said, getting down on one knee beside the large overstuffed chair where her grandmother sat. “It’s Casey and Lydia.”

Lydia’s mother’s forehead winkled with a thick frown. “Of course it is. I knew that.”

“It’s all right, Mom,” Lydia assured her. “I know who I am, and I know who you are, too.”

“I’m your mother.”

“Exactly.”

“I had a really bad day,” Casey repeated. “A truly terrible bad day, and I’m not grousing, either.”

Lydia’s mother focused her attention on Casey. “Remember what I said about bad days. Surely you can think of one good thing that happened.”

“Mom tried to get me thinking about the good stuff, too.”

“And did you?”

“I did,” Casey admitted with some reluctance. “I came up with a couple of things, but it wasn’t enough to block out how horrible it was.”

“Can you think of just one more good thing to tell me?” Lydia’s mother asked. She brushed Casey’s hair away from her face and cupped her granddaughter’s cheeks with the palms of her hands.

“Something sort of funny happened,” Casey admitted after chewing on her lower lip.

“Good. Tell me about that.”

Lydia was curious herself, so she scooted out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down.

“I’ve been volunteering at the After Care Program at the grade school, remember?”

Her mother clearly didn’t. “That’s good.”

“I get extra credit for it in my humanities class if I help,” Casey explained.

“So what happened?” Lydia asked, wanting her daughter to get to the story. Brad and Cody were home waiting for them.

“A new boy was there this afternoon,” Casey explained. “He’s in the second grade, and he said his name is Brian. He’s small for his age. I was surprised he wasn’t in first grade or even preschool.”

“A good name,” Mary Lou said. “I once dated a boy named Brian.”

“This Brian wore thick glasses and was sort of nerdy-looking.”

“The Brian I dated was dreamy,” Lydia’s mother added.

“Brian told me he’d fallen on his head when he was little and the fall had killed brain cells.”

Lydia wondered when the humorous part of this story was coming.

“Oh, dear, the poor boy,” Mary Lou offered sympathetically.

“That’s what I said,” Casey continued. “Then he told me he needed medication.”

Lydia was beginning to get a picture of this small child with the thick glasses with a quirky smile who needed attention.

“I took his hand and told him I’d take him over to where the other second-graders were,” Casey continued. “But he stopped me. He said there was more, and he looked so serious I stopped and waited.”

“More?” Lydia asked.

“Oh, yes. Brian wanted me to know he hadn’t taken his medication that morning. He wasn’t sure what would happen without his medication.”

Lydia smiled, and so did her mother.

“Did you laugh?” Mary Lou said.

“No, but it was a struggle not to,” Casey said. “And even without his pills, Brian did fine. He made a friend with Alice, who wears glasses, too, only her glasses aren’t as thick as Brian’s.”

“I’m glad Brian has a friend,” Lydia’s mother added.

“He said he would be back tomorrow, and he promised to take his medication this time.”

“So you had at least one smile for the day,” Lydia’s mother reminded Casey. “And one smile cancels out three reasons to frown, right?”

“Right.”

Lydia stood and checked her purse for her car keys. “I better get home. Dad will pick you up around eight,” she reminded her daughter.

Casey nodded.

“I’ll save dinner for you.”

“If Dad’s cooking, it’s probably spaghetti.”

“Probably.” Unfortunately, Brad’s doctored bottled sauce wasn’t Casey’s favorite. She liked spaghetti, especially from her favorite restaurant, but she was picky when it came to sauce, and for Casey the bottled variety didn’t measure up to her standards.

“I’ll have peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches later. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“See ya, Mom.”

Lydia’s mother glanced up. “Margaret, you’re leaving so soon?”

“It’s Lydia,” Casey gently reminded her grandmother, placing her hand over the older woman’s.

“Oh, yes, sorry. You already told me that once, didn’t you?”

“It’s fine, Mom.” Lydia bent down and kissed her mother’s forehead. Casey looked up and smiled, content and at peace after her truly terrible day. It did Lydia’s heart good to see the consternation leave her daughter’s face as she sat at her grandmother’s side.