Page 99 of Always Meant for You
Gladys runs her fingers over the silk, and the light returns to her eyes. She peers up at Cal, her gaze sharp and vibrant. “I would wear my blue scarf when your grandfather and I went square dancing on Saturday nights.”
Cal’s lips part, but nothing comes out.
For a beat, nobody speaks.
“Did you, now?” I ask, desperate to keep her in this lucid moment.
Gladys nods. “That’s right, Mabel. Your mother and father went with us. Even your grandparents. But that was before you were born. How I used to love those nights and the music. Fiddles and banjos playing. My palms would be red from clapping, and my cheeks would ache from smiling.”
“You used to play that kind of music in the kitchen,” Cal says, his voice thick. “I always wondered why.”
“Elverna was the place to be back then. Isn’t that right, Gladys?” Margaret adds with a wistful smile.
Gladys beams. “Indeed, darlin’.”
She turns to me. “Your brother used to ask me what it was like, back in those days. Back when we’d listen to square dancing tunes in the kitchen.”
“Did he?” My voice barely makes it past the lump in my throat.
“He loved to hear about the old times in Elverna. We used to sit at the table talking about the beginning of it all. Isn’t that right, Cal?”
Cal’s lips curve in the sweetest, saddest smile. “Yes, ma’am. We sure did.”
“He wanted to know about how our grandparents farmed. I told him about the diverse crops. How the town worked as a team.”
Margaret nods. “Our grandparents listened to the land and followed its rhythm.”
Gladys leans forward, a slight frown touching her lips. “Things started changing around the forties and fifties. Industrialization. Pesticides. Self-sustained farms disappeared little by little. Do you remember those talks, Cal?”
“I do, Gran,” he says, voice barely audible, his bottom lip trembling.
I slide my hand onto his under the table.
I need him to know he’s not alone.
I brace for him to pull away, but slowly, he curls his fingers around mine. His palm is warm and rough. He’s trusting me, at least a little, letting me carry the weight with him.
And I’ll hold on as long as he’ll allow it.
“How’s the switch to sustainable farming coming, Callan?” Gladys asks.
I half expect Cal to let go, but he doesn’t. His thumb grazes across my knuckles in a gesture so tender it nearly steals my breath.
“It’s coming along, Gran,” he says, and for the first time since we got here, he’s steady. “Every farm is now certified organic. The soil’s better than it’s been in decades.”
Gladys presses her hand to her heart. “That’s wonderful news, sweetheart. Your grandfather would be so proud.”
“And Mabel’s helping Cal with getting the word out,” Margaret adds.
“My goodness! More good news,” Gladys croons. “It would make your brother so happy to hear that, Mabel. He once told me,” Gladys says, stroking the silk scarf. “He always knew . . .” Her gaze grows distant.
“Gran?” Cal says softly.
“Jamie would say that you and Callan were meant . . .” she continues, her tone growing hollow.
A few seconds pass.
Then a minute.
