At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,48

was one of iron. "Thank you," she murmured over the top of the woman's helmet of dyed red hair. "Gramma appreciated all you did for her over the last few years."

"It was the least we could do," Mrs. Townsend said, releasing Gracie from her grasp. "Cordelia was always the first one to pitch in when others needed help."

Cordelia. The sound of her grandmother's Christian name startled Gracie. She knew Gramma Del but she would never know Cordelia. All of Gramma's secrets and stories were gone now and with them so much of Gracie's history.

The woman took her place in the tightly-knit circle of church members standing near the doorway. Mary Townsend, Celia Grove, every female in the Daugherty family, Diane Heston and her great-granddaughters—the list was endless. Many of them were white-haired and in need of canes and walkers. They were the ones who had grown up with Gramma Del, who sat beside her in grade school, who shared joys and sorrows with her over the years. There was a sense of tribal ritual about the gathering, as if they gathered strength from the familiar stories, the old jokes.

She wished she could take comfort in memory but right now the grief was too fresh, too new. The sight of her cottage with the lights off and the windows locked broke Gracie's heart. Without Gramma Del, it no longer seemed like home.

Her father had taken off as soon as the EMTs told him Gramma was gone. She and Noah had walked out on the docks while the men from the funeral parlor attended to their business. By the time they returned to the house, Ben was gone and he hadn't been heard from since.

Gracie wished she cared. She wished she could find it within herself to find him and tell him it was okay, that she would be the one now to shoulder his burdens but she couldn't do it. Something inside her had shut down with Gramma Del's death and she found herself filled with anger every time she thought about Ben. She wanted to slap his face until her hand hurt. She wanted to scream at him until her throat was raw and hoarse. She wanted to tell him that this was all wrong, this topsy-turvy family of theirs. He was the parent. He should be there to comfort her. He should be telling her that things would be alright, that he would take care of her, that she would never have to worry about keeping a roof over her head or food on the table. He should have done that when she was a little girl and the world was a dark and scary place without a mother to love her.

Children were adaptable creatures. They could get used to almost anything but the absence of love.

When she was in kindergarten, she used to lie awake at night imagining how it would be if she lived with the Adamses down near the river. They had so many children, all ages and sizes. What difference could one more make? She'd pictured herself slipping in through one of the bedroom windows and curling up next to Laquita, maybe, or one of her sisters, burrowing under a big puffy quilt just like she belonged there. In the morning she would line up with her toothbrush and wait her turn to use the bathroom. By the time she trooped into the kitchen for cereal she would be one of the gang.

How she had longed for family, for brothers and sisters. For a mother to love her no matter what. For a father who didn't look away every time she came into the room. Without Gramma Del, she didn't know how she would have survived.

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Ruth Chase finished buttoning her jacket then surveyed herself in her bedroom mirror. Old, she thought. There was no other way to put it. She looked old and tired and sad beyond description. "Oh Del," she said to her reflection. "You always said black wasn't my color and you were right."

Del Taylor had never been one to withhold her opinions. How Ruth missed those long ago afternoons around the kitchen table, trading town gossip while Del chopped onions for supper and Gracie did her homework. With Noah away at boarding school, the big house seemed empty to Ruth and she had relied on Del to bring it to life.

Had she ever told Del how much she loved her? Ruth couldn't remember. Their bond had been strong but so were their