Joan shook her head. “It’s like dealing with toddlers.” She looked around, but just as Frances had said, no one was paying them the slightest bit of mind. Joan leaned in and said in a loud whisper, “There’s a woman who buys weed from me.” She paused to dump more sugar in her coffee. “She’s younger, probably in her fifties, and attractive. She could seduce a security guard. That’s what we need, you know. Someone who can take over her role.”
Herbeing Edie, of course.
There was a sudden surge of customers in the aisle; someone leaving a seat and others scrambling for it. As people jostled for room, someone knocked against Frances’s elbow as they passed. She glanced up and saw a young woman making her way to the cash register. She put down her fork. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey, it’s the granddaughter. Edie’s granddaughter.”
The granddaughter stopped at the cash register to pay. She happened to glance back and looked straight at Frances.
“Shit! Don’t look, don’t look,” Frances said, but both Joan and Irene had already twisted around to see. Unfortunately, twisting anything at their ages required the full body, arms and legs, and so forth, so they were quite noticeable.
“I’m going to talk to her,” Frances said. “Don’t touch my food.”
“Wait! Are you going to eat all three biscuits?” Joan asked, eyeing them.
Frances ignored her. She hopped out of the booth and gave a friendly wave before the granddaughter could escape, like it was perfectly natural to have a chat after getting kicked out of her grandmother’s house.
The granddaughter was accepting her change when Francesreached her. “Hi there,” she said, and stuck out her hand. The granddaughter looked at her hand as if she didn’t know what to do with it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”
“Um …” The young woman looked past Frances to the booth were Joan and Irene were sitting. She reluctantly took Frances’s hand. “Marcy. Marcy Kessler.” She quickly shook and dropped Frances’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure, Marcy. I’m Frances. Look, I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday. We were too big of a surprise, it seems. But I want you to know we never meant to startle Edie like that. We thought it would be a happy surprise.”
“Yeah,” Marcy said. She bit her bottom lip and folded her arms tightly across her body. “I was so embarrassed.”
Frances winced. “We can be a handful—”
“No, not you. Nana. She was sorude,” she said, sounding amazed by it. “I don’t understand why.”
Frances sensed an opening. Maybe there was a way to see Edie yet. “That’s what we thought,” she said, shifting closer. “We’ve never known Edie to be that angry. At least not when we knew her.”
Marcy took the bait. “When did you know her?”
“Oh, way back when. High school. Or college. High school and college,” Frances said. Lord, but she was rusty. She used to be able to think on her feet, but she was a little slow on the uptake, which she blamed entirely on that damn tumor. She smiled. “The years run together. But she was my best friend.”
Marcy looked stunned. “Nana? Then why was she so mad?”
“That’s my question. I suppose she’s been stewing on something for a long time. But without talking to her, I can’t really know. Or make it right, if necessary.”
Marcy studied her for a moment, as if she was confused by Frances. Frances studied her right back. She was very pretty. Of course she was—she had Edie’s genes. She was a darker version of a young, blonde Edie.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Marcy said.
“It was so long ago, it’s hard to remember everything, you know? But I would love to know, too. I wish I could talk to her,” Frances said wistfully. “I’m sure it must be something I did, and I would apologize in an instant if I knew.” She sighed, as if she’d given up hope of reconciling. “I guess I won’t have the opportunity. Oh well. Anyway”—she put her hand on Marcy’s elbow—“I just wanted to make sureyou’reokay.”
“I’m fine. But wait—can you tell me anything about her? Like, what was she like? She never talks about her life. When I ask her, she says it’s old news, or she can’t remember, or it’s not worth mentioning.”
Frances almost patted herself on the back for reeling this girl in so skillfully. “Everyone loved her. She was so funny, and so lively. Sosmart.Come sit, and my friends and I will tell you whatever you want to know. We’ll buy you a coffee and fill your ears with memories of Edie Smith.”
Marcy looked uncertainly at the door. Then at Frances. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Come on.”
The young woman gave her an uncertain smile, but she nodded. “Okay. Just for a minute.”
She followed Frances back to the booth. Joan and Irene couldn’t keep the look of surprise from their faces as Frances slid into the booth. “This is Marcy Kessler, Edie’s granddaughter,” she said, and to Marcy, “And this is Joan and Irene. I suppose you could say the four of us were our own little gang back in the day.”
“Oh, Frances!” Joan said, and then followed that with an unnaturally high chortle. “We were not a gang.” She smiled at Marcy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marcy. What do they call a group of girlfriends now?”
“I don’t know … a posse?” Marcy suggested.
