Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I stopped at her door with the album tucked under my arm. “Hello, I am looking for a Mrs. Wanda Sellers.”
The lady looked me up and down. I suddenly felt as if I should have changed into something nicer than my work clothes. When her gaze met mine, she smiled. “You’re Honey’s granddaughter.”
Relieved, I nodded. “Yes, I am.” I wasn’t sure how she could tell that, but I was glad I wasn’t going to have to explain.
“He will be here soon! Keep a look out and you’ll see him. The best-looking man in Alabama,” the lady from eleven called from across the hall.
I glanced back to see her still beaming at me.
“Come on in my room. Gladys will continue to yell out crazy things if you don’t. The rest of the place has learned to ignore her. Bless her she’s been insane for a couple years now,” the lady I was assuming was Wanda told me as she turned and walked into room fourteen.
I took a quick survey of the place and it reminded me of a bedroom from the fifties A chenille bedspread with blue and yellow flowers covered the bed. At the foot of it, there was a white lace shawl. Old photos in elaborate frames as well as newer photos sat everywhere. The lamp on the bedside table was made of white hobnail glass. It was similar to those I had seen only in antique stores. A wooden rocker with a crocheted blanket the same blue as was on the bed in the corner.
“It’s not home, but I did my best to make it feel like I had some home here with me,” the lady said.
I turned to look at her and she stood over by the door. “It’s lovely,” I told her and I meant it. This was nothing like the boring white bare walls I had imagined a room here to look like. I wondered then what room eleven looked like inside. If Gladys had decorated it.
“You are the spitting image of Honey when she was your age.”
“You knew Gran when she was my age?” I asked her, suddenly very interested in what she had to say.
She let out an amused laugh and nodded. “Indeed, I did.” She then took a step toward me ad held out her hand. “I see you have no idea who I am. I’m Wanda Sellers. I was Honey’s eleventh grade literature teacher then years later, I became her friend.”
I placed my hand in hers and the soft skin of her palm was cold as we shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sellers. I’m Henley Warren.”
Wanda released my hand and nodded her head. “Yes, I remember the day you were born. Your momma had left town and your grandmother was beside herself with worry. But Lord she was so proud of you. The pictures were always in her purse and she wouldn’t let a soul pass her by without showing off her granddaughter to them.”
I hadn’t known that about Gran. My memories of her were sparse until I was about six years old. My mom started leaving me with her some during the summers.
“I often wished my mom had raised me here,” I told Wanda.
Wanda gave me a sad smile. “Perhaps your life would have been different. The path you were given is yours to walk. Wishing for a different path only hinders your success on the path you are on.”
She even spoke like a literature teacher. “Yes, I guess it does.” I took the album from under my arm. “Gran left me a list of some things she wanted me to do for her around the time she got sick. She thought, well, she wanted to be sure if she didn’t survive Covid that I would handle things for her. This is on the list,” I said as I held the album out to her. “She wanted me to give this to you.”
Wanda took the album from me and held it in her hands for a moment before walking over to the rocking chair and sitting down. I stood there and watched as she opened it so very slowly, as if she already knew what was inside and thought it was something to be cherished.
She studied each page carefully before turning it. I wasn’t sure if I should stay or go, but then I decided I would stay until she looked up and acknowledged me again. I wanted to tell her goodbye. After the fourth or fifth page, she sighed and smiled then lifted her gaze from the photos to meet mine.
Her smile was teary and I wondered what it was that made her so sad about the album. The ladies in it were younger than she was and she couldn’t have been on the trips with them. Which made this all the more interesting.