Meet Me in Barcelona Read Free Page A

“Well, it’s not like it is now. Women didn’t travel alone back then. Wasn’t that brave? My mother sent me a postcard from Madrid of a beautiful tango dancer in a red dress. The dress was made of actual material—beautiful red silk right on the postcard. I’ll never forget it. She’d only written one sentence on the back. ‘Robert would’ve loved the landing.’ My father was very picky with landings and always impressed when the pilot pulled off a smooth one. Anyway. As soon as I got that postcard I knew my mother was going to be all right. ‘Robert would have loved the landing.’ After she died I spent hours just touching that silky red dress with the tips of my fingers and imagining my mother dancing in the streets of Spain.”
    Jody Sawyer looked up and swayed her upper body slightly as if watching her faraway self dance. Then she looked down at her hands, twisting the bedsheet. “Look how ugly and wrinkled I am now.”
    â€œYou’re not ugly and wrinkled, Mom. You’re beautiful.”
    â€œI wish I had that postcard now.” Her mother looked up into space. “I lost it.”
    Grace hesitated. Did she, or didn’t she? Grace opened the bedside drawer and took out the postcard. Her mother was right. The dress was silky. Grace handed it to her mother and watched her eyes light up. Next her mother gently outlined the edge of the dancer’s dress with the trembling tip of her right index finger. Her fingernail was misshapen, the peach paint flaking. Grace would have to see if they could bring in a manicurist.
    Jody looked at Grace, her eyes clear and bright. “Gracie Ann, you have to go. Film everything. I’m dying to see Barcelona through you.” Grace must have looked stricken, for her mother laughed and then put her hand over her heart. “Sorry, no pun intended.” Like antennas being manipulated for a clearer signal, sometimes her mother tuned in perfectly. Jody Sawyer laughed again, and Grace couldn’t help but laugh with her.
    â€œMom.”
    â€œMake me feel like I’m there,” Jody said, closing her eyes. “Help me shut out this hospice. Let me see beautiful Barcelona.” She took Grace’s hand and held it. “Do it for me. I’ll feel like I’m with you. Bring a camera. And your guitar,” she added. “You never know.” When Grace still didn’t answer, her mother opened her eyes, and lifted Grace’s chin up with her hand like she used to do when Grace was a child. “Be brave, Gracie Ann. Just like my mother.”
    â€œLike my mother too,” Grace whispered back.

CHAPTER 2
    Barcelona. Just saying the name gave Grace a thrill, like a surfer riding the crest of a wave. Spain was a beautiful dream. The European city had a relaxed beach feel with a carnival-like atmosphere. Buzzing with activity, yet mellow at the same time.
    Grace and Jake stepped underneath an archway and into the large town square that was just down the alley from their flat. Fifteenth century tan-stone buildings consisting of apartments on top and businesses on the bottom formed the outer edge of the square, while a round fountain with a statue of an angel took center stage. Her wings were spread, and in the palm of her stone hand she cradled a delicate bird. Wooden benches with faded green paint lined the perimeter, and potted plants positioned underneath awnings spilled their bright red and purple petals at meticulous intervals. With the ancient pavement and huge arches on all corners, it felt positively medieval. People adorned the square like well-placed decorations. A young girl with a backpack was sprawled on a bench with a sketchbook. A mother chased a toddler who was chasing a pigeon. A shopkeeper leaned on his broom and stared out at the hills. A group of schoolchildren scrambled around teachers who were trying to get them in line. Jake positioned his new state-of-the-art video