Free Life Without You by Liesel Schmidt

more.
    “Really? Why?”
    “Because he was already engaged to someone else, and we ran off together and eloped!” she stage-whispered, leaning closer to me and widening bright green eyes that were positively vivacious.
    “You stole him from his fiancée? How did you do that?” I marveled.
    She simply smiled. “A lady has to have some secrets, now doesn’t she?”
    “That’s what my grandmother always said; not that you’d have much to worry about if you told me. I’m not even from here—I’m here from Pensacola, visiting.”
    “Oh, that’s nice,” she replied sweetly. “Do you have family here?”
    I nodded. “My mom’s family is all here. My grandmother died about six months ago, so I thought I’d come and spend some time with my grandfather.” It was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Not that I owed her the whole story, but I still felt a little guilty at the spin I was putting on things: dutiful, loving granddaughter on a trip to comfort her grieving grandfather. Again, partially true, but to get into the details of my own need for the trip would have taken too long. And been a little too personal, really. Better to keep it all simple.
    “That’s a shame,” she tutted, her previous smile replaced by a look of concern. “What was her name? I might have known her. When you’re as old as me and you stay in one place your whole life, you know
everybody
.”
    “Meredith Samuelson. Everybody called her Merry, though.”
    The sprite’s eyes grew wide. “You’re one of Merry Samuelson’s granddaughters? Oh, my dear.” She clucked. “Dear, dear, I’m so sorry,” she added, reaching up to rest a light hand on my arm, just the right mix of sorrow, sympathy, and social propriety. She may have had a thing for racy lingerie, but the lady also had class. No doubt this woman had been to many a cotillion in her youth. “You must miss her—she was such a sweet lady. And she certainly lived up to her name.” She paused. “Now, which one of the grandchildren are you?”
    “I’m Odelle.”
    “
No
,” she protested. “Dellie’s only a bitty little girl. You’re a young woman; you can’t be Dellie,” she said, looking square into my face. “Well.” Headshaking ensued as she searched my eyes. “Time does fly, doesn’t it, Dellie?”
    I nodded.
    “Your grandmama and I didn’t really run in the same circles, but I always thought she was lovely. And her cakes were to die for. She made every wedding cake, anniversary cake, and birthday cake I ever needed. If it wasn’t Merry’s cake, it wasn’t at one of my parties; and every lady in the League always called her, too,” said the tiny woman in front of me, whose name I had yet to discover.
    “She did make some wonderful cakes,” I agreed solemnly. “You’re going to have to forgive me, though—I don’t remember ever meeting you. And it’s been a very long time since I last visited, I’m sorry to say,” I said, meaning every word to my core.
    It really had been far too long since I’d made my last trip up there, and the changes I saw everywhere seemed to make it glaringly obvious. Now, it was too late. Grammie was gone, and I’d never again get to curl into her arms for a hug as she sat in her blue La-Z-Boy recliner or watch her whip butter into the sugar for her frosting, her generous frame moving about in the familiar process of mixing magic. She wore no chef’s jacket in her small kitchen, but the housecoats she always donned may as well have been her uniform as she worked, tunelessly singing the words to some old song from her youth.
    I felt a swell of emotion run through me.
    “Well, it’s good that you’re here now.” The white head nodded, then stopped abruptly as she remembered that she still hadn’t properly introduced herself. “But Lord, where are my manners?” she scolded herself.
    Given our earlier conversation, I doubted that she was one to stand on ceremony and had a certain relish for thwarting the