dress. So he had noticed that she always wore black. Was he like her landlady’s granddaughter next door? Gracie, a precocious eight-year-old, had taken one look at the red dress her grandmother was rehemming because Della had hemmed the silk with dental floss and asked if Della was done mourning.
What mother ever stopped mourning the death of a child? What woman stopped mourning the resulting breakup of her marriage? “The black dress didn’t fit.”
Disappointment flashed through Paul’s eyes. “Ah, I see.” He turned onto Highway 20, then minutes later, south into her subdivision. “You seemed to have fun tonight.”
“You know I did.” They’d danced, enjoyed a battle of the bands and had a grand time. Fun. She’d had fun.
The thought sank in, and a flood of guilt swarmed in right behind it.
He clicked on his blinker to turn onto her street. “It’s okay for you to have fun, Della. And to wear clothes that aren’t black. It’s been three years.”
“I know.” She’d heard it all from everyone—her former pastor, her landlady, her boss, her boss’s assistant—and now from Paul.
“But knowing it and feeling it are two different things?” he suggested.
He understood. Paul always understood. “Exactly.” Days passing on a calendar didn’t change the grief or loss in a mother’s heart. That was the part the others didn’t seem to understand. The ache and emptiness were still fresh, the wounds still raw. She sighed, glanced out the window. Gracie stood on Della’s front porch. What was that she was holding? “But I am working on— Stop!”
Paul hit the brakes hard, screeched to a stop. “What’s wrong?”
Della didn’t pause to answer but grabbed the door, flung it open and scrambled out. “Gracie!” she screamed, her voice frantic, and ran full out toward her cottage. Oh, please no. Don’t let it happen again. “Put down that package!”
* * *
Gracie stood statue-still, her eyes stretched wide, like a terrified deer blinded by headlights.
“Put the box down, Gracie.” Della softened her voice. “Do it now. Right now.”
Gracie set the box on the porch’s floor and then just stood beside it.
Della snatched her off the porch, buried her against her hammering chest and ran across the postage-stamp-sized yard to the sidewalk near the street, putting the most distance possible between the package and the child, using her own body as a shield.
Paul ran up to them. “What’s wrong?”
Della ignored him. “Gracie, didn’t your gran tell you not to get my mail?”
“I—I didn’t, Della,” she said on a stuttered breath. “You’re squishing me.”
Della loosened her hold. “Where did you get the box?”
“It wasn’t in the mailbox, I promise. It was on the porch by the swing.” Her voice cracked. “I was scared you wouldn’t see it and—”
Della’s heart still banged against her ribs, threatened to thump out of her chest. She was shaking. Hard. “I appreciate it, but next time you listen to me. Don’t get my mail anymore or any packages. Got it?”
A fat tear rolled down Gracie’s cheek.
Paul smiled and flicked away Gracie’s tear. “Della knows you were trying to help, and she’s sorry she sounds so angry. She’s not, you know.”
“She sounds plenty mad.” Gracie’s chin quivered.
“No, I’m not mad.” Della felt like a slug. A terrified slug, but still a slug. “I was scared.”
“Why?” Gracie and Paul asked simultaneously.
Oh, boy. She was in for it now, but it was past time for the truth. “Gracie, you know what happened to Danny, right?” Just speaking her son’s name hurt, reopened the gaping wounds in her battered heart.
Gracie nodded. Light from the streetlamp had the glittery face paint from the festival sparkling on her cheeks. “His daddy was holding him and he opened the mailbox and it exploded. His daddy got hurt, but Danny went to heaven. Now he lives with your mom and dad and my grandpa.”
“That’s right.” Della said it, and would give her eyeteeth to still believe it. But her beliefs or lack of them were her problem, not Gracie’s. “This is my fault. I didn’t want to frighten you, but I should have told you I’m worried the man who did that to Danny might do it again. That’s why I don’t want you getting my mail and why I sounded so angry. When I saw you on the porch with that box...I was really scared.”
Gracie curled her arms around Della’s neck and hugged her fiercely. Her breath warmed Della’s neck, melted the icy chill steeped in her bones. “I’m not going to heaven yet. It’ll be a long, long time. Gran said.”
Gran was the ultimate authority on all things. “That’s good to know.” Della blew out a steadying breath, then set Gracie down on the sidewalk. “You run on home now. It’s late and your gran is waiting.” What was Miss Addie thinking, letting Gracie come outside this late at night alone?
“She doesn’t know I’m gone. She’s in the shower.”
That explained that. “What made you come out here?” Della should have asked that before now, and probably would have, if seeing the child holding that package hadn’t scared ten years off her life.
“I saw the man put the box on the porch.”
A chill streaked through Della. “Did you know him?”
She shook her head. “It was too dark. I just saw the box moving. He was carrying it.”
“He was wearing dark clothes, then?” Della asked.
“I dunno. I only saw the box until he left. Then when he got to the sidewalk I saw him.”
Because of the streetlight. “Would you know him again?”
“No. Everything was black.” She tilted her head. “Well, except his shoes.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No.”
Paul spoke softly. “Gracie, are you sure it was a man?”
“I dunno. He was bigger than Della, but not as big as you. I couldn’t see.”
“Okay, honey,” Della said. “You go on home now before your gran can’t find you and gets scared.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And no more leaving the house without her knowing it,” Paul said.
“Yes, sir.” Gracie cut across the grass and headed next door. “Night, Della. Bye, Mr. Mason.”
“Good night, Gracie.”
“I
