She turned her attention to me, then broke into a big smile. “Hey, you’re Adelaide McCauley’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”
I nodded, trying to place her. So many people had come by the hospital and the house to visit Gran that it was hard to keep track of them, but surely I’d remember meeting such a striking redhead.
My consternation must have shown on my face, because she gave me a reassuring smile. “We haven’t met. I recognized you from all the descriptions. This is a small town, so any new person is a hot topic.” She leaned over the counter and held out her hand. “I’m Kirsten Deval.”
I shook her hand. “Hope Stevens. Nice to meet you.”
“What can I get you?”
I ordered a skinny cappuccino.
“Your grandmother practically saved my life when I was in fourth grade,” she said, pulling a bottle of skim milk from an under-counter fridge.
“Oh?”
Her auburn ponytail bobbed as she nodded. “She took all the class pictures when I was in elementary school. I had the wildest, frizziest red hair you’ve ever seen, and even though I always wore it in a ponytail or pigtails, it still looked like a hot mess.” She poured a little milk into a metal pitcher. “I lost my mother when I was six, and my father—well, he didn’t know much about girls’ hair, and after he fell and hurt his back, we didn’t have money for extras for beauty salon visits. Your grandmother heard one of the kids call me Cheeto Head—which, believe me, was one of the nicer names I was called.”
She put the milk back in the refrigerator. “Well, Miss Addie made a big deal out of complimenting me in front of everyone, saying how my hair was just like some famous actress’s, and she could see that I was going to look just like her when I grew up. It immediately made me feel better. Then that night, she dropped by our house.”
Kirsten scooped espresso grounds out of a can into the metal cappuccino basket, then fitted it onto the machine. “She talked to my dad—said she’d been struck by my similarity to her daughter who’d moved away, and how much she missed her, and that her daughter had left her blow-dryer and brush behind, and would he mind if she gave it to me and showed me how to use it.
“My dad was proud—oh, he wouldn’t take any charity from anyone!—but your grandmother made him feel as if he was doinghera favor. So she gave me a round brush and a blow-dryer and showed me how to use them—and a few weeks later, she somehow arranged for me to ‘win’ a free haircut at the local salon every two months for the next five years through a PTA drawing. I’ve never forgotten her kindness.”
I’d always known Gran was thoughtful and generous, but the tale touched my heart. Especially considering that my mother’s hair was fine, straight, and light brown—not at all like Kirsten’s. “Gran’s pretty amazing, all right.”
“She sure is. I was so sorry to hear about her fall. I visited her while she was in the hospital, but I don’t think she knew who I was.” She frothed the milk, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the espresso machine. “How’s she doing? Is she still planning to move to California?”
I filled her in on Gran’s progress as she poured the espresso into a cup, then scooped milk foam on top. “At the rate we’re going through her things, though, it’ll take a year or more.”
She handed me the steaming mug. “Maybe that’s her plan. I’m sure she enjoys your company.”
“And I enjoy hers—but she’s actually eager to move. She talks to Eddie every night, and she’s excited about living by the ocean.” I took a sip of foam. “That’s one of the wonderful things about Gran. She’s always so enthusiastic about whatever’s happening next.”
Kirsten nodded. “Her enthusiasm’s motivated a lot of good in this community.” She lifted up a pamphlet from a stack on the counter. “She was one of the founders of this.”
I read the title. “‘Friends of the Forest?’”
She nodded. “It’s a reforestation program to help save the wetlands. It started with Miss Addie getting the city to collect used Christmas trees and use them to stop coastal erosion along Lake Pontchartrain. She’d read about the state doing that along the Gulf, and saw no reason why it couldn’t work along the lake, as well.”
I knew Gran had started the Christmas tree project, but I didn’t know her efforts had spawned a whole year-round organization. I glanced over the brochure. “You plant trees in the wetlands?”
She nodded. “Once a month during the spring and fall. We’re going out this Saturday. You should join us.”
“Where is it?”
“The nature preserve just outside of town. We’ll meet here at seven and drive out together. We’ll be done by nine or nine thirty. Your grandmother always used to go. I’m sure she’d love for you to participate.”
She was right—and I loved the idea of supporting a cause Gran had originated. I nodded. “I’ll try to make it.”
“Great!” Leaning her hip against the counter, she cocked her head and looked at me quizzically. “So what’s happening with the mural at Matt’s place?”
“You know about that?”
She nodded.
Once again, I’d underestimated the power of the Wedding Tree grapevine. “I just looked at the room last night.” I held up my sketchbook. “I’m working up some ideas.”
Her eyes lit up. “Can I see what you’ve got so far?”
