“You’re welcome,” I say begrudgingly since apparently I’m grumpy and mean and don’t know how to take a compliment.
This seems to delight her even further because she winks at me.
Why oh why does my chest tighten at the gesture?
“I’m going to change,” I grumble and make my escape once my tea is gone. “Clo can have some fruit.”
After changing into some basketball shorts, tennis shoes, and a new T-shirt, I return to the kitchen to find Clo going to town on a portion of an apple slice in the palm of Nora’s hand. She watches him with unmasked wonder. I’m so used to the budgies, especially Clo, that maybe I take them for granted. They really are special little creatures.
Clo finishes up his apple pieces, but then I demolish the rest of the slices since he doesn’t need to eat the whole thing. Nora slides onto a stool at the bar and pulls her stacks out to look through.
“I never saw all this stuff,” Nora says absently as she looks at a picture of Goldie and a tiny blonde toddler in a stroller on the boardwalk. “It makes me sad. Mom should be here.”
The picture in her hand must be Nora’s mother based on the age of Goldie and the dated clothes they’re wearing. Goldie stares out over the bay, one hand on the stroller and the other one shading her eyes.
“She never stopped looking for Amos,” I tell her. “Never.”
Nora chews on her bottom lip like she’s trying hard not to cry and nods. “I felt that from her, but she put most of her focus onhaving fun on my visits. We did a lot of shopping and eating and riding our bikes.”
She carefully sets the picture down and pulls out a yellowed, tattered and torn postcard. “If you ever need easiness in a hard, hard world, come to Budgie Bay. - H. Whitaker.” Nora glances up at me. “Who’s that? An old boyfriend?”
I smirk and shake my head. “Nah, that’s Helen. She died about a decade after Goldie moved here. Her family owns the Wing Covert Winery. I went to school with one of her grandkids, Constance, who runs it now.”
“How do you know all this?”
A wave of sadness washes over me. “Goldie told me. She liked telling me stories about the past.”
“Oh.” Nora’s cheeks turn pink and her bottom lip puckers in a slight pout. “She was always asking about me. We didn’t talk much about the past. I came to learn that it was a sore subject for Mom.”
I know all about this too, but I don’t say it. Goldie grappled daily with the fact Sandy resented her for obsessing over Amos’s disappearance, claiming it stole her childhood.
“Look,” Nora says, marveling over a picture of a man with a pipe standing in front of a building on Wing Whirr Way. “That’s my grandpa.” She scrunches her nose and brings the picture closer. “I wonder where this photo was taken. It doesn’t say.”
In this moment, Nora seems young. Like a child looking through her grandmother’s things, unsure what any of it means. I attempt to see things through her eyes. She was fourteen the last time she came to visit, and Goldie always flew out to see her and her mother. I’m sure Goldie spoiled her whenever she went to see her, and I’m certain Goldie would have walked on eggshells around Sandy, careful not to mention anything about Budgie Bay that might be triggering. No wonder Nora doesn’t know much about this stuff.
With me, a local like Goldie, I could swap stories with her and understand her on a level a tourist or summertime visitor wouldn’t. When she came to live with me, I had more time to have conversations with her about her past. I realize this was a gift her granddaughter was never given. In a way, I feel guilty about that.
But I could share them with Nora.
Pass on the stories Goldie told me.
I know her grandma would have wanted me to do that.
“Ever been to The Icehouse?” I ask. “I mean, I’m guessing no since it’s a bar and you would have been too young last time you visited.”
She laughs. “You are correct. Grandma didn’t let me visit any bars when I came to stay.”
“Want to go?”
“There’s so much to do next door,” she says, though she literally winces when she says it.
“It’ll be there later when it’s cooler out. The Icehouse lives up to its name. It’s cool inside.”
Her eyes bore into me as though she’s trying to understand if I have an ulterior motive. I get it. I’m not exactly friendly toward her and can be hot and cold. However, the more I stand here, watching her stare at the picture of her grandfather, clueless about her heritage, I feel convicted to help her learn more about her family.
“First off,” I say, holding up a finger. Clo chirps at me and cocks his head, equally invested in this conversation as Nora is. “The Icehouse is the best bar in town. Even if you’re not a drinker, Silas will take care of you and make you something good.”
“Like sweet, iced tea?”
