Chapter 4

As more people started coming by my cart for breakfast, Evelyn showed me how to make some other food, so I added them to the menu.

She also helped me put up a little rack next to my cart, so I could hang some handmade toys and sell them along with the food.

Business was picking up.

I was selling cheap and relying on volume.

The profit was enough to put food on the table.

After a while, I became a familiar face around the neighborhood.

Some of the younger folks joked that I was the "Most Inspirational Grandma of the Year."

Coincidentally, one of the residents in our WhatsApp group chat was the manager at the retirement home.

He was stressing out because the breakfast lady had suddenly quit, and now he had no idea how to handle breakfast for the next few days.

Someone in the group chat tagged Evelyn, helping me land the gig.

The retirement home manager didn't hesitate to agree.

He even told me I could use their kitchen and all the equipment, and they'd supply the bread for free.

I said yes right away.

That evening, Evelyn whipped up a big dinner and grabbed a bottle of wine on sale at the supermarket.

She poured two glasses, like she used to.

Back then, she always poured the wine for William and Charles, never for herself, and never for me.

But tonight, she kept one glass for herself and gently slid the other over to me.

She lifted her glass toward me with a smile. "Eleanor, how about we try it together?"

I'd watched William and Charles drink wine together more times than I could count, but I'd never tasted it myself.

Staring at the glass in front of me, I hesitated. "Will this get me drunk? I still have to make sandwiches for the retirement home in the morning."

Evelyn couldn't help but laugh. "No way. Red wine's pretty mild, and it's one glass. You'll be fine.

"A little sip might be good for your skin, you know."

I felt a little embarrassed. "Come on, I'm way too old to worry about that stuff."

She replied, "Doesn't matter how old you are.

"The day we walked out, you were the one who told me this.

"As long as you're not six feet under, it's never too late to do anything."

Something in me warmed up for a second.

For decades, I felt dead inside.

But now, when I was nearly seventy, something finally sparked.

I raised my glass and tapped it against Evelyn's. "That's right. Never too late."

Evelyn's eyes welled up, but she sounded clearly happy. "Guess what? There's more good news.

"I finally got promoted. I'm the marketing manager now."

She'd been at that office for more than ten years.

She'd always done a great job, and she should've been promoted ages ago.

But home was always a mess, keeping her busy non-stop.

Charles had spent years acting like he was some big-shot artist, always shut away in his study, but I'd never seen him sell a single piece.

Evelyn was always running herself ragged, and whenever he had one of his breakdowns, she'd have to take time off work to deal with him.

Her promotion had always felt like it would never happen.

Now that we had finally left the father and son, it turned out things were never that hard after all.

We raised our glasses.

We toasted the moonlight shining through the window, ourselves finally getting out of the mess, and a future that was looking up.

That night, I slept soundly.

Except for the occasional ringtone disturbing my sleep, everything else was peaceful.

Evelyn blocked William and Charles on her own phone.

Then, she took my phone and patiently showed me how to block and remove contacts.

Once she finished, my phone finally went quiet.

*****

The next morning, I got up at the crack of dawn and headed straight to the retirement home.

Older folks tended to wake up early.

It was barely five when I arrived, and there were already a few bent-over figures shuffling around the courtyard.

They loved a bit of excitement, so a whole bunch of them followed me right into the kitchen, insisting on helping out. Some were stirring the coffee, others prepping the sandwich fixings.

I felt a bit awkward about it, but they were so enthusiastic that I couldn't turn them down.

The kitchen was buzzing with laughter and jokes until we wrapped up all the prep, set the griddle on the stove, and waited for the sandwiches to be ready.

That was when I finally had a moment to catch my breath. I glanced out the door to see if other people were up yet.

Then, I spotted a lady with a head of gray hair, propped up on her cane, standing in the doorway and peering inside.

Our eyes met out of nowhere, and she instantly looked panicked, hurriedly glancing away.

As she turned to leave, her legs gave out, and she nearly stumbled.

I hadn't recognized her at first.

But her flustered reaction told me everything.

She was Grace, William's first love, and he'd pined for her for decades.

She looked nothing like someone with Alzheimer's. She wasn't forgetful, and she definitely knew who I was.

Back in the 70s, everyone in our hometown thought Grace and William were made for each other.

They both grew up in a well-educated family, with parents who taught for a living.

And their names had a classic ring to them, like they belonged in a novel.

But then, the decade of turmoil hit, and Grace's father, Angelo, was accused of making inappropriate remarks and thrown into prison.

She got caught up in it, too. She was expelled from school and hauled in for questioning by the police.

As her boyfriend, William was about to get dragged into the mess as well.

The Brooks family hurriedly approached my dirt-poor father and proposed that I marry William.

I didn't want to.

William was the kind of guy everyone admired. He was smart, good-looking, and always the center of attention. But he never looked my way.

Dad thought I was a disgrace and lashed at me with a rattan cane.

I gritted my teeth and said, "Even if you beat me to death, I'm not marrying him."

But that night, William rushed over to me.

"Don't worry. If I marry you, I'll make sure you're happy. I won't let the past come between us," he said.