A New Hope - Robyn Carr Page 0,70
never admitted to spending nights in the chair beside Winnie’s bed. Grace would go into her mother’s room to find Winnie sitting up, wearing her favorite bed jacket. This particular morning she’d seen Mikhail out on the deck with coffee.
Winnie’s trembling had worsened and she could no longer fluff her hair or paint on her rose-colored lips—two things she hated to be seen without accomplishing. Grace actually enjoyed helping her mother with these small tasks. It made her feel useful, indispensable even.
“Time for that silly wench from the town to come out and give us a fix-up,” Winnie said of the local hairdresser who had obliged them by making regular house calls.
“As long as you promise not to call her that silly wench,” Grace said with a laugh.
“I know better than that, for God’s sake. It’s like insulting the chef—he might spit in the soup.”
“You could end up with red hair. Or bald,” Grace pointed out. “Would you like to have your tea on the deck?”
“Only if I don’t look like the wrath of God,” Winnie said. “First the ladies’ room, please.”
“The fog hasn’t lifted, but the sun is over the mountains already. You can watch it rise and chase the fog out to sea,” Grace told her. “You’ll need your shawl. Troy and Mikhail are already out there with their coffee. It’s a lovely, dewy morning.”
Winnie didn’t say so often but she liked this place. It was like a vacation, like a chilly and wintry Cabo San Lucas. When she was on the deck, which was a couple of times a day in good weather, there were regular visitors. Sarah Cooper liked to have a morning run with her Great Dane, Ham, and she would stop by some mornings to say hello to Winnie, leaving the dog at the foot of the stairs. Seth Sileski, on the other hand, enjoyed an early-evening jog and would then meet friends at Cooper’s, but he’d frequently stop by for a little report on the town first. Winnie really enjoyed the local news from Seth even if she didn’t know half the people. Grace liked a walk on the beach now and then and she always walked to and from the flower shop if it wasn’t raining. Dr. Grant took his little ones fishing off the dock sometimes and he used that opportunity to ask after Winnie’s health, and their next-door neighbors—the Lawsons—checked in frequently if they saw Winnie enjoying the sunshine.
This was actually new for Winnie—friends and neighbors who weren’t intimidated by her, who cared if she was well or ill.
Mikhail was often about, but he had his own routines. He now donned board shorts that were extralong on his short body, a hat, white socks in his brown German walking shoes. He walked on and off all day long. He went into town, had a meal at the diner almost every day, visited with Waylan at his bar, sometimes helped Grace and Ginger pull in their sidewalk displays at closing time. Even though he didn’t drive he made regular visits to the service station having struck up friendships with the owner, Eric, and his right-hand man, Al. These days he talked a lot about buying a car. And weirdly unsurprisingly, he had many female fans who honked their horns and waved as they drove by. He frequently walked out of town to the nearest farm stand and brought home fresh vegetables. Grace said he must log twenty miles some days.
As July warmed the beach there was a new development that warmed Grace’s heart. She waved to a couple on the beach, and Winnie said, “Who is it, Grace?”
“Ginger and Matt. Holding hands and strolling.” She sighed. “They’re in love and together every weekend.”
“Do I know this Matt?”
“I don’t think so, Mother. We could have them to dinner some weekend if you like. He’s very nice. He’s a farmer from north of here—the Portland area.”
“A farmer? That sounds tedious.”
Grace laughed. “It’s Peyton’s brother. They’re not very showy people but that farm is enormous and very successful. Peyton tells me Matt is a scientist with an advanced degree, science applied to farming. He’s very smart.”
As the couple stopped on the beach and kissed, Winnie made a sound. “Well, there’s what your generation calls something...public displays of something.”
“Is called PDA,” Mikhail informed her. “Public displays of affection, Babushka. Something you have never been accused of.”
Winnie leaned toward him. “I’m not agile and I’m not strong anymore, but if you call me that again I’m