Delia Parr - Carry The Light

Ellie eyed the boxes and studied the staircase for a moment. “Having four hands instead of two will help, I think. That’s what I could have used raising my children—or trying to control twenty-five students in a classroom when I first started teaching. There were days I wished I’d been born an octopus.”

Charlene chuckled. “I think I had a few days of my own like that. Still do, as a matter of fact.”

Ellie bent to pick up an end of one box. “If you take the other side, I’ll try backing up the steps, and you can direct me,” she suggested.

Working together, they managed to get the first box upstairs with only a few stumbles—and lots of giggles along the way.

Before Ellie followed Charlene back to the basement for the second box, she set her cell phone, which had almost fallen out of her pocket, on a shelf near the worktable for safekeeping. “If you’re going to be in Welleswood for a few weeks, will you be going back home on Sunday mornings for church?”

“I don’t really want to be that far away from Aunt Dorothy, although the price of gas alone would be reason enough not to travel back and forth. I’ve really been feeling the pinch commuting lately,” Charlene replied. With her back to the steps, she hoisted up the end of the second box. “I’ll go first this time. I’ve got a bigger cushion to land on when I fall back and thump down on a step or two.”

“You don’t have a security camera anywhere recording us, I hope,” Ellie teased as she grabbed the other side of the box.

“Me?” Charlene giggled and started walking backward toward the steps. “Trust me, you’re safe. Adding a dead bolt to the front and back doors was one big concession to store security.”

“Careful,” Ellie cried. “The bottom step—”

“Whoa!” Charlene tripped, plopped down on the third step and started giggling again as she struggled to shove the box away from her chest to get back to her feet. “That’s it. Here’s an idea. Unless you’re directing me, there’s no conversation until we get this box upstairs. Then I’ll make us both a big mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and some Belgian chocolate shavings that are so decadent you could almost swoon.”

Ellie’s mouth watered. “Okay, but first, let me invite you to come to church with me tomorrow. Services start at ten o’clock.”

“I accept. Ready?”

Ellie adjusted her hands to get a better grip on the box, and nodded. This time they managed to get the box upstairs without either of them stumbling again.

“A job well done,” Charlene murmured. “Thanks.”

Ellie smiled. “You’re welcome,” she murmured.

Ellie had lost touch with a few friends after she was widowed—she just wasn’t comfortable socializing any longer with couples, always being the fifth wheel. But she could certainly use a friend like Charlene, who would understand the hopes and fears she had about her mother and who would be in town without her husband, on weekdays, at least.

Maybe together, as friends, the two of them just might be able to help each other—to meet the challenge of caring for their elderly relatives and in other ways, too.

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