She closed her door, switched on the bedside lamp, and sat down on the bed. She read the back of the book she had chosen and decided it was probably worth reading. But first, she wanted to scope out the photo album.

  Tweed material in faded yellow, the edges scalloped from time. She opened the cover. There were pictures of her parents wearing swimsuits, her dad with his arm draped across her mom’s shoulders. They looked so young, so happy. She turned the page, and there was another picture, one taken with one of those cameras that developed the picture instantly—definitely before her time—of her mom and dad again, only in this shot, her mother was very pregnant. Gracie thought she looked ready to explode. Carefully, she peeled back the cling wrap–like covering and removed the picture to see if there was writing on the back. There was a date. May, 1974. The year and month that Hope was born. She continued to flip through the pages. All family photos of Hope as a baby; then there were a few of Hope and Dad. Flipping through the pages, she could tell a few of the photos had been removed. Many were of Hope along with her friends; she had to be in high school in some of them, and then the next picture was of Hope and her mother holding a tiny baby, whom she knew had to be her. She wondered if there were pictures of her with her father right after she was born. Knowing he had been ill when she was born made her sad for all the time she had lost, time they had all lost. She barely remembered him, as she had been only two when he passed away.

  Something about her mom and Hope in the photo was strange. Neither was smiling, even though the occasion should have been a happy one. Gracie assumed her father had been ill at the time the photo was taken, or maybe he had taken the photo himself. She drew in a deep breath and closed the album. She would ask her mother about the pictures later. Too tired to start the book she had chosen, she switched off the light and instantly fell asleep.

  A loud clattering jolted her out of a sound sleep. “What the heck?” She threw the covers aside, stretching her arm out to reach for her cell on the nightstand. She glanced at the time. “Dang,” she said, when she realized she had slept so late. It was after ten, so she hurried to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and brushed her teeth. When another loud noise came from the kitchen, she knew it was Hope’s way of waking her up. It had happened often enough on their annual visits. Gracie laughed. She would have to think of a prank later, something she could do to Hope to tick her off, give her a good scare. Just then, however, all she wanted was a cup of coffee.

  She spied a new red Keurig machine on the kitchen counter. “Nice thinking, Hope,” she said, knowing the coffee maker was most likely a gift from Hope to their mom. Hope was a coffee addict. Mom still made coffee in a percolator on the stovetop.

  “I thought so,” Hope replied, handing Gracie a fresh cup.

  “Thanks.” Gracie slid onto a barstool, sipping the black coffee. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this.” No way was she going to tell Hope she had yet to purchase a gift for Ella. Hope was a planner and always one step ahead of her in that regard. Gracie had always been a last-minute shopper; more often than not, her gifts were purchased in airport shops across the globe. It worked with her hectic lifestyle. She had found many unique gifts over the years.

  Her mother stood in front of the stove. “Isn’t this fancy? I won’t know what to do with myself when I don’t have to wait for a pot of coffee to brew.”

  “Mom, I hate to inform you, but these coffee machines have been around for a while. No one uses percolators anymore,” Gracie said. “Are you making mulberry pancakes?”

  “Of course. Though these berries are from last year. You two get bored, go check the tree, as it’s just starting to produce this year.”

  “I read somewhere the trees were outlawed a few years ago,” Gracie said.

  “They were in some states. They said they were a nuisance, because they produce so much pollen. The red mulberries, which are native to Texas—I don’t think they’re bad. At least I’ve never been asked to cut the old tree down. It’s been on our property since the house was built.”

  “Gosh, I remember in the summer playing outside, I had to stomp on the berries that fell to the ground. My feet were always red,” Gracie said.

  “Hope did, too. I would’ve done the same had I been in your shoes—rather, your bare feet. Hard to resist, I suppose. It was terrible bathing you two, trying to remove the stains from your feet.”

  “I promise you won’t catch me with red feet,” Gracie said. She drained her coffee cup and brewed a second one. “Mom, last night I couldn’t sleep, so I went in search of something to read. I found a photo album I must have missed when I was younger. I went through it, saw pictures I had never seen. I saw how huge you were when you were pregnant with Hope. And there was another with you holding me; I must’ve been a newborn, and Hope looked like she had just swallowed splinters. Actually, both of you looked sad.”

  As their mother poured pancake batter into a skillet, she stopped and turned to Gracie. “I haven’t seen that old picture album in years. You found it with the books?”

  “Between a couple other books, yes. Toward the end, it looked like some photos were removed, but I did get a kick seeing you pregnant, all beached whale-like,” Gracie teased. “Exactly how much weight did you gain? If I ever marry and have kids of my own, I guess I need to know what to expect. Doesn’t that sort of thing run in families?”

  “That’s rude to ask a woman how much weight she gained during pregnancy,” Hope answered for her mother.

  “Mom, how much, seriously? There may come a day when I’ll need this information. I still have a few years left before my eggs are worthless. Maybe I should have mine frozen? Just in case Mr. Right doesn’t come along in the near future. Something to think about.” She said this more to herself than to Hope or her mom.

  “Mom! The pancakes are burning,” Gracie shouted the moment she saw smoke coming from the stovetop. She jumped up, grabbed the skillet, and tossed it into the sink. “Crap, you’re going to catch the place on fire.” She ran water over the burned skillet, sending smoke throughout the kitchen.

  Transfixed, Hope did nothing but stare at her.

  “Couldn’t you see that Mom was burning this?” Gracie asked Hope, as she washed the skillet. “Mom, are you okay? You’re acting strange. You too, Hope. What gives?”

  Her mother turned away from the stove, her face flushed from the heat, but there was something else Gracie couldn’t put a finger on. Had she upset her asking about her pregnancy weight? They were always open with one another. If Hope gained or lost a pound, they discussed it. If she had her usual monthly bloat, it wasn’t a big deal for them when she said she looked like she was pregnant. They laughed at her, and she at them. Burning pancakes because she had asked a silly question didn’t make sense.

  “Honestly, I wasn’t paying much attention, lost in my thoughts,” Hope explained.

  “They must’ve been deep,” Gracie said to Hope, then focused her attention on her mother. “Does this happen often? Are we going to have to hire someone to come in and look after you? Cook your meals?”

  “Gracie Lynn Walden, I can’t believe you would ask such a thing! No, I do not need or want someone in my kitchen, thank you very much. I am sixty-seven years old; I am not ready to be put out to pasture yet.”

  Her mother was angry. Gracie knew her mother, and she wasn’t angry about the pregnancy weight, or burning the pancakes, or asking her if she needed help. No, it had to be something serious.

  The three of them were closer than most families. Gracie had known nothing but happiness in this house. She was sad that her father hadn’t lived to see her grow and become the woman she was today, but they had no control over that. Mom seemed fine. She had taught elementary school and had just retired a couple of years ago. She had friends she socialized with. Of course, Hope lived nearby and saw her mother almost daily. Was her mother ill? Did Hope know that her mother was ill? Were they trying to keep this a secret?

  Without another word, Gracie made herself another cup of coffee, took the plate of pancakes, heated them in the microwave, and then took butter out of the refrigerator and a bottle of syrup out of the pantry. She set three plates on the island, added forks, knives, and napkins. When the microwave dinged, she removed the steaming pancakes and placed them in the center of the island. Then she sat down.

  “Now, I want both of you to tell me what the heck is going on? Mother, are you hiding something from me? Are you sick? You too, Hope. You’re both acting weird, like I don’t even know you. So what gives?” she asked.

  Hope looked at her mother, as if they shared something private and didn’t want to involve her. Finally, her mother spoke. “Gracie, nothing is going on except you’re overreacting to a burned skillet. Your sister was lost in her thoughts, and if you must know, when you spoke about finding that old photo album, it brought back memories of your father.”

  “Really? You really think I overreacted?” She paused. Maybe she had been a little over the top. “It’s my job,” she offered as an explanation. “We’re trained to act fast in an emergency. Smoke, fire is not something we want to see on an airplane. I suppose I went overboard. I apologize, Mom. I guess I really need to chill out. After breakfast, I think I’ll go for a run, unless you have something planned.”

  “No, nothing, a run will do you good. Now, let’s forget this and eat. I saved that last batch of mulberries in the freezer so I could make my girls their favorite pancakes. So, let’s eat.” They all bowed their heads, and Ella said a short prayer before they dug into the pancakes.

  Out of the blue, Gracie remembered dinner last night. “We didn’t say grace before dinner,” Gracie blurted out. “Sorry.”

  “I think we were all overly excited last evening. It’s been such a stressful time for all of us. For everyone. I’m sure we’ll be forgiven if we miss saying grace now and then.” Their mother smiled. “Though I appreciate the reminder, sweetie.”

  “Sure, Mom. Hope, do you have any plans today?”

  “Absolutely none,” Hope said with a grin. “I haven’t been in this position in so long, I feel like a bird out of a cage. I want to catch up on my reading, I want to get my hair trimmed. Maybe a manicure and a pedicure. All the things a girl needs. I might even paint my fingernails hot pink.”

  “You should,” Gracie insisted. “I can’t wear polish at work, so I’m with you. What about it, Mom? You wanna join us?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Sounds like fun. I’ll try a bright orange, it being spring and all. We need to lighten up, have fun just like we have all these years.” She paused, took a bite of pancake. “I never tell you girls this, but it means so much to me that you take time away from your jobs, your lives to spend this time with me. I look forward to it more than you know.”

  “Mom,” Gracie said in a syrupy-sweet voice. “We look forward to our time together as much as you. Right, Hope?”

  “I do; even though I see Mom all the time, I don’t get to spend this kind of time here. Relaxing, eating too much, sleeping whenever I want. I relish this time, Gracie. With you, too,” Hope added.

  “We’re all good, then? On the same page, right?” Gracie questioned.

  “We are,” both Ella and Hope said at the same time.

  They finished the pancakes, cleaned up, then went their separate ways.

  Gracie remembered that she hadn’t brought her luggage inside and ran upstairs, grabbed the keys to her rental, swooped down the stairs like she was a teenager, grabbed her things from the car, then ran right back up the stairs. Thankful she always had her running shoes with her, she quickly dressed in jogging attire, grabbed her cell phone, and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she removed a bottle of spring water from the fridge, then left through the kitchen door.

  It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Gracie rounded the house and looked to see if any of the neighbors were outside. Luckily for her, they weren’t. Living at the edge of Amarillo’s historic area, most folks knew one another but minded their business, as Hope would say. Not that she didn’t want to see them, just not now. She looked a mess, and she needed this time to clear her head, allow her mind to relax. The episode in the kitchen had freaked her out.

  She started a slow jog, heading for Polk Street, the historic district a few blocks from her childhood home. Knowing they had all sorts of neat gift shops, she planned to spend time searching for a gift for tomorrow. Unsure of what her mother had planned besides church, she was up for just about anything that didn’t involve work. Since her return to work, she had taken all the flights she could to make up for the financial loss when the airlines weren’t able to fly owing to the pandemic. Between her and Jessica, they both had enough savings to live comfortably. So to say she was in need of a break was an understatement. Gracie jogged down Polk Street when she remembered she had forgotten her wallet. Maybe she would ask a salesclerk to hold whatever she purchased, then go home and drive back to pay. Yes, this was even better, because she would be able to hide her gift in the car. Of course, it all depended on some unknown clerk. But Gracie did have the gift of gab and knew how to use it to her advantage when necessary.

  After half an hour jogging, she slowed her pace enough so her breathing was normal. She downed the water, then saw that Thompson’s, a local stationery shop, had a bench for customers. She sat down and allowed herself to people watch, something she still enjoyed, even though she saw people from all over the world almost daily. Feeling content with herself and the world, she watched folks as they went about their business. When the sun started to feel too hot, she decided she had baked long enough. The weather in her hometown could change on a dime. It might rain, or maybe a windstorm or a tornado would pop up. Local weather wasn’t ideal in the spring. She went inside to get a card before remembering she didn’t have her wallet.

  A pretty young girl, with long blond hair and eyes as blue as the sky, greeted her. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

  “Thanks, I’m just looking for a Mother’s Day card,” Gracie answered politely.

  “Yes, ma’am, we’ve plenty left, so I’ll just leave you to look around.”

  She walked down the aisle where the Mother’s Day cards were displayed, then stopped. Gracie was bold. She returned to the register where the girl was typing on her cell phone. “Excuse me, miss,” she said in her most eloquent voice. “I was out jogging and left my wallet at home. If I pick out a card, would you mind holding onto it for a bit? I’m just a few blocks away at my mother’s house. Ella Walden.”

  “Oh my gosh, is she your mama?” the girl gushed, her Southern accent pronounced.

  “She is,” Gracie said.

  “She taught me and my brother in second grade. Mrs. Walden was one of my all-time favorite teachers. Would you mind telling her that Kelly Thompson said hi? She might remember me and my twin brother, Philip. We were both in her class together.”

  “Absolutely. Mom loves hearing from her former students. You should drop by her house sometime. She’s just a few blocks away, the big white brick house in the historic district, the place with the red doors. Now, I have a favor, and if you can’t do this, it’s not that big of a deal. As I said, I need a card, and I forgot to bring my wallet. I went out for a jog, with my car keys and cell, but no cash. Could you hold a card for me while I run home?”

  “Oh my heavens, no! Just take it with you. You can stop by whenever. Don’t make a special trip. I know your mama, I know where y’all live. Daddy would never forgive me if I didn’t let you take one. It’s fine. You take a card, Miss . . .” Kelly paused.

  “It’s Gracie,” she offered.

  “Well, Miss Gracie, go on, find a special card for your mama, and don’t worry about paying.”

  “Thanks, Kelly. I will, and I’ll tell Mom you said hello. As I said, she loves hearing from her former students.”

  “You’re welcome,” Kelly said, returning her attention to her cell phone.

  Gracie read through several cards before finding one that said what she felt, or as close as a greeting card could proclaim. Really, her mother didn’t care about material things. Mom would love a smile and a fresh-picked flower from her extensive gardens. Maybe she would get some red lipstick and kiss the inside of the card instead of signing it. Just for fun. They would all get a laugh out of that.

  She took the card to the register. “Could I get a small bag?” she asked, not wanting to ruin the delicate paper inside.

  “Absolutely, Miss Gracie.” Kelly took a lavender bag and slipped the card inside before handing it back to her.

  “I’ll see you later; thanks for trusting me,” Gracie said.

  Kelly smiled, then went back to her cell phone. Probably on social media, as that seemed to be the entire focus of the world these days. Gracie had an account with Friendlink for friends she had stayed in touch with, but that was it. She would not allow herself to get caught up in the drama that social media thrived on.

  Gracie viewed the many shops downtown, deciding to peruse the art gallery that had opened last year. Her mother had spoken very fondly of it during one of their many phone conversations. Gracie loved art of all kinds, but she was especially drawn to pieces or paintings that communicated a message, one she could feel. It might not be the message the artist intended, but she always came up with her own interpretation of the artist’s work, what it meant to her.

  Inside Artiste, Gracie was greeted by a gush of cool air with a tinge of sandalwood. High ceilings with track lighting focused on various paintings and sculptures, pieces so unique she had to stop and read the placards before she could understand what she was seeing.

  She stopped when she spotted the paintings of a local artist, Callie Ramirez. On display in the middle of the studio were four mock walls holding eight paintings. Each painting depicted some aspect of Texas heritage, or at least that was Gracie’s interpretation of what the paintings communicated. Each painting was of a farm, a lone barn. In the first, the colors were light, almost pastel in color. In each, the scene appeared to be the same as the one before, but the colors became much more vivid. The last painting struck a chord in her. With vivid colors of a variation of the first painting, this particular one now had two little girls sitting on a fence. One had short brown hair; the other child had hair to her waist, the color an almost perfect match to her own. The little girls faced each other, smiling, as though they shared a secret. Bold colors, yet the scene was utterly tranquil in its simplicity. This could be her and Hope minus the age difference. She reviewed each painting several times, and each time she saw that another image had been added to the original. The final painting depicted a proud Texas farm, with vivid green grass, stacks of hay poking out of the barn window, and a tiny depiction of the flag of the Lone Star State.