Twenty-Six
Grace stood on the steps of a small apartment with a fruit basket in her arms. She’d knocked for the third time before wondering if she should leave the basket and go. Then the door opened.
Lenorie’s nose and cheeks were red, her eyes tear-stained.
“Hi,” Grace said tentatively. “I just wanted to give you this. I don’t have to stay if this is a bad time.”
“No, please,” Lenorie said, waving her in. She took the basket. “Thank you. This smells amazing.”
“I think it’s the goranges.”
Heron had helped her pick out the grief basket, claiming that the goranges—a hybrid of grapefruit and oranges—were good for depression. Grace hoped he was right.
“Do you want one?” she asked, putting the basket on the counter.
“No, I just ate. But please help yourself.”
Lenorie pulled a plate fr
