“I’ll tell you later,” Nick said, kicking off his boots and helping Eleanor out of her wet shoes. “This is Eleanor Thompson. She needs our help.”
Nancy looked at the old woman for a split second, and then her face softened. The suspicion vanished. “Come in, come in,” she said quickly, taking Eleanor’s other arm. “You’re frozen solid. Let’s get some hot tea in you.”
They led her into the living room. The sofa groaned as Eleanor sat down. She sat on the very edge, like a bird ready to take flight. Allie, their sixteen-year-old, poked her head out of her room. She was in her pajamas, her hair in a messy braid.
“Dad?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “You’re back? Who’s this?” “I’ll tell you in a bit, honey,” Nick said, shedding his jacket. Allie walked over and looked at Eleanor.
The old woman sat perfectly still, her hands folded. “Are you okay, ma’am?” Allie asked, sitting down next to her. Eleanor blinked, looking at the girl. “Yes, dear,” she whispered. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
Nancy returned with a towel and a warm wool blanket. “Here, dry off,” she said, handing it to Eleanor. “And wrap up. Let’s get you into some dry clothes.” Eleanor took the towel with shaking hands.
Nancy brought out a thick sweater and some sweatpants. “Let’s get you changed,” she said gently. They went into the bathroom. Nick sat down at the kitchen table and rubbed his face. The exhaustion hit him all at once, pinning him to the chair.
Allie sat across from him, her chin in her hands. “Dad, who is she?” she asked quietly. “Hold on, Allie,” Nick said. “I’ll explain everything.” Ten minutes later, Nancy and Eleanor returned.
The old woman was wearing Nancy’s blue sweater and soft pants. Her hair was drying, and some color had returned to her cheeks. But she looked overwhelmed. “Nancy,” she said, stopping at the door, “I can’t. I shouldn’t be here. I’m a burden.”
Her voice was trembling. “You’re so kind, but I’m a stranger. I should go. I have a place to stay.” Nancy walked over and put her hands on Eleanor’s shoulders. “Don’t even think about it,” she said firmly. “It’s freezing out there, and it’s a holiday.”
“Sit down. I’m making tea and a real breakfast.” Eleanor started to argue, but Allie jumped up. “Please stay!” the girl blurted out, grabbing Eleanor’s hand. “It was so quiet here this morning, and now it feels like a real holiday. Right, Mom?”
Nancy nodded, smiling. “That’s right. Sit down, Eleanor.” Nick stood up and looked the old woman in the eye. “Eleanor, stay with us. Just for today. Deal?”
Eleanor looked at him, her lips quivered, and she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. Nancy led her to the table and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Allie helped, pouring tea and setting out the jam.
The table was set for a feast. Nancy had clearly been busy: there was a pot roast, mashed potatoes, a fresh apple pie, and warm rolls. It smelled of herbs, garlic, and home.
Eleanor looked at it all like it was a dream. “So much food,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.” “It’s the holidays,” Nancy smiled, pouring her tea. “Sugar?” “Please,” Eleanor replied, gripping the mug with both hands.
They sat down together. Nick told the story—not every detail, just the essentials: picking her up, the cemetery, reading the letter, finding her at the grave. Nancy listened with her hand over her mouth. Allie didn’t blink.
Eleanor kept her eyes on her tea. “I haven’t felt this kind of warmth in a long time,” she said softly. “This food. This family.”
She looked up at Allie. The girl was watching her intently. Eleanor stared at her for a long moment, and her eyes filled with tears. “You look so much like my Sarah did,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “The same eyes. The same look.”
Tears tracked down her face. Allie stood up, walked around the table, and hugged the old woman’s shoulders. “Don’t cry, Eleanor,” the girl whispered. “It’s okay.” Eleanor leaned into her and sobbed quietly.
Nick pulled the envelope from his pocket and set it on the table in front of his daughter. “Read this, Allie,” he said. “When you have a minute. So you understand what a real life looks like. And what real love is.” Allie nodded, taking the envelope.
“I will,” she promised. Nancy started serving the food. Eleanor ate slowly, in small bites, as if she were afraid it would vanish. They talked quietly, easily.
Nancy talked about her job at the hospital; Allie talked about school and her upcoming dance recital. Nick mostly listened. Eleanor seemed to come alive, her eyes brightening with every story.
“You have such a lovely home,” she said, looking around. “It’s so bright.” “It’s modest,” Nancy laughed. “But it’s ours.” An hour passed, and Allie took the envelope to her room. The adults sat over coffee, talking about life.
Eleanor told them about Pittsburgh, her youth, and the theater where Sarah had performed. Then her voice slowed down. Nick noticed her eyelids getting heavy. She fell asleep right there at the table, her head resting on her arms.
Nancy looked at Nick. “Help me,” she whispered. They carefully lifted Eleanor. She didn’t wake up, just gave a long sigh. They carried her to Allie’s room and tucked her into the bed. The old woman curled up like a child, her face finally at peace.
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