Page 21 of Home Body
CHAPTER 15
Mamie, Dalia, and Llayne sat at Mamie’s kitchen table eating zucchini cheese biscuits and drinking hand-squeezed lemonade. The kitchen windows opened to a breeze, the fresh scent of damp earth wafting in after a morning of soft rain. It was a beautiful Michigan summer afternoon, warm with the gentle weight of humidity hanging in the air, the clouds having tumbled away to give the sun its due.
The women could see Rose outside playing tag with her dog, who jumped around in unbridled joy. The child skipped and danced and giggled in return.
Llayne had ordered one of Mamie’s fabulous birthday cakes for a friend’s party that night. Her workday at the TV station ended at one in the afternoon five days a week, her shift as the morning and noon news anchor starting at four-thirty each morning. She’d come straight from work to pick up the cake and Mamie had insisted she sit a while and test out these new biscuits, which Llayne found to be divine.
Llayne felt comfortable here at this old table, in this delightful kitchen, on this charming farm, with these warm people. Funny, it seemed, that through her work and her husband’s she’d met every kind of high-brow, big-wig, businesstycoon, and politician out there. But it was here that she felt most comfortable. Most safe to be herself.
Dalia and Mamie were both so easy to be around. And Rose, well, Rose was like a fresh flower in the sun. Llayne had become enchanted with this unconventional little family. It surprised her, as she’d been cautious at first about her daughter’s new friendship. Kenyon had a habit of being too trusting too quickly. Chad Damon proved a case in point. It wasn’t only that, though. There was something about Dalia that seemed a bit guarded, secretive. At first Llayne had wondered what secrets lurked within the young woman.
Ah, but if anyone knew the occasional necessity for secrets, it was Llayne O’Brien. Her college job as a waitress in a house of burlesque, something her children and her viewing public knew nothing about, had taught her not to judge people too harshly. She’d taken the job because she needed the money to finish college.
There was more, something buried so deep in her soul she’d told no one except her best friend Priscilla and her husbands, one dead and one living. So that confidence seemed secure. Perhaps, she conjectured, she projected her own past as a young woman onto Dalia because Dalia reminded her so much of herself at that age. Both single moms – Llayne was widowed and had adopted Kenyon at that age – and both hard workers. Both beautiful. Llayne had become comfortable over the years admitting that. More importantly, they were both good, kind people. The way Dalia had taken it upon herself to take care of Kenyon proved that.
Besides, meeting Mamie had assuaged any reservations Llayne had. Mamie was the real deal when it came to genuinely good people. And now that she knew Dalia better, Llayne could see what an excellent mother she was to Rose.
Her fears melted away as she enjoyed a delightful afternoon visit with the new friends Kenyon had brought into their lives. Kenyon was still on her “honeymoon” in Los Cabos, so she wasn’t there.
“I fear,” Mamie said, “that Rose is bored.” She shook her head as she watched her granddaughter through the window.
“Yeah,” Dalia admitted. “She loves school. Being off in the summer is tough on her.”
“She’s the most sociable little thing,” Mamie told Llayne. “Loves every minute of being with other kids. Adults, too. And any animal around.”
Dalia poured them each more lemonade from the pitcher on the table as she talked. “It takes her a bit to warm up to people – she’s cautious, which I like – but once she gets to know somebody, she’s all in. When we work at the Farmers’ Market on Saturdays in the summer, she gets to know every vendor there. She loves that.” The proud young mother grinned as she set down the pitcher and took a sip of her drink.
“She adores Kenyan and likes you, too,” Mamie said, shoving the plate of biscuits closer to her guest.
“Oh, I shouldn’t. But they’re so good I can’t resist.” Llayne fetched a second biscuit, buttered it generously, and took a bite. “Oh my word, Mamie these are heaven. As for Rose liking us, we adore her right back.”
It occurred to Llayne that many kids went to summer programs like swim classes or dance or gymnastics. But those cost money and this farm family of three, she figured, couldn’t afford it. She’d already heard the story about Dalia working in a city restaurant to save money to help Mamie open a bakery as well as paying the extras for her biological mother’s stay in a nursing home. Llayne had an urge to offer to pay for lessons for Rose. But she hesitated upon realizing that might be insulting.
“You know,” Llayne said as her mind scrambled to come up with a solution, “I have a friend who teaches children’s gymnastics in the mornings in the summer. The classes are right in town. I heard her just the other day say she had a few scholarships to fill. Donors and all that. Do you want me to ask her about it? I could see if a spot is still available. Might Rose like that?”
“Oh my! Rose would love it.” Dalia felt certain about that.
“Why Llayne, that would be great,” Mamie concurred.
It had been a bald-faced lie. Llayne did have a friend who taught gymnastics but she’d have to arrange an “anonymous” donation for one five-year-old girl. “I’ll be seeing my friend at the birthday party tonight and can let you know tomorrow.”
The phone on the wall rang and Dalia got up to answer it. The two older women ate in silence while she talked. But they dropped their biscuits and became alert as Dalia’s voice rose in a panic.
“What? When?” Dalia’s asked. The silence in the room loomed heavy as she listened closely. “I’ll be right there!” She hung up and spun around. “I have to get to the nursing home right away. Agnes has taken a turn for the worse. She might not make it.” Dalia ran out of the room in search of her purse.
Mamie jumped up and scanned the kitchen, confused. “Oh my. I should go with her. Agnes is her biological mother. I don’t want Dalia to be alone for this. I’ll, ah…” she looked out the window at Rose “… get Rose ready to go with us.” She started for the door.
“Wait.” Llayne stood up and stopped her. “Mamie, I’ll stay with Rose. You go with Dalia. Go be with your daughter.”
“Oh! Thank you so much.” Mamie whipped off her ever-present apron and tossed it onto her chair and dashed out of the room.
Llayne didn’t move, not wanting to lose sight of the child in the backyard, but she heard Mamie quickly telling Dalia she’d offered to babysit.
Dalia rushed into the kitchen, purse over her shoulder and truck keys in hand. “Oh thank you so much. I’ll call…” she pointed at the phone “… as soon as I can. Tell Rose, um, tell her…”
“Dalia, I’ll figure it out,” Llayne reassured her.
The young woman exuded a warmth that felt as familiar as if her own daughter were in the room. When Dalia left, Llayne ached for missing her. Silly, she knew, yet there it was. She heard the mother and daughter leave through the front door and drive away.
