Ceci started to scramble to her feet. “But, Grandma,” she objected, “this is my friend Jenny’s mother. Jenny Brady’s mother. From Bisbee.”
“I don’t care who it is or where she’s from. We have to go,” Ernestina Duffy said stiffly, not even bothering to nod in Joanna’s direction. “It’s getting late. You have school tomorrow.”
Standing up at the same time Ceci did, Joanna turned to face Ernestina Duffy. She was a middle-aged Hispanic woman whose striking good looks were still partially visible behind an angry
Ignoring the woman’s brusque manner, Joanna held out her hand. “I’m Joanna Brady,” she explained. “Ceci and Jenny, my daughter, were in second grade and Brownies together back in Bisbee. I wanted to stop by, to check on Ceci, and to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“You can’t bring my daughter back,” Ernestina said coldly.
“No. I can’t do that. And I do know what you’re going through, Mrs. Duffy. My husband’s dead, too. Jenny’s father is dead. He was killed down in Bisbee the same week your daughter died.”
“I’m sorry,” Ernestina said, “but we’ve go to drive all the way home. Come on, Ceci.”
Joanna wasn’t willing to give up. “Jenny’s coming up for Thanksgiving tomorrow,” Joanna said hurriedly. “I was wondering if maybe the girls could get together on Friday for a visit.”
Ernestina shook her head. “I don’t think so. We live clear out in Wittmann. It’s too far.”
“What’s this?” Joe Duffy asked, breaking away from the people around him and dragging his oxygen cart over to where Joanna was standing with Ernestina and Cecelia.
“This is the mother of a friend of Ceci’s from Bisbee,” Ernestina explained. “Her daughter is coming up for a visit on Friday. They wanted us to bring Ceci into town to see her, but I told them—”
“My name’s Joanna Brady,” Joanna said, stepping forward and taking Jefferson Davis Duffy’s bony hand in hers. By then Leann had joined the little group. “And this is my friend Leann Jessup. We’ll be happy to drive up to Wittmann to get her,” Joanna offered. “And we’ll bring her back home that evening.”
The offer of a ride made no difference as far as Ceci Grijalva’s grandmother was concerned. Ernestina Duffy remained adamant. “I still say it’s too far and too much trouble.”
“Now wait a minute here,” her husband interjected. “It might be good for Ceci to be away for a while, to go off on her own and have some fun with someone her age. What time would it be?” he asked, turning to Joanna.
“Morning maybe?” Joanna asked tentatively. “Say about ten o’clock.”
Joe Duffy nodded. “What do you think, Ceci?” he asked, frowning down at the little girl. “Would you like to do that?”
Joanna’s heart constricted at the fleeting look of hope that flashed briefly across Ceci Grijalva’s troubled face. “Please,” she said. “I’d like it a lot.”
The old man smiled. “You call us then,” he said to Joanna. “We’re in information. The only Duffys in Wittmann. My wife manages a little trailer park if you call before you come, I can give you directions.”
Ernestina Duffy tossed her head and stalked off across the stage. She may not have approved of the arrangement, but she didn’t voice any further objections.
