Stages of Grace - By Carey Heywood Page 0,43

I swear I can smell fresh coffee. Kate's up.

I wear a pair of yoga pants, happy the length covers my angry-looking bruise. Kate is pulling eggs out of the fridge when I walk into the kitchen. I impulsively walk over and give her a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

Kate’s face breaks out into a wide grin. "Aren't you sweet? I was thinking eggs this morning. How do you like yours?"

I'm happy with any kind so she makes scrambled eggs and tops them with shredded cheese. While she manages the eggs, I slice up a cantaloupe for us to share after pouring myself a cup of coffee. As we eat by the pool, Kate asks me if I would like to do any sightseeing. I am happy to go or stay at the house. she seems to want to take me to see the mermaid show at Weeki Wachee, which isn’t far. I try to casually ask if Ryan will be coming. Kate doesn’t say anything, but her eyes dance as she tells me that he has to work that day. I'm confused, wondering how we will get there.

"You can drive my car."

"You have a car?"

Kate had stopped driving a couple of years ago when she could not pass the eye exam to keep her license. She kept the car and just let Ryan drive it from time to time to make sure everything still worked. She knew it would make more sense to sell it but just couldn't part with it. She kept it stored at Ryan's house because he had a garage. She sends me over to his house with her spare key to collect it. I feel strange walking into Ryan's house alone, almost like I'm snooping. I have a valid reason for being there. Kate sent me to retrieve the car. It's just that once I'm there, I cannot help the compulsion to look around.

The front door opens into a sitting room similar to Kate's. The house in general seems the same only a mirror image, so the rooms are on different sides. Instead of a lanai, Ryan's rental has a garage. His style seems very minimalist, a beige sofa and TV in the front room, a bar-height dark wood table and chairs in the kitchen. I don't dare look in his bedroom. That would be crossing the line. I do look at the artwork he has on the walls, mainly black and white tropical photos. I wonder if they are pictures from his travels. The entrance to the garage is off the kitchen. As I pass the table, I notice a hoodie slung over the back of one of the chairs. I lift it to my nose. It smells like him. He wears a cologne I don't recognize but like. This smells like that mixed with a salty smell: the gulf or sweat, I wonder.

Once I’m in the garage, I stop to check out Kate's car. It's a silver Cadillac with a convertible top. I'm slightly intimidated driving it. Hopefully, this place isn’t too far, and Kate still knows how to get there. I hit the button to open the garage door, and as slowly as possible, back Kate's Caddy out onto the street, swinging it around to pick her up. There's a garage door opener attached to the visor that I click to shut the door behind me. Weeki Wachee is an hour north from her house. As we drive, I ask her more about my mother. The one thing that still bothers me about Kate's version is I just can't picture my mom hanging on to anger that long to never let Kate back into her life.

Kate doesn’t mince words. She accepts all the blame and feels like a part of her started pushing my mom away after Ronny died. After all of that time, once she understood my mother found someone to love her, my mother left and didn’t look back. Kate doesn’t blame her. She only wishes she could have understood better at the time the consequences of her actions. It still doesn't sit well with me, it just feels out of character for my mom to act that way. I have this image of her and have to accept the fact that maybe she is human and can hold a grudge. Kate seems bent on me not remembering my mother in anything less than a positive light.

"Grace, I'm not the same person I was those days. Living in that house,