She stopped in the doorway and eyed the array of cakes, pies, and cookies lined up on the counter. “Good Lord! Looks like we’re having a bake sale.”
“You should see the refrigerator,” I said. “Half the town sent over a casserole.”
A grin spread across her face. “That’s the way things work around here. Someone has a hard time, and everyone tries to feed them better.” Scooting her walker in front of her, she shambled to the kitchen table and sat down.
“Do you want iced tea or hot tea?” I asked.
“Hot, please. And are those Mabel Tharp’s brownies?”
A parade of people had brought food over the past few days. I scanned my memory for the brownie bearer. “Is she a thin, elderly lady with rosy cheeks?”
“Yep, she always looks like she fell into the rouge pot. But she’s not elderly. Why, she’s only seventy-eight.”
Practically a spring chicken.“I stand corrected.” I carried the plate of brownies to the table, then filled the teakettle and put it on the stove. I had just gathered up a couple of napkins and dessert plates when the doorbell rang.
“Sit tight,” I told Gran. “I’ll get it.”
A couple who looked to be their early sixties stood on the porch. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, and reminded me of Ronald Reagan. His arm was looped around the waist of a round-faced blonde with lively blue eyes and pale, dewy skin that looked like it had never seen the sun. She held a large covered bowl. “I’m Peggy Armand, and this is my husband, Griff. We live across the street.” She shifted the bowl to her left arm and held out her other hand. “We brought over a salad. Figured you’d need something green to balance out all the casseroles.”
“How nice!” I introduced myself and shook their hands. The screen door creaked as I opened it wider. “Come on in. Gran’s in the kitchen.”
Peggy stepped inside. “How is she?”
“Better, thanks.”
“We visited her in the hospital, but I don’t think she knew us.”
“She still has those moments,” I warned them. I didn’t want to say too much, for fear of Gran overhearing.
“Well, that’s perfectly understandable.” Peggy peered into the dining room. “So you’re the artist who painted that beautiful mural.”
I nodded. Gran had been repainting the interior of her home the summer before my junior year in high school. She’d intended towallpaper the dining room, but she couldn’t find any paper she liked. “I know!” Gran had exclaimed. “You can paint a mural!”
“Of what?” I’d asked.
“What about the backyard?”
So I had. I’d covered the wall with an acrylic painting of the lawn and garden, complete with the shed and a couple of trees that had since blown down in Hurricane Katrina. Using one of Gran’s photos, I’d created an early springtime scene much like the view out the kitchen window now, complete with azaleas and a bed of tulips.
Working on that mural had been one of my all-time favorite projects. Every time I’d lifted my paintbrush, I’d gone into a state of flow—instinctively mixing colors and riffing on my sketch, losing myself in the joy of creating.
“I’ve always admired that so much,” Peggy said, stepping into the dining room and gazing at it. “Do you still do murals?”
“That’s the only one I’ve ever attempted.”
“Look at this, Griff.” Peggy edged around a stack of boxes to step closer to the wall. “It’s almost like looking out a window.”
“Fine work.” He nodded. “Mighty fine.”
Peggy touched the trunk of a painted tree. “It’s absolutely exquisite.” She turned and followed me into the kitchen, where she spotted Gran trying to push out of her chair. “No, no, Miss Addie—don’t you dare get up on our account!” Setting the salad on the counter, she hurried over to the table, leaned down, and kissed Gran’s cheek.
“So nice to see you,” Gran said. I wondered if she had a clue who these people were.
Griff went over and kissed her cheek, too.
“Oh, my, you smell so good,” Gran said. “I love a man who wears shaving lotion!”
“So does Peggy,” he said. “She keeps me around as air freshener.”
