pleasant aroma, like pie had recently come
out of the oven and apple cider was brewing. Everything about the house was
perfect, from the carefully matched country-inspired décor, to the immaculate
upkeep of it all. It was clear that Mrs. Lockhart still took great pride in her
home.
“It’s so wonderful to
have you here,” Mrs. Lockhart said as she took Anastasia’s coat and hung it up.
“Thank you for having
me,” Anastasia replied in a slightly rehearsed tone. “It means a lot to me and
my mother.”
Looking sad for a
moment, Mrs. Lockhart opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as Mr.
Lockhart came in with Anastasia’s luggage.
“It’s going to be a
cold night,” he said. “I hope you brought suitable clothing.”
“She’ll be fine,” Mrs.
Lockhart answered for Anastasia. “I have enough warm garments to clothe an
army.”
Anastasia forced
herself to smile. Although she loved her grandmother dearly, she wasn’t quite
ready to adopt her high-waist denim and gingham blouse type of style. “I should
probably start unpacking,” she said, while taking the luggage from her grandfather.
“Dinner will be ready
in half an hour,” Mrs. Lockhart stated, “and after that, I have a special
dessert.”
Anastasia looked at her
grandparents. “Thanks,” she said sincerely.
“My darling, you
already said that,” Mrs. Lockhart commented with an amused smile. “You know
you’re always welcome here.”
As Anastasia walked
toward the bedroom on the main floor, she thought about her grandmother’s
words. For a very long time, she hadn’t felt welcomed anywhere. It was amazing
how much could change with a few kind words and gestures.
When Anastasia entered
the bedroom, it was like she’d traveled back in time. This room, which once
belonged to her mother, had been Anastasia’s during her summer visits. It was
eerie to see everything exactly how she’d left it so many years ago – three
teddy bears sat on the floral bedspread, staring at her with glassy eyes; CDs
featuring long-forgotten artists were piled next to an over-sized boom box;
even the rocking chair was still in the corner, seating a collection of fashion
dolls.
Anastasia’s attention
was particularly drawn to the white dresser, where several framed photographs
were carefully arranged. She smiled as she looked at a photo of herself and
Chloe Fairbanks – her former best friend in Cedar Falls. They were at the
carnival, and Chloe had a painted butterfly on her cheek, while Anastasia wore
a clump of bright pink cotton candy in her hair – unintentionally, of course.
Next, she looked at a photo of herself and her grandparents in Cedar Falls
Lake. They’d been fishing for minnows, and by the proud smile on her face, she
knew that she’d caught some in her small net. Finally, she laid her eyes on a
much older photo. It was of her mother and grandparents in happier times.
Unable to look at that
photograph any longer, Anastasia turned around and was met with a reflection of
herself. She stood before a mirror, and as she looked at her green eyes, long
reddish brown hair and tall, slender build, she saw what her grandfather had
seen earlier today – she was the spitting image of her mother when she was a
teenager.
The last time I looked
into that mirror, I’d seen an innocent twelve-year-old girl, Anastasia thought with tears in her eyes. Now, look at me. Look at what I’ve
become. Not wanting to accept that she’d lost such a wonderful part of
herself, she hastily turned away from the mirror, wiping her tears on the
sleeve of her black hooded sweatshirt.
That night, dinner
tasted as delicious as it smelled. Hungrily, Anastasia ate the lasagna,
savoring the sweet spices which made her grandmother’s meals so special.
Although everyone was obviously enjoying the food, not much was said. It was
almost as if her grandparents didn’t know what to say. Of course they made
light conversation, but no real questions had been