Etta listened to the wooden screen door slap closed behind her sister and then stood up as well. She slipped her shoes back on and wandered inside, stopping in the foyer to admire the dozens of plants and flowers sent by Grammy’s friends and neighbors. She began gathering the attached sender’s cards, glancing at them as she went, thinking she should get busy writing thank you cards. It would be a good way to fill the time while she waited for Donny Joe to show up for their meeting. The outpouring of love for her grandmother hadn’t been surprising. The evidence was all around her. Everyone loved Miz Hazel.
She retrieved the note cards provided by the funeral home and sat down at her grandmother’s rolltop desk in the formal living room. She knew a lot of these names from the summers she’d spent in Everson, so it was easy to write sincere notes thanking them for their thoughtfulness. She sifted through the cards reading names. Bertie Harcourt. She owned the Rise-N-Shine Diner. The choice of most of Everson’s fine folks for breakfast with a side of gossip. Milton and Bitsy Jones. He used to own the barber shop, and Bitsy had served on the Garden Club board with Grammy for as long as she could remember. Hoot and Maude Ferguson. Dooley and Linda Parker. Etta’s eyes burned and her throat tightened reading the nice things people had to say about her grandmother.
She couldn’t believe she was gone. It was the little things she’d miss most. Sitting on the front porch listening to her tell stories about the family, cooking with her in the kitchen, and her hugs. Grammy gave the best hugs in the world. Troubles and worries disappeared when wrapped in her loving arms, and Etta would never have the comfort of that again. Closing her eyes she took a moment to collect herself. She had to keep it together if she was going to deal with the house and the problem of Donny Joe.
She set back to work, writing thank you notes, but she’d barely made a dent in the stack of cards when she came to one that made her stop and catch her breath. It was addressed to her.
Dear Etta,
Sending all my love and sympathy on the loss of your dear grandmother.
Love,
Diego
She smiled. That was as much of an apology as she was likely to get from him, but in Diego-speak it meant everything was forgiven. Please come home soon. It also meant nobody worked as hard as she did, so please, please come home soon, because the restaurant wasn’t so easy to manage while she was away. These days instead of preparing food she’d been pushed farther into the management side of running the restaurant. Ordering supplies, making schedules for work staff, paying vendors, all of the necessary nuts and bolts chores that had to be handled day to day.
Meanwhile, Diego got to concentrate on cooking. She’d been unhappy with the arrangement for a while, and maybe this would make Diego appreciate her a bit more. When she talked to him later, she’d fill him in on all the drama surrounding her grandmother’s will. He’d fill her in on things at the restaurant and tell her how things went with the oh-so-important Mann party. And then they’d laugh about the soup-dumping incident. Or maybe not. It might be too soon to mention the soup.
She checked the front window at the sound of a truck’s tires scattering gravel as it drove up the long driveway. Etta stayed at the desk watching Donny Joe park his shiny silver pickup truck and climb out of the cab. He glanced up at the house and then reached back inside the truck to grab a battered leather briefcase.
Donny Joe Ledbetter.
Even his name brought back memories of summers in Everson. And not the good kind. It reminded her of those awkward teenage years when every young girl starts trying to figure out what kind of woman she wants to become. A time when out of the blue flirting and teasing suddenly seem like worthwhile pastimes.
She’d never been very good at boy-girl stuff. The way boys and girls talked about one thing with their words and something else with their eyes. It didn’t come naturally to her. In the end it was a waste of time for her to try. Just as soon as any boy started talking to her, Belle would arrive on the scene, and Etta would become invisible. Belle after all was the prize, the blonde dream girl, the shiny object that set all young men’s hearts and loins on fire. Etta knew she couldn’t compete with that and eventually stopped trying.
And a boy like Donny Joe? Even in those days he was risky business, sure of himself, and oozing testosterone. Completely out of her league. Oh yes, she remembered him very well. He’d been one of many who circled around the edge of Belle’s world hoping to find a way to impress her. And since Etta was Belle’s younger sister he’d actually paid a bit of attention to her, too, hoping he was sure to earn some extra points with Belle. He teased her for being so short, poked fun at her for always having her nose in a book, ragged on her for being too serious. She’d blushed and smiled like a goose every time he took notice of her, and of course, developed a pathetic crush on him that was destined to go nowhere. She wasn’t the first teenage girl to long for an unattainable boy, but still, it was a little embarrassing looking back on it. That crush ended abruptly a few months later when she heard that he had gone joyriding in Grammy Hazel’s cherry red 55 Chevy Bel Air convertible and wrecked it. She’d loved that car. Apparently, Grammy forgave him at some point. Etta didn’t feel so generous.