“Oh, Mrs. Song, you didn’t have to make something special just for me.”
Jenna’s mother, petite and pretty, shook her head. “Not a problem. I always like to make American food for you . . . or anybody who comes for dinner.”
Livvy thanked her. “I’ll be happy to eat whatever you make.” Mrs. Song’s words reminded her of Grandma Hudson’s admonition several nights before. But she refused to think about her grandmother just now.
Mrs. Song served her a hearty portion of meat. Of course, Livvy was fine with it. Still, she wished her friend’s mother hadn’t gone to so much trouble, especially with Jonathan sitting in his high chair across the table. His baby spoon was poised in his chubby hand. Mrs. Song had more important things to do than cook up two separate meals!
“Let’s give thanks, shall we?” Jenna’s father said, bowing his head.
Livvy was glad to have friends like Reverend and Mrs. Song and their daughter, Jenna. The Korean family had been so kind to her and her father when they moved here. They’d invited them for a Saturday evening supper, complete with candlelight, just to welcome them to the community. It was easy to understand why Jenna’s father’s church was one of the fastest-growing ethnic churches in the area.
Pushing away worrisome thoughts, Livvy picked up her fork. She had come to help Jenna with her fantastic Passion play tonight. Nothing more. It wasn’t that she was avoiding Grandma Hudson or whatever was planned at home. No, Livvy wouldn’t let those kinds of thoughts spoil her supper at the Songs’ home. She was determined not to.
Somehow, though, they inched . . . crept into her mind, especially during dessert. Mrs. Song had baked a cake. Chocolate with creamy butterscotch icing. Her ongoing frustration with Grandma and with the preparations for some sort of celebration seemed to mix together in her head. It was like performing a flying camel to a death drop. Only out of control.
Everything started to spin around her.
Follow the Dream
Chapter Thirteen
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jenna kept asking in the backseat as her father drove Livvy home.
“I’m fine,” Livvy assured her.
“Let me walk you up to the door, at least,” Jenna persisted.
“I can make it.”
“But you said you were dizzy.”
Livvy thanked Reverend Song, who sat quietly behind the steering wheel. Then, to Jenna, she said, “I love the play you wrote. It’s super.”
“Call me later, okay?” Jenna asked, her eyes blinking too fast.
Livvy waved to them as they pulled away from the curb. Then, taking a deep breath, she hurried up the steps to her house.
Inside the house, the living room lights were dim. She headed to the closet to hang up her jacket. She hoped Grandma wouldn’t come rushing up to her just now. She felt horribly weak. No, she felt ashamed.
She needed time. . . .
A few minutes later, Dad appeared in the doorway. “I’m glad you remembered,” he said.
“Remembered?” She paused a moment. “About coming home for dessert?” She hardly felt well enough to eat anything more.
“Your grandmother has gone to a lot of work,” Dad said, his arms crossed.
“Did you ever find out what’s going on?”
He smiled then, a full-mouthed grin. She was nearly shocked to see it. How long had it been? “I think you’ll be very pleased, honey,” he said.
“I will?”
He nodded, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I’d forgotten how important this day is to us.”
She was confused by the charade. “What’s so special about today, Dad?”
They walked the few steps to the dining room. Candlelight cast a golden glow on the wallpaper, the buffet, on everything. A centerpiece basket of yellow and white roses surprised her even more.
“I’ll let your grandmother explain,” Dad said, pulling out her dining room chair.
He was treating her like a princess.
Seated next to her father, Livvy folded her hands in her lap. What was going on?
Her dad would only smile. Nothing more.
Soon enough, Grandma came in from the kitchen, carrying a beautiful two-layer cake. It was iced with rich, dark chocolate, just as she’d imagined. And there were candles on top.
“This isn’t what you think,” Grandma said. “We’re not having a belated birthday party.”
“Must be an un-birthday,” Dad joked.
Grandma lit the candles, counting each one. Eight in all. “For each of the years since that first spring day,” Grandma said, eyes bright.
Livvy wondered what day Grandma meant. But she didn’t speak.
“Eight years ago today, you were nearly four years old. Your mother took you by the hand to your first skating lesson,” Grandma said. “I happen to know it was the first day of spring.” She held up a letter. “It’s all right here.”
This was so incredible. Livvy could hardly wait to hear more.
“I would like to read your mother’s letter, written on that special day,” Grandma said, looking squarely across the table.
Nodding, Livvy reached for her father’s hand. She held on tight, hoping she wouldn’t cry.
“Your mother’s letter was written to me,” Grandma said, beginning to read.
Dear Beatrice,
Today I did the most exciting thing for my little girl. I have felt for quite some time that our Livvy has an inclination toward athletics. She pretends to spin and jump, as though she’s skating on ice . . . hours at a time. I’ve talked to several skating instructors. Each of them cautioned me: “Three years old is a bit young to be taken too seriously.”
But I couldn’t ignore what I saw in dear little Livvy. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. I believe our daughter is a natural-born athlete.
Well, I suppose we will find out sooner or later. Because, you see, I signed her up for a Wee Beginners skating group in Riverdale today. It’s for preschoolers, and Livvy’s the tiniest of all the children. Somehow, I wanted to mark the day—make it special. So I baked a lemon cake with chocolate icing for supper tonight. Livvy and her daddy were delighted. And I took pictures to put in our family scrapbook.
Maybe someday we’ll look back on this moment and realize it was the right thing to do. You see, I believe in Livvy’s love for skating, even as young as she is. And she took to the ice like a trooper. Her mouth was working hard and her arms flying around to keep her balance. I cried for joy, watching her.
You probably think I’m an overenthusiastic mother, so I’ll stop here. Just wanted you and Dad to know.
We love you, Bea. Take care.
Grandma looked up from the letter. “Olivia Kay, do you understand how important this day really is?”
Livvy couldn’t speak. She knew if she tried, it would come out all squeaky. And she would probably boo-hoo.
Thank goodness, Dad spoke up. “I guess Livvy and I had long forgotten. Right, kiddo?” He winked at her.
Nodding, Livvy tried to force a smile. She really wasn’t sad at all. It was just that her mouth wouldn’t cooperate at the moment.
“I think we should hunt down that scrapbook—the one your mother made. Let’s have a look at it tonight.”
Grandma was nodding. “I should say so.”
Livvy excused herself to blow her nose. She closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against it.
What kind of person am I? she thought.
Going to the sink, she washed her face, patting it dry as she stared at the mirror.
I’ve resented Grandma so much. . . . Why?
In that moment of reflection, she thought she knew. The truth hit her squarely between the eyes. She was angry at Grandma for trying too hard. And all these months, Livvy had been miserably mistaken. Grandma wasn’t trying to take Mom’s place at all. Thanks to an amazing letter, things were starting to make some sense. Finally!
* * *
“Have a piece of cake,” Grandma sai
d when Livvy returned to the dining room.
“Thanks, Grandma. What a super surprise.”
“A delicious one, too,” Dad said, beaming at both his mother and his daughter.
Livvy decided right then that she would share her heart with her grandmother. But it would have to be in private. A heart-to-heart talk was definitely in order. But first, her favorite cake and ice cream awaited. Made by the world’s best grandmother!
She could almost hear it now. Jenna, especially, would be thrilled to pieces. But before Livvy spent a single minute on the phone with Jen, she had two very important things to do!
Follow the Dream
Chapter Fourteen
Livvy helped her grandmother clean up the kitchen. They scraped the plates and loaded the dishwasher. She wiped the counters, and Grandma wiped off the place mats on the table.
Soon, she and Dad were sitting down with Grandma in the living room. With great interest, they shared the scrapbook on three laps, examining each page. Creatively done, the album featured Livvy’s early childhood days.
Liv had to laugh at the various skating outfits. “So cute,” she said, pointing.
“Just look how tiny,” Grandma said.
Dad, too, seemed surprised at how small the skates were. “I didn’t know they made them that little,” he commented. “Or . . . did I?”
“You’ve simply forgotten, that’s all,” Grandma chided him.
Dad hugged Livvy close. “No more forgetting,” he promised. “How about if I go with you to practice tomorrow?”
Livvy held her breath, wondering if Grandma would protest. When no objection came, she nodded. “Maybe you could come twice a week . . . and Grandma twice.”
“And what about the other days?” Dad said, a cunning smile on his handsome face.
“On those days, I’ll go it alone.” She hoped Grandma would keep nodding her head.
“So . . . it’s settled, then,” Dad said with a clap of his hands.
Livvy realized her father had just now followed through with his promised “talk” to Grandma. He had done what he could to help smooth things out. To pave the way for Livvy’s freedom to follow her dream. Of course, he’d accomplished it in a roundabout sort of way. But that was Dad’s style, and it was okay.
When he disappeared to return to his studio, Livvy hung around the living room. She stayed curled up on the couch, waiting for Grandma to finish reading a magazine. Full of skating outfits and ideas, the trendy periodical had come in the day’s mail.
“I guess you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Liv said hesitantly.
Grandma looked up, her glasses partway down her nose. “What did you say, dear?”
Livvy smiled to herself. “It’s all right with me if you want to make my new skating outfit, Grandma.”
Her grandmother scratched her head and frowned. “Well, now, I figured you weren’t all too interested.”
Livvy cringed. Was this conversation headed in the wrong direction? She unfolded her legs and stretched a bit, getting up the courage to speak.
But Grandma beat her to it. “To tell you the truth, Olivia, Mrs. Newton talked me out of it,” she admitted.
“She did?” Livvy wondered when Grandma had seen her friend.
“We went shopping together this afternoon . . . for your flowers.” Grandma sighed a bit, her hands moving about. “Mrs. Newton advised me not to. She said it was hardly worth the effort sewing an elaborate skating costume.”
This didn’t sound like Grandma talking. She wondered what else Mrs. Newton had said.
“Oh, before I forget, I have some other letters tucked away for you,” Grandma said, getting up.
“What letters?”
“Come, let’s go to my room,” said Grandma.
Livvy followed her up the stairs. As they went, she remembered the lovely rose centerpiece. Grandma had gone out of her way to buy flowers and tall white candles for the lovely table.
With each step, she felt even more dismal. Grandma had meant well, just like Dad had said. She was truly kindhearted. Thoughtful, too. To think Livvy’d resisted such loving attention when she needed it most.
* * *
The letters Grandma was eager to share turned out to be more writings from Livvy’s mother. “They were written to me over the years,” Grandma explained. “Especially during the last weeks of your mother’s life.”
They had been kept—all of them—in a hand-painted oak box. Set beneath the mirror, the treasured box was centered on Grandma’s dresser.
Staring at the letters, Livvy felt a shiver. Yet it was comforting to know that Mom had taken time to express herself to her mother-in-law. Bless her heart, Grandma had saved all of them.
“Go on, take them over to the rocking chair,” Grandma urged. “Get comfortable.”
Livvy caressed the letters in her hands before reading. Then, one by one, she began to read.
Meanwhile, Grandma set about doing other things in the room. It was considerate of her.
Tears began to cloud Livvy’s sight, and she stopped reading for a moment.
“Are you all right, Olivia?” asked Grandma.
Livvy sighed. “You and Mom must’ve been very close.”
Grandma nodded from across the room. “She was the daughter I never had. I was mighty glad your father chose such a wonderful young woman to wed.”
The words warmed Livvy’s heart. She continued her journey, savoring every letter her mother had written.
But it was her mother’s final letter that made her sniffle again. She found herself going back and rereading.
My dearest Beatrice,
I am so grateful for the days and weeks you’ve given to me of your time and energy during my illness. I don’t know how I would’ve coped without your love and care.
This may be my last letter to you, and in it I want to put on paper your promise . . . as I understand it. You are so gracious to agree to help my husband and daughter after my passing. I know you will look after them to the best of your ability.
Whatever you can possibly do, please help my Livvy follow her skating dream. She’s going to need your support desperately. There are days, even now, when she is discouraged. Attempt to keep her spirits high—don’t let her occasional frustration get the best of you. Livvy’s a hard worker, but she’s used to seeing me on the sidelines, cheering her on and lending moral support.
You are Livvy’s best hope for the Olympics, dear Bea. I know this in my heart of hearts. Not because her father isn’t interested. His calling is art, as you know. He needs to focus on his work. My need is to nurture Livvy, our precious Olivia Kay.
So, when the time seems right, will you ease into my place, Bea? I will be ever grateful if you can give my girl a good dose of mothering.
Livvy held the letter close to her heart. A good dose of mothering . . . The annoying phrase had come straight from her mother’s heart!
She felt like crying. Sobbing, really—to let it all out. All these months, Grandma had been trying to live up to a dying mother’s last wish. She was doing what she’d promised by driving Livvy to the ice rink every morning in the wee hours. As for hovering, that was hardly the word for a grandmother who was giving of herself every minute of every day. Giving out good doses of mothering!
Livvy felt like an ungrateful toad. How could I have been so blind?
Brushing the tears from her cheeks, she got up, still clutching the letter. “Oh, Grandma, I’m so sorry,” she said, crossing the room. She fell into her grandmother’s arms.
“There, there . . .” Grandma patted her back.
“I was such a jerk—you have no idea.” The bitterness poured out of her like a soda fizzing out of a shaken bottle. “I didn’t know what you’d promised Mom. I just didn’t know. . . .”
Grandma was silent, still holding her.
“Will you forgive me?” Livvy sobbed. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Oh, honey, there’s no need to worry so. Of course y
ou’re forgiven. We all are because of Calvary.” Grandma found a tissue for her and waited for Livvy to dry her eyes. “Now . . . isn’t that what Easter’s all about?”
At that moment, Jenna’s Passion play became even more of a reality. “You’ll never guess what the Girls Only club members are planning,” she blurted.
“Must be something about Easter.” Grandma Hudson was sharp as a tack.
“That’s right.”
Grandma’s eyes twinkled happily. “Speaking of Easter, your father’s going to have a surprise for you in a few days.”
“Another one?” She was thinking of her mother’s wonderful letters. Especially the one written just before her death. “I don’t know if I can handle any more surprises.”
Grandma smiled. “This one might be the topping on the cake, so to speak.”
Livvy had no idea what to expect. But her curiosity was definitely piqued.
What’s up? she wondered.
Follow the Dream
Chapter Fifteen
Three days later, Livvy and Grandma stood precisely where Dad positioned them. “Stand right there,” he said, hurrying back to his art table.
Livvy stared at the clock in the shape of an easel, hanging on the studio wall. Numerous large ferns and other greenery softened the corners of the long room. There were framed prints displayed on the wall, mostly drawn or painted by Dad.
Unlike Jenna’s attic bedroom, this room had wider and higher windows, letting the light in during the day. Tonight, Dad had drawn the shades, making the place more private.
“I’ve read and reread all of Mom’s letters to Grandma,” Livvy said as her Dad scurried about the room.
He stopped moving about and turned to face her. “Letters?”
Grandma was all smiles again. “Oh yes, and you may certainly read them, too.”
Livvy was glad to hear it. She would be eager to know what her dad thought of the deathbed wish. He would probably agree with it wholeheartedly—the part that explained why someone other than himself needed to support Livvy’s dream. It was a sweet, very dear thing her mother had done.
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