Oh my goodness, you arrived just in the nick of time,” she remarked with a welcoming smile. I awkwardly presented the grocery bag, careful not to let water drip onto her doormat. “Grocies,” I managed to say, feeling brilliant. She let out a soft laugh, took the bag from me, and then hesitated. “You’re completely soaked. Would you like to come inside? At least until the rain lets up a little.
I paused. This was against protocol. Most customers would shut the door as soon as the delivery was confirmed on the app. Yet, she moved aside, holding the door open as an invitation. There was something in the way she looked at me, not with pity or anxiety, but with a simple calmness, that made me accept.
I entered her home, wiping my shoes as well as I could. The house was filled with the scent of cinnamon and some kind of herb. Books were neatly piled by the sofa. A warm lamp cast a gentle glow from a side table. And a dog bed was situated in the corner, though its occupant was nowhere to be seen. “You can hang your jacket on that hook,” she offered.
I nodded and did as she suggested, watching the water pool on the mat beneath it. “Ta,” she asked. “Or perhaps something a bit warmer.” I politely declined. I’ll just wait here for a moment. Thank you. I didn’t realize the rain would come on so quickly. She went into her kitchen and came back with a towel, handing it to me without saying a word.
As I was drying my hair, I saw her observing me with a pensive expression. “Have we met before?” she asked unexpectedly. “You seem familiar.” I looked up, taken aback. “I don’t believe so. I mean, I was raised in this area and just moved back. I used to live down the road next to the old Malister place.
Her expression shifted, becoming softer. You aren’t John Turner’s son, are you? I blinked in surprise. Yes, that’s my father. A warm, nostalgic smile spread across her face. He used to give me a hand with my garden. I remember you. You were constantly climbing the trees or riding that small red bicycle. You even collided with my mailbox one time.
I chuckled, embarrassed. That was definitely me. I’m pretty sure I still have a scar from that. She laughed too, a sound that was both gentle and sincere. I’m Clara. I lived here before moving away for a time. I returned last year. Divorce. She stated the word casually without any trace of bitterness as if it were just a fact of life.
I’m sorry to hear that, I said. She simply shrugged. It’s what happens. Sometimes things just cease to function. It doesn’t mean the entire time was bad. I nodded, uncertain of what to say. We found ourselves in a silence that didn’t feel uncomfortable. Outside, the downpour intensified. Inside, there was a strange sense of peace.
