Page 41 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
‘Hello,’ Dorothy says meekly, clutching her handbag against her chest.
Grace Maud recognises what it is: Dorothy is, consciously or not, putting up a barrier. She probably doesn’t want to talk to them at all but she’s too polite not to.
Grace Maud long ago gave up caring if others think she’s being rude. She and Patricia and Dorothy have watched each other make strange shapes with their bodies for several weeks now. If that’s not an entrée to inquisitive conversation, she doesn’t know what is.
‘What’s going on with you?’ she says.
Dorothy looks startled. ‘Nothing.’
Grace Maud replies with a sceptical look. ‘Really.’
‘No.’ Dorothy looks at Patricia, who is clearly trying to keep her face in neutral.
‘You’re holding that handbag like you’re concealing the code to the world’s most guarded safe,’ Grace Maud goes on.
‘Oh, that!’ Dorothy’s laugh is artificial. ‘I didn’t even think about it.’
Around them the other students are starting to leave, calling goodbye to Sandrine.
‘Let’s go,’ Grace Maud says, smiling gratefully as Patricia picks up her bag and mat from the floor, carrying them with her own. ‘You can tell us on the way out.’
That tightness in her hips makes her waddle a bit as they walk and Grace Maud envies – as she has before – the easy gait of the younger women. Perhaps she never walked like that; years of riding horses gave her a certain way of moving that could never be called graceful. But she likes to think it felt more fluid than it does now. Not that she’ll ever get that back, no matter how much yoga she does. The body she had is gone, and in exchange she has experience and wisdom. Which is why she’s determined to find out what’s bothering Dorothy, because she can probably fish something out of her past that will help.
‘Honestly, it’s nothing,’ Dorothy says again.
‘Liar!’ Grace Maud says cheerfully, and is rewarded with slightly shocked expressions on the younger women’s faces.
‘Dorothy, you’ve seen me crawling around the floor like an infant,’ Grace Maud adds as they step off the path outside the house so they’re not blocking the others. ‘And last week you had myderrièrein your face when we did that ridiculous hip stretch. I think we’re past the point of pretending not to know each other well. And you aren’t very good at hiding emotions on your face, so I can see that it’s not nothing.’
Patricia, standing beside them, gives an encouraging nod.
Dorothy looks up at the night sky, breathing through her mouth. ‘I have to make a decision,’ she says. ‘And I am really … stuck.’
‘You know, I’m a believer in the idea that we can overthink things,’ Grace Maud says. ‘Because I do it often. I also believe that we are better off if we learn to trust what we feel.’ She smiles. ‘One benefit of being a senior citizen is that I get to make statements like this.’
Dorothy sighs. ‘I want a baby. But I think I have to accept that I need help.’ She pauses. ‘It’s been …’ She swallows. ‘Hard. For my husband. For me.’
‘I can only imagine,’ Patricia murmurs.
Dorothy looks from one of them to the other, as if she’s deciding what to say next.
Grace Maud knows not to push at a moment like this. But she also knows that it’s a privilege when a person tells you something painful, so the best thing she can do is bear witness.
‘The help is in Brisbane,’ Dorothy continues at last. ‘And it’s expensive. And time-consuming. And for all I know …’ She sighs again, loudly. ‘For all I know, it won’t do any good. My husband isn’t sure either.’
Grace Maud takes Dorothy’s free hand. ‘You’ve wanted a baby for a while.’ It’s an acknowledgement, not a question.
Dorothy nods. ‘But … maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s not meant to be.’
‘There’s no such thing as “meant to be”,’ Grace Maud says. ‘That’s a nice phrase people trot out to stop themselves getting upset. If you feel something is right for you, you must do your best tomakeit be.’
They stand in silence for a few seconds.
‘I wanted children,’ Patricia says softly. ‘I was going to say it wasn’t meant to be,’ she glances at Grace Maud, ‘but I don’t think that’s true. It just didn’t happen. For whatever reason. I never met the right man.’ She laughs, but it’s the laugh of someone who is trying not to cry. ‘Or I never made it happen.’
A wistfulness settles on Patricia’s face and Grace Maud recognises it: the mixture of regret and relief that arises when you know you’ve become the person you want to be only because some of the things you thought you wanted never happened.
‘If it’s what you want, I think you should do it, Dorothy,’ Patricia continues. ‘I don’t know you very well but I completely support you. And I think Grace Maud does too.’
