Vera comes awake gradually. Loosens her arms and then her legs carefully, wary of stiffness or those sudden unexplained pinches that sometimes surprise her. Blinks her eyes to see that it’s daylight already, and gives a little breath of gratitude that she has slept through a comfortable night.
Trays rattle in the hallway, cheerful voices call back and forth. She moves, slowly and precisely, to her bathroom and back. She’ll wait for help with dressing, but at least gets herself into her soft lightweight robe. The foggy days of summer are lifting, it’s almost autumn, when the days get hot and dry.
From years back, she recalls the delicious anticipation of this time of year – her garden fruits and vegetables lush and plump and close to harvest. Sometimes – often – they would snag a few early bloomers as soon as they came ready. Small sweet peppers, the first of the summer squash, lovely berries of course.
Various grandchildren have discussed the trend of “eating local,” as if they were introducing a new idea. Vera doesn’t mind though. She enjoys the company. Her most frequent visitors, Caleb and Nina, haven’t been able to come as often as before. Both busy working, which she understands is a good thing.
But her new friend will be along later today. In fact, she has promised to bring a sample of the sweet persimmons she has grown in her garden. Farther south by the coast, they have less fog and long sunny days. Cara takes pride in her produce, loves talking about it and sharing it. Appreciates the appreciation, she says. Just as Vera herself always has. No point in a bounty of produce without people to share it.
Cara Smith-Rossi. Vera has carefully sealed the name in her mind. She knows she forgets names sometimes, but not this one. Cara Smith, the only daughter of Reno Smith. She does not resemble him much, Vera thinks; she must take after her mother. But there is a vibrancy about her, maybe, that brings the memories of him back. She makes a point to come by when she’s in the area, visiting her son and his partner. Her visits are always a treat. She has even brought the young men, and they were charming.
When they were first acquainted, Vera wondered if Cara was just missing her own mother, looking for a substitute. But that’s not so, any more than Cara is like a daughter to her. She’s not much similar Ginnie at all; if anyone, she’s like Frank back in his hippie phase. Free spirited, open minded, full of questions and ideas about the world. She won’t let Vera lapse into small talk either – Cara is genuinely interested in what she has to say. Vera feels her head spinning sometimes, when they talk, but in a good way.
Vera doesn’t feel she can really hide much from her anyway. She knows so much about her! She kept all of her letters, her letters to Reno and his that she never received. Nina took pictures of them all so Cara could keep copies, but she gave them back to Vera. Oh, she blushes now to read them, but read them she does. It’s like going on a little trip through that time in her life without stirring from her quiet room.
Nina has begged her to let her include the letters in her picture project, which she says is almost ready to “launch,” as if it was a missile going into space. Vera told her she can have the whole bunch after she has left this world, but for now some things are private. On seeing the girl’s disappointment, though, she promised she would select a couple of them for her now. It feels satisfactory to have this to do this morning; she likes to be occupied. She will run the idea by Cara this afternoon, see which ones she particularly likes.
Cara Smith-Rossi, daughter of Reno Smith. And now a cherished friend. Who could have guessed after all these years, Vera thinks. On the other hand, maybe all she had to do was finally tell her story.