For Me The Help Meant Love
Two hours after the party ended, the front door opened and young voices filtered down the hall. Two teenage girls came giggling into the room. They stopped, looked at the old woman, and ran to hug her.
Smiling, the woman dried her hands. She didn't need to stay any longer. She could leave. She had seen the girls.
When we got older, we didn't see Bessie very often. She came to our weddings, and we might run into her at some catered event. The story I wrote in high school actually happened. She insisted that Mom needed her help, but once my younger sister and I returned home that evening, Bessie announced she was ready to go home.