Malcolm waved his arm over his head, beckoning me to leave my comfortable seat on the patio and join in the game. “Come on in, honey! The water’s fine!” And immediately, the grandkids started chorusing, “Come on, Grammy! Come play!”
“After lunch,” I promised, looking down at the pink bundle in my lap. “I’m having a pretty good time right here at the moment.”
When we married, I had eight grandchildren and Malcolm had three. This new addition, Ellie, gives us an even dozen. Yes, life is very good.
Chrissy, who was in the kitchen making a salad, poked her head out the door. “Mom? Are you getting tired of holding her?”
“Never,” I said, looking down at this perfect little person, placing my finger in her palm and smiling as the five tiny fingers curled around mine.
“We should be ready to eat in about fifteen minutes. What time do you think Monica and Bob will show up? Should I hold off serving until they get here?”
“Well, Monica said they were coming, but they only got home last night. I’m sure they’re so jetlagged they’ll probably sleep right through the barbeque—but hopefully not Grace’s opening.”
For a moment, I considered getting up, calling Monica’s house, and leaving a message reminding them about the opening, but decided I’d wait a few more hours before disturbing the honeymooners. The opening started at five. There was still plenty of time.
Baby Ellie stirred in her sleep, yawned and stretched, clenching her tiny fists as she lifted her arms over her head, then opened her eyes and blinked, gazing at me with a solemn expression.
“You’re awfully serious for someone who’s only six weeks old,” I said, lowering my face closer to hers. “You don’t look as if you approve of me one bit.”
Ellie blinked again, as if confirming my observation. I looked at my daughters. “Honestly, have you ever seen a baby so serious? I think she’s sitting here right now, judging every one of us, and wondering when her real family is coming to claim her.”
Emily laughed, then got up from her chair and looked over my shoulder at her newest niece. “Sorry, kiddo. It’s not a bad dream. We really are your family.”
Brianna grinned “Jake was like that. Don’t you remember, Mom? He always used to—”
My cell phone, which was sitting on the table, rang. Brianna stopped in the middle of her sentence. Emily held out her arms. “Here, Mom. I’ll take her.”
In the two years I’d had my phone, it had rung less than a dozen times, but I continued to carry it with me everywhere I went, making sure it was always charged and within arm’s reach, the ringer turned up as high as it would go. Everyone in the family knows why. Of those dozen calls from Dani, probably half were requests for food or clothing, and once for a ride to the doctor when she caught bronchitis. The others, in spite of the conditions I’d laid out to Dani, were stoned, panicked, often incoherent conversations in which she either demanded or pleaded for me to give her money. Those calls were hard to take, painful to listen to, but I was grateful for every call because at least I knew that Dani was still alive.
I was sure this call would be the same as all the others, brief and largely uneventful, but my heart was hammering just the same. It always does when Dani calls. Hope dies hard in a mother’s heart.
I handed the baby to Emily and picked up the phone, walking quickly toward one of Malcolm’s hosta beds before answering the call, turning my back so the girls wouldn’t be able to overhear my conversation.
“Dani?”
“Hi, Mom.”
She sounded nervous, subdued, and anxious, but coherent.
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you? Do you need something?”
“No, I . . . I just . . . Mom, I overdosed yesterday.”
“Oh, Dani. Oh, my God,” I said, my words a prayer, tears springing to my eyes.
“It’s okay, Mom. Really, I’m okay. That’s not why I’m calling. The policeman who found me, the one who called the ambulance, came around today and said there was a rehab spot open for me if I wanted to take it. I decided I do. I want to stop, to get my life back.”
“Oh, honey . . . Dani, that’s wonderful. . . .”
“Mom, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”
“It’s all right,” I said, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. “It’s happy crying.”
“Well . . . don’t start dancing a jig just yet,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice, the first time I’d heard that in years. “It’s going to be hard. A lot of people who go into rehab still don’t make it.”
“I know. But you will, Dani. You’re strong. And you’re ready.”
“I am,” she said quietly. “I really think I am.”
“Honey, do you want me to come get you? I could drive you there, bring you some clothes.”
“No, Mom. Not right now. You can visit in a few weeks, but . . . I need to do this on my own, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, bobbing my head and blinking back tears. “I’ll be praying for you, sweetheart. So will Malcolm.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll need it.”
“Can I tell your brothers and sisters? Everybody’s here.”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s Homecoming,” she said, the sound of her smile making my heart sing. “Yeah, you can tell them. Tell them that I said hello and that next year I’ll be at the barbeque.”
“I will, Dani. I’ll tell them.”
Chapter 45
Grace
“Grace? Is this good, or do you want it higher?”
I turn from the table, where I have been pouring bottles of ginger ale and pink lemonade into the punch bowl, and look up to see my husband standing on a ladder and holding a rope.
“Can you bring it up about a foot? I think it looks better when they’re hanging at different heights.” Luke pulls the rope, raising the bar and the quilt
