Page 7 of Just One More Thing

I don’t think I realized until now how much of my childhood lived inside these walls.

How much of me still does.

“Emory Madeline!”

Granny’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She turns to the whole shop and throws one arm wide.

“Look, everyone,” she announces, loud and proud and completely unconcerned with my desire to maybe ease back into town without an audience. “My granddaughter Emory is here!”

A few customers turn. There are a couple of awwws. One woman nods this confirms something she already knew. Someone actually claps.

“Why, Madeline Donovan, are those tears I see?” a voice calls, delighted.

“Oh, you hush now,” Granny says, dismissive. “Or I’ll tell everyone about the gravity garment you’re wearing under that dress, Gladys Kravitz.”

Laughter ripples through the shop.

“Emory, honey,” Granny continues, already waving me forward as she rolls out from behind the counter with the confidence of a woman who absolutely should not be moving that fast on one good leg. “I’ve been sitting on this stool like a queen with a court full of idiots all afternoon. I need a hug.”

A man in the corner hmphs.

Granny whips her head toward him so fast her glasses slide down her nose.

“I’m not naming names, but if you’re going to groan like that, maybe don’t do it in a room where everyone knows what you put in the church plate Sunday.”

Someone coughs. Another suddenly finds the floor fascinating.

Granny pats the counter as if she’s bringing court back to order. “Anyway. About that hug.”

I set my suitcase down and cross the bakery in seven long steps. When I wrap my arms around her, she grabs me back with surprising strength. We sway side to side automatically, the same way we always have. If her leg weren’t broken, we’d be hopping too.

It catches me off guard how easy it is, standing here with her.

I close my eyes and hold on a second longer because the truth arrives fast and unwelcome.

I’ve missed this version of myself. The one who used to belong places without immediately calculating the exit.

“I’ve missed you so much, Emory,” Granny says. “It took me breaking my leg to get you back to Blue Crab Bay. At least you didn’t wait until my funeral.”

“Granny!” I pull back, horrified and laughing at the same time. “Do not talk like that.”

But even as I say it, the joke catches a little.

Because she isn’t entirely wrong. It did take something happening to get me back.

She waves a flour-dusted hand through the air. “Relax. I’ll outlive all of you out of spite.”

The man in the corner hmphs again.

Granny ignores him and instead leans back on her stool, squinting at me as if she’s inspecting a biscuit that didn’t rise properly.

“You look thin.”

“I’m fine.”

“And tired.”

“Still fine.”