Well, if you remember, there we were, the three of us, next to the SUV,
when Grandpa came up with his hare-brained idea to get Joshua some
dinner. While I wanted nothing more at that moment than to
be rid of the boy.
Sidling up to Grandpa, I put my hand in his.
"Are you sure?" I still had one eye on Joshua, unwilling to let him
out of my sight. "Joshua probably needs to meetup with his friends."
"Nonsense," said Grandpa, pulling his hand from mine. "It's the
least we can do. What do you say, Josh, buddy? You have time
for a bite?"
A self-satisfied smirk lit upon Joshua's face. He looked from Grandpa
to me and back again with green eyes flashing hot and excited. I'm not
kidding. Gone were the sad eyes of the young man in the coffee shop.
His eyes actually flashed.
As quickly as that thought popped into my head, I shook it away. Who
ever heard of eyes flashing? It must be the late
afternoon sunlight hitting Joshua's face just right. It had to be,
I told myself.
More next week . . . Love Grandma
-6-
Sep 18
Dearest Lucas
I'm sure you can guess what happened next in this little story, but
just in case, I'll fill you in. Grandpa headed down the hill with
Joshua in tow, ignoring my concerns. I lagged behind, ashamed of
myself, of being such a fraidy-cat. It's not a trait of which I'm
particularly proud. And really, what did I have to fear? A
lonesome boy running away from his evil mother? If Grandpa believed
him, and he certainly did, then why couldn’t I?
We continued on, past the leaf-lookers' cars. Those who boarded the
train earlier that day to gawk at fall's foliage infested with deep
hues of yellow, orange, and red.
Finally, we arrived at Harvest on Main. A young woman with a silver
nose ring, outfitted in a long black apron and starched white shirt
seated us near the restaurant's stone fireplace. An enormous elk
head hung above the hand-hewn mantle. Canoe paddles, snowshoes,
old-timey pictures, and stuffed Mallards adorned log walls. The
waitress handed me a menu. And here, in my favorite
restaurant, I began to settle.
More next week . . . Love Grandma
-7-
Sep 25
Dearest Lucas
We sat in the cozy warmth of the restaurant, quiet companions,
Grandpa and Joshua all talked out. The dark-haired, nose-ringed
waitress brought our food. (Are we still allowed to call female
waitstaff waitresses? Should I refer to her as a waiter? Was
that also inappropriate?) As she placed our plates before us,
sumptuous smells drifted up from the burgers and mounds of
fries ordered by Joshua and Grandpa. They dug into their meals.
Grandpa, thankfully, with mannerly restraint. Joshua, however,
attacked his like a ravenous dog. With a lowered head and
scruffy hair falling in his face, one arm wrapped around the
top of his plate, he shoveled food into his mouth with
the other. It tugged at my heart. Grandpa had been right all
along when he insisted we feed Joshua. I cut my Reuben into fours.
Oddly, sitting in my favorite Blue Ridge restaurant, watching
this young man eat, nibbling at the first quarter of my sandwich,
a sense of well-being replaced the day's fears and frustrations.
We were almost at an end. Safe. On our way home. I savored it.
Authored by a human without AI assistance.