“Come on, Danielle Hamilton—I know you better than that.”
A laugh-sob combination escaped me. “I’m just homesick is all.”
“I miss you too, babe! Not that I believe that is all that’s troubling you, BUT I actually called because I have something exciting to tell you. That is, if you want to hear it.”
“I’d love to hear it.” If anything could take me out of my mood it would be something that made my friend smile.
We spent the next couple hours on the phone as she informed me all about her new boyfriend. She filled me in on all the details from how they met, to when he’d left her place after their first sleepover. When she pressed me for details about the guys in town, I decided to leave Corey out. Whether we were friends or just benefits—I wasn’t in the mood to dissect our situation yet. It was extremely difficult to say goodbye and hang up the phone. Especially, when she made comments for me to hurry up and do what I came there to do, so I could get home to her.
Home —had always been a foreign concept to me. Sure I’d always had a roof over my head and even felt loved in places I’d lived. None of them though, made me feel at home. My hopes of a home died right along with the dreams of my mom getting off drugs and my dad coming back. Maybe someday I’d understand the meaning of the word but I didn’t hold onto that thought too much.
When I got off the phone with Gabby I felt better and decided it was probably best to respond to Corey before he sent a search party out for me.
Sorry for being MIA today but I’m okay. Don’t worry about last night—we’re fine.
A response came within a minute of the text being sent.
I’m glad you’re okay—know if you need anything that I’m here for you, Danielle. Always.
I didn’t respond but held the phone and message close to my heart. Despite every reason telling me not too, I believed him.
* * * *
When Sunday afternoon rolled around, I headed over to my Gram’s for dinner with my unopened bottle of red wine. One thing I learned quickly while growing up with my grandma—never show up to her house emptyhanded.
The house smelt incredible—just the way I always remembered growing up. The mouthwatering smell of pot roast, mashed potatoes and Gram’s homemade gravy lured me into the kitchen. Sunday dinner was always an event in the house where my Grandmother insisted on dressing nicely. She wore a pair of jeans that sat high on her hips and fit her legs with no added flair. Paired with that was her deep red short-sleeved sweater and a couple of her favorite gold bracelets.
Even without the reminder of how Sunday dinners were I still remembered to dress to her expectations. I selected my gray dress pants and navy V-neck wrap around top. My hair had been a mess earlier that day from my extremely long bath and my inability to properly brush through the wet tangles left it a disaster. After taking a look at it in the mirror I gave up, yanked and pulled until it lay in a French braid down my back.
“You’re late,” My Gram said pulling me from my thoughts.
“Nice to see you too.” She ignored the attitude behind my comment. Sitting on the island in a little dish were tons of green olives—one of my favorite snacks. My fingers found a couple and popped them into my mouth. “It smells delicious,” I added to soften the tension.
Gram turned to face me; hands at her hips, lips pursed. This was her classic ‘you’re in trouble’ face. She looked great for her age but this stance seemed to add an additional 10 years to her.
“We need to talk, Danielle.”
Uh oh. Full name—never a good sign. “So let’s talk.”
She blew out some of the steam that was locked inside her. “I got a call the other day from Francie Kinds.” Gram paused, waiting for me to understand whatever that meant.
“How nice.” The name meant nothing to me. I kept that part to myself. Gram tended to take things of that nature personally if she believed you should know what she was talking about.
“Emily’s mother.” She spit out, not hiding her irritation. Emily. Emily… Emily who? The tension around her mouth and eyes tightened more than I thought possible.