Free Life Without You by Liesel Schmidt Page B

about her exuded youthful energy. “Do you Facebook?”
    I knew my face registered the shock I was feeling, but I could only hope she was too preoccupied with her cell phone to see it.
    “Um, yes,” I stammered, trying to recover quickly—and gracefully. “Yes, ma’am, I’m on Facebook.”
    “Well, then, you can friend me on Facebook,” she replied, sounding gleeful. “I’m on Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest, too!” she added. “I like to keep up with things, you know how it is.”
    Of course I did. Didn’t everybody?
    I blinked once. Twice.
    Who
was
this woman?
    She slid a glance at me. “Well don’t look so shocked, honey.” She laughed again. “I may be in my eighties, but I’m far from kicking any buckets!”
    “Clearly!” I said, feeling the blush rise in my cheeks.
    Annabelle winked, quick as a flash. “I have a brand new pair of leopard-print Louboutins, and I have every intention of wearing them at my ninetieth birthday party,” she said hotly. “My George would have loved them.”
    Something about Annabelle MacMillan told me that when she had her mind set to something, nothing would stop her.
    I left the store a few minutes later, purchases in hand and now in possession of Annabelle’s number. I could hardly wait to hear more from this captivating little creature. And to find out more about George, their scandalous romance—and just how well she knew my family.

Chapter Nine
    I couldn’t very well let on that I’d bought a pair of very flashy panties to my grandfather; so before I left the store, I’d made sure that they were safely tucked away in the bottom of the bag, hidden by the folds of fuchsia tissue paper and just under the bottle of lotion.
    I tracked him down, sitting on a bench outside the sporting goods store.
    I surveyed him from a distance, once again feeling amazed at how much he’d visibly aged since the last time I’d seen him. At eighty-four, he was still undeniably robust and extremely energetic, but the emotional strain of the past months had obviously taken their toll. Though he might never say it, all of those days at the hospital had stripped a few layers. And missing Grammie was harder on him than he would admit.
    “Are you ready?” he asked when I finally sidled up next to him.
    I nodded, wordlessly holding up the small striped pink bag. “All set.”
    “Anywhere else you’d like to go while we’re here?”
    I shook my head, feeling fully satisfied.
    “Okay…how about some food. Are you hungry?”
    I hadn’t noticed it before, but now, at the mention of hunger, my stomach suddenly seemed to awaken. Breakfast had been a long time ago. I stole a quick glance at my watch to see exactly what time it was.
    “I wouldn’t argue at some lunch,” I replied tentatively, surprised to see that it was nearly two o’clock, yet afraid that whatever suggestion he made might be far out of my comfort zone. My bucket list flashed into my head:
Eat Somewhere Unsafe
. Was I prepared to tackle that challenge right then? I knew that this was going to be one of my biggest hurdles—one that I would have to face time and time again until
Safe
and
Unsafe
no longer existed. Was I ever really going to be ready? The truth was, I’d been allowing myself to back down, to retreat on the justification that I just wasn’t ready to be brave, that it seemed easier not to jump. Not to fight. Not to eat things that people ate everyday without thought or worry. I’d gotten so restricted by the boundaries my mind had created that a once healthy awareness of nutrition had become a dangerous disorder; and if I was ever going to get better, I was going to have to make changes, even when I didn’t feel
ready
.
    “There’s a Chick-fil-A not far from here, if you’d like to go there,” he offered.
    I felt a quick twinge of panic as I nodded in agreement. “Sure. I haven’t had their food in a long time.”
    He smiled. “Most of the time, I just go there for a breakfast biscuit; but