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“Hang on to me, Wyatt,” he said. “I’ll leave the walker out here.”
They went into the house. Anita glanced around, wondering where Susan was. The woman wasn’t in sight, though. The interior was mostly blues and pinks, likely the favorite color of one of the women in the house.
“This way,” Lila said. “We’re set up on the back patio. Mother likes to watch the birds and butterflies. She’ll stay out there all day if I let her.”
They continued through the kitchen, where a couple of Crock Pots were steaming away. They smelled delicious. But at this moment, Anita didn’t think she could eat a thing. Not when her stomach was in knots of anticipation.
Lila stepped onto the back patio first, followed by Wyatt and Sam.
A round table had been set with bowls, glasses, and utensils. In the middle of the table was a flower arrangement that nearly blocked the view of a petite elderly lady sitting in a chair. The woman’s hair was a snowy white, but her blue eyes were as bright as her daughter’s. It was clear she’d put some effort into her appearance, since her lips and cheeks were a soft pink.
Her expression looked as if it were caught between a smile and surprise.
“Susan,” Sam said, the word more like a question.
She set a liver-spotted hand on the table’s edge and pushed up to a standing position. “Sam, is that you?”
Sam broke away from Wyatt’s grasp and moved around the table toward her. He reached out a hand, and Susan grasped it, hers trembling and his more steady.
“I can’t believe you look the same,” she said.
Sam chuckled. “I’ve changed quite a bit. It’s you who looks the same.”
Susan’s cheeks flushed, and she touched her white hair. “This has changed.”
He lifted his gaze to her hair. “I always knew you were a blonde.”
Susan tightened her hold on his hand because they were still clasped. “You always teased me. I see that hasn’t changed.”
He shook his head slowly. “I got your postcard.”
“I was hoping you would,” Susan said. “I waited, you know, until the obituary came out.”
“Norma’s?” Surprise was clear in his tone.
She nodded, and then her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, Susan . . .”
Still holding her hand, Sam guided her to sit back down, and he settled into the chair next to her. It was like no one else was around, and they were having a private conversation.
“I know I shouldn’t have been pining all these years,” she said, taking a napkin from the table and dabbing at her eyes. “I tried to move on and let you go. I really did.”
Sam’s forehead creased into a frown. “I thought you were in love and that you were happy to marry your sweetheart. Your announcement was the last letter I ever received from you.” He drew in a breath. “I kept writing, you know, just to wish you all the best and to ask for any updates. No more letters came, though. And once I married Norma, I decided that was that.”
She nodded, looking down at their clasped hands. “I was too late . . . I waited too long . . .”
“What are you talking about?” Sam asked. “What were you too late for?”
Suddenly, Susan seemed to notice they weren’t alone and had a rather captive audience. She looked across the table. “Who do we have here?”
Wyatt cleared his throat. “My name is Wyatt, and I’m Sam’s grandson. These are our friends, Anita and her daughter Carly.”
“Welcome,” Susan said with a gracious smile, as if she hadn’t just been tearful. “Make yourselves at home and have a seat. Lila can bring in the soups. We know you’ve had a long drive.”
“Oh, I can help Lila,” Anita said immediately, although she kind of wanted to stay and hear any conversation between Susan and Sam.
Lila waved her off, though. “You stay and hear what Susan has to say. Maybe you can help with cleanup.”
