A Treasure of the Heart. Valerie Hansen
to throw a going-away party but Lillie talked them out of it by promising to return for her stored furniture and let them have a get-together then, if they still wanted to.
Two days later she was on the road, driving south in a mental haze and wondering what had come over her. There she was, too close to thirty-five for comfort, unemployed and heading for the only place that had ever felt like a real home. The notion of plunking herself back into Grandma Darla Sue’s and Grandpa Max’s lives and making their house her home again, the way she had been forced to as a lonely child, gave her colder chills than the gales off Lake Michigan.
If she used up her savings before she found another job, there was always the value of her furniture to fall back on, she reasoned. She knew her friends would sell it for her and send her the money if she them her to. At least she knew they would if they still lived there. If there was one thing Lillie had learned about life in the big city it was how fast everything could change.
All she really wanted was to reclaim the peace she’d so foolishly left behind when she’d moved North. If that meant she had to bite the bullet and spend a few weeks staying with her grandparents till she got back on her feet, then she would. She figured, as long as she explained to stubborn, reclusive Grandpa Max that she didn’t intend to stay for more than a few weeks he wouldn’t pitch too big a fit about sharing his peace and quiet with her again. Now that she was older and hopefully wiser, she could see that one of the reasons she and Max had butted heads was that they were so much alike under the surface.
Passing through Serenity and entering Gumption on Highway 62, Lillie noticed little difference since her last brief visit, at least not on the surface. The courthouse in the town square and its bordering stores were still the center of activity. Tall, silvery-leafed poplars had replaced some of the old maples on the courthouse lawn and the streets looked narrower than they had when she was a child, but other than that the place seemed pretty much the same. The entire area was sort of stuck in a time warp, which in her case was exactly what she craved.
She sighed. It was truly good to be home. She just hoped her favorite resident wasn’t going to be too disappointed in her for quitting a steady job. The work ethic was strong in Darla Sue Howell. She’d kept her little café going in spite of Max’s lack of encouragement and had made room for Lillie when her parents’ marriage had self-destructed and the ensuing divorce had sent her mother into a bottomless pit of self-pity. Lillie loved Darla Sue more than anything in the world and there wasn’t anyone she wanted more to please.
Eager to surprise her grandmother at work, she parked her blue sedan in one of the spaces surrounding the courthouse, grabbed her purse and a sweater and slid out, resisting the urge to lock the car door. Folks in Gumption trusted their neighbors. If she were to lock the door she’d immediately demonstrate that she no longer fit into this lifestyle. Better to chance losing whatever inconsequential items she’d left piled on the car seats than to be immediately ostracized as an outsider.
Smiling and feeling amazingly free, she slipped the sweater on and crossed the street to the café. The sign over the door had once read, Darla’s Deli, but the red paint on the smaller letters had faded until all that remained were the two capital Ds. For as long as Lillie could recall, the place had simply been “DD’s” and so it still was.
During her Christmas visit she’d offered to climb up and repaint the sign in spite of the freezing temperature but her grandmother wouldn’t hear of it. Darla Sue had said, if folks didn’t know who she was or what she served in the café, they didn’t need to be coming in, anyway. Since business had always been good enough to keep her busy and employ a small staff, Lillie had had to agree.
The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and homemade biscuits filled Lillie’s senses as she pushed open the restaurant door. Original decor that had remained unchanged for so long that it was now referred to as retro prompted a rush of nostalgia. Framed pictures of old film stars and even older cars lined the walls. Paper place mats and packets of silverware rolled inside white napkins graced the tables and a vase with a single silk flower was carefully centered behind each set of salt-and-pepper shakers. Come summer, when Darla Sue’s garden was in full bloom, the flowers in those milk-glass vases would be real.
Lillie sighed. Coming here was so much like stepping back into childhood she immediately craved a warm oatmeal-raisin cookie and an equally warm hug from her darling grandmother.
Pausing at the entrance to scan the sparse crowd, she garnered a few amiable nods but saw no one she recognized outright. That was the way it had been the last few times she’d visited. Many of the old-timers who’d known her as a child had either passed away or moved to condos in Florida, bless their hearts. Every trip home had made her feel less and less a part of life in Gumption. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she’d felt such a strong pull to return for good.
She crossed the room, heels clicking on the black-and-white checkerboard-tiled floor and peeked in the kitchen door, fully expecting to find her grandmother standing at the grill, wearing a chef’s apron and wielding a spatula.
Instead, she saw a stranger. The middle-aged woman’s washed-out blond hair was pulled back by a rolled blue bandanna and escaped curls were plastered to her forehead and neck by perspiration.
The woman glowered. “What’s the matter? Didn’t like your eggs?”
“No. I haven’t even eaten.” Lillie recovered from her astonishment and extended her hand. “I’m Lillie Delaney, Darla Sue’s granddaughter. I’m afraid we haven’t met.”
“I’m Rosie,” the woman said without shaking her hand. “Do you cook?”
“A little. Why?”
Rosie whipped off the scarf and threw it aside, then untied her apron strings. “Because you can have this job. I quit.”
Lillie instinctively backed up. When she’d wished for gainful employment she hadn’t meant anything like this. Cooking had never been her forte. Eating, maybe. Preparing a meal with more than three ingredients, no way.
“Hold it,” she said, trying to sound amiable in the face of the woman’s obvious distress. “I know exactly how you feel but I didn’t come here to take your job, Rosie. I’m just looking for my grandmother. Please stay.”
She sighed. “Okay. But I warn you, one more complaint from some good old boy who just assumes I’ll know how he wants his stupid food cooked, or what he hates, and I’m out of here.”
“Gram is pretty good at remembering that kind of detail,” Lillie said. “Is she taking the day off?”
“More like the month,” the harried cook answered. “I was supposed to be her assistant. She said she was going to teach me the ropes. We got started fine the first day. Then she stepped out to get a few things at the market and never came back to work.”
“She isn’t missing, is she?!”
“No, no. According to old Rayford Evans she just wandered on home. He was havin’ coffee in here with the other retired farmers, just like he always does, and that waitress, Helen, sent him over to her house to check. He said Darla Sue was bakin’ cookies when he got there and actin’ as if everything was hunky-dory.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Only about two weeks, I guess. Seems like years.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lillie said. “We’ll make arrangements to get you some help, I promise.” She glanced over her shoulder as the back door slammed. “Helen! Thank goodness. I was afraid poor Rosie was stuck here all by herself.”
Helen engulfed Lillie in a smothering, motherly embrace. Lillie couldn’t help noticing that the portly woman’s clothing and hair smelled of vanilla, bacon and cigarettes. Gram used to smell like that, too, except without the nicotine. The familiar aromas tugged at Lillie’s heart.
“I just went to dump the trash and grab a quick smoke,” Helen said. “It’s been crazy here lately. Miss Darla’s gone off the deep end, business is terrible and somebody’s been tryin’ to run off the new preacher