Page 139 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“And every time I mean it.” She pulled back to look at me and homed in. “Thank you for doing this. I know I threw you and Delaney for a loop when I suggested this?—”
“Suggesteddoesn’t seem like the right word you’re looking for.” I tried to sound sarcastic, but from the knowing look Glamma shot me, I didn’t think I had fooled her one bit.
She waved her hand as though it was of no consequence. Which it wasn’t, because her wild scheming had turned into something I never could have imagined. And it made me wonder if that hadn’t been her plan all along.
“Either way, you look … happier.” A pleased look crossed her face. “That’s all I want for you, you know. For all of you. To be happy in the ways that are right for you specifically.”
“I know, Glamma. We want that for you, too.”
She was a fixture in this community and our matriarch. She kept us grounded. Helped us figure out who we were, with and without the Kingsley name. We knew giving back to our community was not just the right thing to do, but also our duty. We had more than enough and we were taught to use it to help others.
She patted my face once and turned with purpose to Delaney.
I sent a silent apology across the room. Delaney caught it and returned my look with a smile. Glamma was a wild card, but she knew that.
My grandmother crossed the space with a purposeful stride. She took both of Delaney’s hands in hers, showing me without words how much she liked and respected her.
Delaney’s smile lit up her face, her shoulders lifting with it—then she blinked, caught somewhere between delighted and alarmed.
“You and Marc have exceeded my expectations with this,” she whispered, drawing Delaney into a hug.
Delaney stepped away, her features easing into a rare softness.
Glamma looked satisfied in that Glamma way she did when one of her plans was proceeding precisely on schedule, and turned to join Gladys at the crystal table.
“Are these for purchase or strictly decorative?” Gladys asked.
“Decorative,” Delaney answered. “But everyone can take one crystal from the basket.”
“This one’s a particularly good one.” Gladys set down the rose quartz she was examining,
Goldie had settled in the middle of her mat, eyes closed, and her palms upturned. “I read that everything is made of energy.”
“It is,” Delaney confirmed.
“And that spaces accumulate energy from everyone who’s ever been in them. And that animals hold it differently than people.” Goldie opened her eyes.
Delaney smiled. “That’s also true.”
“I brought notes about what I read,” Goldie pulled out a notebook and pen.
“You brought notes to a yoga class?” I asked.
“I bring notes everywhere, Marcus,” she said, entirely unbothered. “It’s called being prepared.” Then she turned to Delaney. “Have you thought about giving a class to learn more about the crystals and how to best use them?”
She looked delighted. “I love that idea, Goldie. Let me give it some more thought,” she answered as the rest of the participants followed Theo into the room.
We were at least twelve minutes into our standing sequence—Cheryl at the front guiding the participants through a modified warrior flow, the room was actually finding its rhythm—when I noticed Theo went still on the left side of the room.
I followed his eyeline.
Butterball.
The fifteen-pound Flemish Giant rabbit relinquished to us last month from its previous owner.
He hadn’t escaped. There was no actual breach or containment needed, no gap I could identify. Butterball simply made his way through the room with a hop of nonchalance.
He stopped by to see Martha first. She opened one eye, regarded him, gave him a single chin scratch, and closed her eye again. He accepted this and moved on.
