“I’ve been hesitant to give you the gory details about him. But there’s something deeper and more important I want you to know.”
“What?” The gleam in her pretty blue eyes makes me glow. She inherited them from me.
“I don’t want you to ever let a man mistreat you.”
She sits up, with a defensive tone in her voice. “Daddy’s not anything like your dad.”
“I’m not talking about my sweet son. I’m talking about boys your age, the ones you know from high school and now the ones you’ll meet at college.”
She gives me a blank stare, then scoots back against her headboard.
“And the men you’ll meet later in life. You are a beautiful girl, and you sing like an angel. Men will be more attracted to you because of it.” I swing my legs off the bed to look her in the eye. “I don’t want you to ever compromise yourself. Promise me.”
“I won’t.” There’s even more defense in her tone.
“Don’t be pressured into doing something you know in your heart isn’t right. If a manora woman talks to you disrespectfully, let them know you won’t stand for it.”
“I do that already,” she says.
I have my doubts.
“If a boy talks you into smoking dope, then tries to sweet-talk you into bed,run!”
She laughs, diverts her gaze to her painted-black toenails.
I know she must learn from her own mistakes, but I can’t help wanting to protect her. She’s my heart. “You don’t have to put up with it. I don’t care who he is. He could be the biggest rock star on the planet. No woman deserves to be spoken down to or taken advantage of by a man—or a woman—under any circumstances!” My voice rises a little more than I had intended, but so what? Never having had a daughter of my own, it thrills me to think I can pass along the trial-by-fire wisdom I’ve gained to my granddaughter. Unlike her father, she’s actually listening to me.
“I’m never gonna let that happen. I’m a badass. Like you!” Adelaide looks up at me with a smile that I could crawl inside of and live contently in for the rest of my life.
“You are definitely a badass. But you never know what kind of situation you might find yourself in. Just remember that your grammy gave you permission to tell that asshole to go to hell!”
Adelaide laughs out loud, pulls her legs to her chest. “You’re so cool. None of my friends have grandmas half as fun as you.”
“Well, I doubt that, but I’m glad you think so,” I say after a hearty laugh of my own.
“You’re the only grandma I know who still has long hair. Most of my friend’s grandmas have short gray hair.” She leans toward me and gazes at my head. “You’re lucky yours isn’t gray.”
I chuckle. “Oh, it’s gray. I pay my stylist, Jennifer, good money to make sure it’s covered up.” My mousy-brown hair became a nice, frosted blond many years back.
In one fell swoop, Adelaide leaps over to my bed and rises up on her knees. She digs her fingers through my scalp. “Where? I don’t see any gray.”
“You better not. I just had it colored.” I close my eyes, relishing in the sensation of her fingers against my scalp. My head hasn’t been caressed like this in years. One of the many crimes old age allows. “That feels amazing, by the way.”
Adelaide moves behind me, gently guiding my head into her lap. “Close your eyes. I’m gonna give you one of my famous head massages.”
“I had no idea you were famous for head massages.”
I feel her gently closing my eyelids. She lowers her voice. “Keep your eyes closed. And don’t talk.”
Without another word she goes straight to work. Separating her fingers from her thumbs, she moves in slow circles around my scalp, then takes her time traveling down to my neck. She presses her thumbs into the base of my skull with just the right amount of pressure. And when I think it can’t get any better, she lightly scratches the circumference of my entire head, sending me into euphoria.
I consider asking how she came by this acclaim. Part of me wants to, but I’ve asked enough personal questions this weekend.
“No wonder you’re a famous head masseuse,” I say. “I might have to fly to New York every week. Can you fit me in your schedule?” My words are beginning to sound slow and low. They are laced with fatigue. “You must be booked solid.”
Her darling little laugh is even more reason to make me wish our weekend would never end. “I told you not to talk,” she commands.
As Adelaide continues her famous head massage, I daydream back to my time at Woodstock. It’s impossible not to recall the head massage Leon gave me while we watched Creedence Clearwater Revival together. I’ve never forgotten it. Nor have I forgotten my first kiss.Ourfirst kiss. The way his lips felt against mine. The spell he put over me.
