“Don’t talk like that,” Addy said. “It’ll be a long time before I’m havin’ to live alone up here. And anyhow, I like bein’ alone.”
Granny Spencer sighed, because she knew the latter to be true. “I’m almost eighty-four years old, Adelaide Ann, and you know as well as I do that the only guarantee we have in this life is it’s gonna end, sooner or later. And bein’ alone ain’t the way we’re meant to live, girl.
“You know that, too,” she added for good measure as she patted the mound of dough and turned it back into a greased bowl for its second rising. Granny then draped a clean towel over the bowl and set it on top of the warm stove.
“I can’t do this, Granny,” Addy said, tears in her voice now, as she held the scrunched letter up in her fisted hand. “You know I can’t.”
Granny sighed, wiped her hands on another towel then crossed the small room to reach out and take hold of Addy’s shoulders.
“I know you think you cain’t,” the old lady said, her voice kind but firm. “But Addy, darlin’, how you gonna ever know for certain, iffen you don’t at least try?”
Addy dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her grandmother’s waist, hugging her close as she had since she was a little girl. Addy had shot up to be a good head taller than her elderly grandmother during her teen years, and she’d been bigger and stronger than the old lady for the past decade, but she felt small at this moment, and her beloved granny hugged her back.
“I know you’re scared, darlin’,” she murmured, petting Addy’s thick, soft, sandy-blond hair. Addy had cut it herself again, and it was a shaggy mess, but she couldn’t make herself sit still long enough for Granny to cut it for her.
When Granny pulled back and lifted Addy’s face to hers, her light green eyes met Addy’s deep golden ones, and Addy felt her grandmother’s frustration.
“Fate wasn’t kind when it took your ma and daddy away,” she whispered. “You weren’t even old enough for them to know what you’d become, and your daddy never had the chance to teach you what you needed to know.”
“Whenever I’m around strangers, I’m so afraid, Granny,” Addy whispered. “It seems like it’s only a matter of when, not if, this thing happens to me. I can’t control it. I can’t even predict it. How am I supposed to go to Nashville, if I can’t even be certain I’ll be me when I get there?”
Granny sighed and pulled Addy to her once more. “I cain’t answer that, child,” she said. “I just know somethin’s gotta change, or you’re gonna just shrivel up and die all alone, and I just cain’t stand the thought of that happenin’ to my precious grandbaby.”
They stood that way for a long moment, before Granny finally released her again.
“Just promise me you’ll think about it. All right?”
Addy sighed. “All right. I promise. I’ll think about it.”
Granny smiled and gave her a quick kiss on her brow before turning back to the kitchen.
“I need to get the soup on, iffen we’re gonna have it today. Why don’t you fetch your guitar and sing to me while I chop the veggies?”
“I ought to help you chop the veggies, Granny.”
“Nah. I can still chop just fine. And I do love to hear your music.”
Addy sighed and headed for her room. Their log cabin was small by any standards, with one great room, that included the kitchen and living area, two tiny bedrooms, and a miniscule bath. When her parents had been alive, they had used the bedroom she used now. If they had not lost their lives in a freak accident—the mountain road they’d been traveling on had collapsed following heavy rains, sending their car to the bottom of a deep ravine—then Addy would have been living in the loft over the kitchen. From what Granny had told her, there had been talk of a new addition in the event of more children, but Addy hadn’t been quite two when her parents had died, so there had been no need for more space.
The sun was streaming in through her window when she stepped into her bedroom. She loved sleeping on the eastern side of the house, so the sun could greet her when she awakened in the morning. As autumn deepened, she found herself rising before the sun, just as Granny did. They invariably shared their morning cup of tea in near darkness, out on the front porch in good weather, or sitting near the kitchen stove, as the kindling caught flame and crackled a cheerful greeting when it was cold outside.