What if she’s here? Right here, right now?
I surveyed my reflection in the frosted glass, swatting at the stray hairs popping straight into the air. I smoothed my polo and adjusted the tuck. My 4:45am flight into Atlanta from Denver with a 5 hour layover left me looking quite disheveled.
Shuffling sounded behind the door and the dead bolt clicked. An elderly lady with long white hair swung open the door. She reached to remove her bifocals. “Hello, can I help—” She stopped mid-sentence, and her mouth fell open. The bifocals bounced on her chest, suspended by a beaded chain.
“Hi there, ma’am.” My hands found their comfortable spot in my pockets, and my fingertips fiddled with the edge of the photo inside. The woman didn’t make a move to greet or acknowledge me. “Sorry to intrude on you like this—but I’m looking for—” My voice trailed off as she started shaking her head.
“You’re Patrick.” Her voice was breathy, wobbling with disbelief.
Her words knocked the air out of me. I stood there a long moment, trying to process what she said. The possibilities surged new life into my veins. There was only one way this woman would know who I was.Gracie.I swallowed and stared straight into her face. Tears pooled at the corners of her blue eyes, and she lifted a trembling hand to cover her mouth.
“Are you Patrick?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words weren’t there. My lips quivered, and my breath shuddered in my chest. I nodded and the tears pooling in my own eyes leaked out with the motion.
She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Child, come in. Come in!”
She led me to her front room where a mahogany coffee table sat in front of a plush, vintage couch. The woman guided me to sit next to her, never removing her hand from mine. She grabbed a hanky out of her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “I never in a thousand years thought you’d show up here. She said you would, and I thought she was crazy.”
My mind was on one thing only. “Is she here now?”
The hanky had visible wet spots on it. She dabbed at her eyes once more and sniffed. “No, I’m so sorry. She’s not here.”
My shoulders dropped. “Do you know where she is?”
She patted the top of my hand. “I’ll tell you all I know, son. First, let me make some tea.” She whisked off to the kitchen. A faucet flipped on and metal clinked. I caught myself wringing my hands in my lap. There’s no way I could bring myself to even take a sip of water at this point, much less tea. It took her forever. I had so many questions. I stood and paced the living room out of desperation.
The woman had pictures all over her built in bookcases. Some of her with young folks, presumably her children, and her with an older man, presumably her husband. She was obviously full of life and spunk. One picture was of her on a tennis court laughing with another woman around her age.
The blood drained from my face, and my feet stopped like blocks of cement on the carpet. There, plain as the nose on my face, was a photo of Gracie. Her wild hair was cropped to her shoulders, making it stick out at odd angles and truly earning the term “mane.” She had one arm draped around the woman and held up peace signs.
I removed the photo from the shelf and sunk back onto the couch. Gracie wore sunglasses in the picture, so I couldn’t see her eyes, but she looked thinner. Definitely older. But still beautiful, in the unique way she always was—freckles splattering her face and arms, her thin lips pressed together in a gentle smile. I attempted to date the photo. The woman looked younger. Gracie looked around twenty-five maybe.
My vision blurred as the picture brought back the sharp reminder of all the years that had elapsed. I spent so many nights wondering what time had done to her face, and how she had matured—longing to see the beauty of her womanhood.
I exhaled a shaky breath, leaned my head back onto the couch, and pressed the picture to my chest. My thoughts whirled as fast as the ceiling fan over my head. Why did Gracie never come visit me or write to me? Welovedeach other. The fan above went liquid as the tears started to flow.
The woman reappeared with the tea tray, her eyes red but dry. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Patrick.” The cups rattled as she placed the tray on the table. “I just can’t believe you’re here. Tracy said you’d come.”
The name Tracy again. I wasn’t sure whether I should correct her or not. I opted to save it for later. I sniffed and wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Please, ma’am. I haven’t seen her in fourteen years. Can you tell me where she is?”
She shook her head and grabbed the tea pot to pour. “I’m so sorry. She left me years ago.” A tiny smile lifted her sad eyes. “I see you found her picture.”
“Yeah,” I held it out to look into Gracie’s face again. “How long ago was this taken?”
“Oh my.” She cocked her head to the side and clicked through her teeth as she tried to remember. “Maybe eleven or twelve years ago?”
“That long?” Twelve years prior would make Gracie barely twenty. She looked much older. Perhaps the old lady’s memory was going.
“Yes, in fact, that was at my retirement party. I retired the year after my husband died.” She nodded. “So twelve years.” Maybe her memory wasn’t going.
“How did you meet her?”
She sat back in her seat, swinging her leg up over the other. “Church—well, if I’m going to be straightforward with you—it was actually at our church’s soup kitchen. I worked in the kitchen to minister to the hungry. Still do.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. Soup kitchen? The thought of Gracie being hungry gutted me. I glanced back at the picture, her thin draping arms and hollowed face making sense now.
“She came in that day with a pretty unsightly group of friends. They were all strung out on something.” She spooned some sugar into her tea. “When she came through the line, I asked her how her day had been. She said, ‘Better now.’ The look in her eyes drew me in. We talked and I learned she was couch surfing around the bad side of town.”
