Stages of Grace - By Carey Heywood Page 0,29

top, while somewhat bottom heavy. Her hair is much shorter than in the picture, a silver curled coif. The clothes she wears remind me of the scrubs I wear at work: simple blue elastic pants and a printed top. I set the small tower of plates on the kitchen counter and begin rinsing the crumbs off of them before loading them into the dishwasher. Someday, I would love to have a dishwasher of my own. Kate leans up against the counter, watching me work.

When I finish, I turn to look at her. "What would you like to do now?"

"I'd like to have a bit of a lie down if it's okay with you. You're welcome to explore the house or swim in the pool. It’s heated."

"Oh, thank you. Which way is the room I'm staying in?"

"Your room is the last one down that hall," she says, pointing past the kitchen. "Now if you need anything my room is on the other side of the living room."

We go our separate ways. I slow down to look at the photos on the wall of the hallway. They’re of my mother as a young girl. There are also photos of a young man. I wonder who he is. In the pictures they seem close. There is one staged professional one where he sits with my mother and grandmother in matching sweaters. Do I have an uncle I never knew of as well? This all seems so strange. I continue down the hall to my room, passing a pale blue bathroom on my right before coming to my room.

I lean on the doorway before going in. It may be the prettiest spare room I have ever seen. The walls are papered with a pale, butter shade striped print. In the center of the room is a queen-sized bed with cream comforter and an antique white metal frame. The bed has a rounded look that gives hint that it's a featherbed. There is a mass of pillows at the head: four plump standard pillows behind maybe five decorative pillows, each one different. A mismatched pair of white tables are on either side of the bed, each with matching glass lamps. In the corner is a comfy looking gray armchair with a cream crocheted blanket draped across the back. Next to the chair is an oversized ornate white dresser with a mirror top. An antique tortoise shell brush and hand mirror surrounded by various perfume bottles sit on top of the dresser. My suitcase is lying on top of a bench at the end on the bed.

Pushing myself off of the doorframe, I walk into the room and begin unpacking my things. There is a small closet off to the side with free hangers and the top two drawers of the dresser are empty. Not knowing what to pack, I had possibly over packed. I just didn’t know what to expect and wanted to have multiple options. I brought two sundresses and a more formal sheath-style dress. The sundresses traveled well. The sheath dress would need to be ironed if I actually want to wear it. Next I hang the dress shirts and slacks I had packed. My other clothes could go in the dresser.

I use the top drawer for my underclothes, one bathing suit, and socks. I open the next drawer to unpack t-shirts, shorts and capris. I set my toiletry bag on the dresser and extra shoes I packed in the free space beneath it. Placing my carryon inside of my larger suitcase, I store them on the floor of the closet. Before shutting the door, I look at my clothes, hoping they aren’t too out of style. It has been ages since I bought anything new. I think about going for a swim but suddenly feel beat from all of my traveling and can’t help but curl up on the fluffy looking bed.

It’s dark outside when I blink open my eyes. I look around, not certain where I am or where to find a light switch. My hand fumbles up and down the glass lamp closest to me until I find its switch on the cord. Once the light is on, I reach for my phone to see what time it is: nine o'clock. I wonder where my grandmother is and if she’s annoyed I have slept through dinner. I go to the bathroom to freshen up before heading towards the kitchen. Nearing the kitchen, I hear voices; I flush when I recognize