Page 6 of Worth the Trip

“You had one supplier meeting. The other afternoon, you reorganized storage.”

“It needed to be done.”

“By somebody. Not necessarily you.”

I opened my mouth and found nothing useful waiting there.

Through the narrow office window, one of our bakers carried a tray of cookies toward the cooling rack while two employees debated how much caramel belonged on a sundae. Nobody looked toward my office. Nobody appeared panicked. No one was waiting for me to rescue the morning.

Nyla watched me notice.

“I like being useful.”

“I know.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No. But you don’t know what to do with yourself when nobody needs something from you.”

The words settled harder than I wanted them to.

I looked down at the child’s drawing still resting in my hand.

Nyla didn’t rush to fill the silence.

Eventually, she reached into her purse and placed a cream-colored envelope on the desk between us.

My name was written across the front in Nana’s looping script.

“What is this?”

“You’ll have to open it.”

“You already know.”

“Obviously.”

I slid my finger beneath the flap and removed a folded card. Inside, Nana had written three lines.

The guest room is ready.

The porch misses you.

Come let somebody take care of you for a change.

Beneath the note rested a brochure for Willow Run’s annual waterfront festival. The cover showed a row of small shops facing a tree-lined street, with live music, garden tours, local art, and a weekend market spread across the center.

I read Nana’s note again.

The porch misses you.

Only that woman could make a piece of furniture sound disappointed in me.

“Nana’s trying to guilt me through architecture.”

“She knows her audience.”

“The festival is next weekend.”