Page 39 of The Way We Touch
Everyone was a fan, and after my mom died, when he started going down fast, they all surrounded us with love and food.
“Do you see something?” Kimmie Joy’s little voice is curious as she climbs onto the wrought-iron bench beside Miss Gina, turning her head to follow the old woman’s gaze.
“Who is this?” Delight fills Miss Gina’s tone, and her wrinkled, spotty hand feels around until she finds my niece’s. “Is this Kimmie Joy Bradford?”
“It is,” I smile, watching them.
“That’s such a beautiful name. How old are you now?”
“I’m five.” Kimmie nods her head side to side. “I’m starting kindergarten with Mrs. Patience in August.”
“What a perfect name for a kindergarten teacher.” Miss Gina pats her back. “Patience.”
“She’s also very young.” I lean closer to the old woman, lowering my voice. “Patience and energy.”
Miss Gina’s eyes close and she laughs almost like she’s remembering being that age.
“Do you really have an elevator in your house?” Kimmie traces her finger over the flower pattern of Miss Gina’s shawl.
“I do. Want to see it?”
My niece nods frantically, and I’m about to translate when the old lady stands. “Come with me.”
She waits for my niece to take her hand, then she leads her expertly across the patio to the French doors leading to the house. I don’t even ask how she does it.
“Aunt Deedee said you can’t see anything.” Kimmie hops along beside her. “Is it like the middle of the night all the time? I don’t think I’d like that.”
“It’s not my first choice.” Miss Gina takes her hand. “But it’s not darkness. More like a white sheet blocking out everything, like someone pulled the wool over my eyes.”
She chuckles like she cracked herself up. It’s so unexpected, it makes me smile.
“Like if I put a blanket over my head?” Kimmie asks.
“I think so.” The old lady opens the door and steps to the side for us to enter. “The downstairs was designed for entertaining. This is the formal living room, and behind it is the formal dining area. All the bedrooms are on the second floor.”
Her posture is straight, and she moves with confidence, motioning with her hands as if she can see perfectly. “And here is the elevator.”
She stops at the black, wrought-iron cage that has a small bench inside. “Want to ride it?”
“Yay yay yay!” Kimmie jumps up and down before running inside the ornate cage.
“Did you grow up in this house?” I watch as she directs my niece how to press the buttons.
“I lived here until I left for college at eighteen. Then my father died, and I moved back to take care of my mother when my sister left.”
“I didn’t know you went to college.” I try to imagine her navigating a campus the way she navigates this house.
I think about all those old stories about her, and they all seem so silly now. The only mystery that stands out is this house—and what I assume is the money to go with it. Maybe her family were descended from pirates. I’m pretty sure she’s not a Spanish princess, but who knows?
We stand beside the wrought-iron elevator shaft, and I watch as Kimmie rises to the second floor. “Come right back down,” I call to her, and she waves at me through the grated floor.
“We never had children here—other than my sister and me, of course.” Miss Gina’s tone is quiet. “When I was young, I never gave it any thought. Now that I seem to be outliving everyone, I’m beginning to understand that line about the kindness of strangers.”
“From Streetcar?”
“That’s the one,” she chuckles.
The elevator returns to the first floor, and Kimmie hops out when it stops. “Can I do it again?”