“Thank you!”
Antiques were interspersed with newer rugs, pillows, upholstered ottomans, soft chairs. Hardwood floors stretched to walls painted creamy white. The overall effect was cozy and welcoming.
“This is the house Connor’s dad and I bought soon after we were married,” Mrs. Bryant said. “Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a million memories. Best investment ever. Come.” She beckoned. “Let me show you around.”
Shay admired the living room, dining room, and kitchen before they reached the hallway, where she spotted Connor coming in from the back door.
His gait hitched when he saw her. A slow, lopsided smile moved across his face. He wore his usual uniform of a patterned button-down shirt, untucked, over jeans. There’d never been anything wrong with his wardrobe, per se. It was just so vanilla that it didn’t show him off to his best advantage.
“Hi,” he said. “You’re early.”
“Yep. Your mom’s giving me a tour.”
Mrs. Bryant opened a door, revealing her master bedroom. Then she showed Shay the room her girls had shared. “They had bunkbeds once, but a double bed with trundles on either side makes more sense now, when they come to stay.”
The hall bath gleamed. “Has this been newly renovated?” Shay asked.
“Yes. When Connor moved back a few years ago he volunteered to update this bathroom and his bedroom.”
“I worried she might not want to change anything,” Connor said.
“He worried for nothing. I’ve always loved house projects.” Connor’s mom moved along to his room.
Here, Shay brazenly stepped inside.
“We boxed up the keepsakes,” Mrs. Bryant said, “and gave the rest to charity. We painted, then he furnished it with things he’d brought back from LA.”
He’d chosen a very dark, moody green for the walls. She’d have been terrified to try this shade, but it absolutely worked. It made her feel as if she was inside a luxurious malachite box. Plus, the color complemented the wood in the room and the white and gray in the bedding. Modern art made the room feel sophisticated—a bit like a gallery. “Where did you come by the art?”
“Those are all originals I purchased when I lived in California. I know several of the artists.”
Suddenly, her small-town life and the fact that she’d attended college just four hours away, in Statesboro, made her experiences seem provincial. “These pieces are fabulous.”
“I made brownies,” Mrs. Bryant said. “They’re fresh out of the oven.” They made their way to the kitchen. “I typically don’t eat much dessert, except for on Wednesday evenings. I weigh myself on Wednesday mornings. So, immediately after that, I splurge.”
“I never pass up a brownie,” Shay said.
Mrs. Bryant served brownies, then sat at the kitchen table to enjoy her portion while Connor and Shay stood, eating their brownies off small paper plates.
“I was so pleased when Connor told me you were coming by today,” Mrs. Bryant told her. “I’ve been wanting to ask if you’d prayerfully consider playing a role in the live nativity.”
“Oh?” She knew just enough about the nativity to know Mrs. Bryant had long been in charge.
“I think you’d make a wonderful angel.”
Shay laughed. “What?”
“An angel. You have such a wholesome look about you. You’re beautiful as can be.”
“I am?”
“You are! I’ve seen the site and plan to place the angels slightly to the side and uphill from the manger scene. We’ll have you spotlighted in such a way that you’ll appear to glow.”
“I’ll glow?”
“It will just require one night of work,” Mrs. Bryant continued. “Three and a half hours, on December twenty-third.”
Shay was not an actress. At all. Nor did she consider herself to be particularly angelic. Turned out that she was angelic enough, however, not to want to disappoint this particular woman. Mrs. Bryant was battling ALS. Mrs. Bryant had once readCharlotte’s Webaloud to Shay while Shay and other kids sat on the alphabet rug in the Kids’ Corner at the library, their faces upturned, riveted by the story. “I’ll gladly help out in any way you’d like,” Shay said.
