The hall exploded with applause, and I, feeling slightly dizzy, walked down from the stage where Reed was waiting for me.
The next item on the program was the unveiling of George’s name plate.
I was handed large ceremonial scissors to cut the ribbon.
I did so to camera flashes and renewed applause.
After the formal part, a small informal part began with champagne, light hors d’oeuvres, and a tour of the new wing.
Many people came up to me to congratulate and thank me.
Wesley and Kora were among them.
“Mom, that was impressive,” Wesley said, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. “Dad would be proud.”
“Yes, he would have been proud,” I agreed. “Especially if he saw his grandson, Reed, helping to organize this event. The way he takes care of his grandmother.”
“George always appreciated family loyalty.”
Wesley flinched, catching the hint.
“Mom, I know that we… that what I did was wrong, but we can fix it. Start over.”
“Maybe,” I nodded. “But it takes time and trust.”
“And trust, Wesley, is something you have to earn.”
I saw Lewis Quinnland coming toward us and felt strangely relieved.
“I apologize for interrupting,” he said, coming up. “Edith, Miss Apprentice would like you to say a few words to the children who are already learning the new section.”
“Of course.”
I turned to my son.
“Excuse me, Wesley. Duty calls.”
Lewis offered me his hand, and I gratefully accepted it.
We stepped back, but instead of leading me to Miss Apprentice, he headed toward a quiet corner of the garden near the library.
“Miss Apprentice wasn’t looking for me, was she?” I asked with a slight smile.
“Guilty,” he admitted. “Just thought you might need an escape from a tense conversation.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “It’s… it’s not easy. They’re my kids no matter what.”
“I understand,” Lewis nodded. “Family relationships are always complicated. But you’re right. Trust has to be earned.”
We sat on a bench in the shade of an old oak tree. We had a view of the new wing of the library, the gold plaque with George’s name on it glistening in the sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” Lewis said. “The architect did a good job of harmonizing the new wing with the old building.”
“Yes, it’s very nice,” I agreed. “George would be pleased.”
We were silent for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet of the little garden despite the noise of the celebrations nearby.
“I’ve been thinking,” Lewis said suddenly. “Next weekend they’re doing King Lear at the town theater. I’ve bought two tickets, but my sister, with whom I was going to go, has to leave unexpectedly to visit her daughter.”
He looked at me, steady.
“Would you like to keep me company?”
I was surprised by the invitation—and by the way my heart jumped.
There was something in his eyes. Warmth, hope, maybe even a hint of uncertainty that made my heartbeat a little faster.
“I’d love to,” I replied, surprised at my own resolve.
Lewis brightened.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at six. The play starts at seven, but I thought we could have dinner before then.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I smiled, feeling a slight excitement I hadn’t felt in years.
We headed back to the celebration where Reed was already looking for us.
“Grandma, there you are,” he exclaimed. “Miss Apprentice wants you to meet the kids from the summer reading club.”
“Coming, honey.” I turned to Lewis. “Duty calls for real this time.”
“Of course,” he bowed slightly. “I’ll see you this weekend.”
The next two hours flew by in a whirlwind of meetings, conversations, pictures. I met with the kids from the reading club, told them about George’s favorite books, and promised to read one of them to them at the next class.
I answered questions from the local newspaper who wanted to do an article about the opening. I listened to the many thanks from parents whose children would be using the new wing.
Finally, when the ceremony came to an end and most of the guests had dispersed, Reed and I got into his car to head home.
“It was a beautiful day,” he said as he started the engine. “You did good, Grandma.”
“Thanks, honey.” I felt pleasantly tired. “Yes, it was a special day.”
“I saw you talking to Mr. Quinnland,” Reed gave me a sly look. “You two seem to get along well, don’t you?”
I felt warmth rush to my cheeks.
“He’s an interesting person to talk to,” I said evasively.
“Is that all?” Reed was clearly enjoying my embarrassment.
I shook my head, but I couldn’t hold back a smile.
“At my age, I’m not looking for romance anymore.”
“Why not?” Reed objected. “Age is no barrier to happiness. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you—the same way I look at Audrey.”
I didn’t answer, but his words made me think.
Was age really a handicap?
Hadn’t I proven to myself in those three months that life could begin again at any moment if I put my mind to it?
As we pulled up to my apartment building, I noticed a familiar car parked nearby.
Thelma.
She was sitting on the bench in front of the driveway, obviously waiting for me.
“Mommy.” She got up when she saw us. “I’m so glad I made it. My order ran out sooner than I thought, so I decided to come. I didn’t want to miss the big day.”
She was holding a bouquet—not store-bought, but personally made. I could tell by the particular way she put it together, the way her work was always distinctive.
“Thank you, dear.” I accepted the flowers. “They’re beautiful.”
“May I come in?” There was an uncertainty in her voice that I hadn’t noticed before. “If you’re not too tired, of course.”
I looked at my daughter—at her tense face, at the way she was nervously rubbing the strap of her bag.
Maybe she really was sorry for what had happened.
Maybe she was trying to change.
“Sure. Come on in,” I said, and opened the door.
“Reed, are you coming in, too?”
“No, Grandma. I have a meeting with Audrey.” He kissed my cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Thelma and I went up to the apartment.
She was looking around with obvious interest. It was her first visit here.
I could see the surprise on her face. She was probably expecting something more modest, not a bright, spacious apartment with new furniture and a nice view from the windows.
“It’s very nice,” she said at last. “It’s cozy.”
“Thank you.” I put the bouquet in the vase. “Tea, coffee?”
“Tea, if I may.”
While I made tea, Thelma looked at the pictures on the walls— a few old ones from the old house, and many new ones of me with the kids at the library, with new friends, with Reed and Audrey on a picnic.
“You have a busy life,” she remarked when I returned with the tray. “I didn’t realize you were so active.”
“A lot of people didn’t realize it,” I poured the tea into cups, including myself.
We sat down at a small table by the window.
Thelma was clearly nervous, not knowing where to start the conversation.
“The ceremony was beautiful,” she said finally. “Wesley called me, told me. He was impressed.”
“Thank you.” I sipped my tea. “I’m glad it went well.”
“Mom.” Thelma took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology for that night at the restaurant. For all these years… I did wrong.”
I stared at her in silence, waiting for her to continue.
“I don’t know how things got this way,” she continued, staring into her cup. “We were close once, and then… everyday life, the worries, the store. It all seemed to come between us.”
“I forgot that you’re not just a mom who will always be there for me. You’re a person with your own feelings, desires, plans.”
For the first time in a long time, I saw sincerity in her eyes.
“Thank you for those words, Thelma,” I said quietly. “They mean a lot to me.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive me right away.” She twirled the cup nervously in her hands. “I realized that trust doesn’t rebuild quickly, but I want to try. I want to be a part of your life again—a real part. Not just a daughter who calls once a month.”
I looked at my daughter, seeing her not only as a grown woman with graying temples, but also as a little girl who once came to me with her joys and sorrows.
Maybe there was still something of that little girl left in her.
“I wish there was,” I said at last. “But you’re right. Trust must be rebuilt gradually, day by day.”
We talked into the evening.
For the first time in years, we had a real conversation instead of just a few sentences.
And when Thelma left, promising to come back over the weekend, I stayed at the window looking out at the darkening sky and the lights of the city.
My new life was just beginning.
A life in which I was not just a mother, a grandmother, a widow, but above all myself.
Edith Thornberry, a woman with so much to look forward…
