Conversations #9

A disjointed set of conversations that would've been fun/nice/endearing/helpful to see in the series…but we didn't.

Follows CANON only, generally references to conversations we never hear.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just speculatin'.

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"They're not like us, Dale," Gracie said, trying to convince her young employee that Skylar Stevens was not worth the angst he was pouring into her. Or the time. Especially not the affection.

The end result of her infomercial on the perils of the financially-unchallenged was ultimately unsatisfactory. Dale went to that girl's party anyway. He had no idea what would happen.

But Gracie knew.

"Oh, Dale," she sighed, talking to the shelves, since no one was around to listen to her otherwise. "As soon as you get there, you'll run into the group she sees. A few minutes later, you'll leave. I know you won't come here, but…be careful."

She couldn't say it to him--he was, after all, a teenaged male who had just lost his mother and his home. Besides, she'd said too much already.

"If I could give you what I've learned over the past years without you having to learn it yourself. The hard way." She pictured the boy from two years ago, little more than a mop of hair and a pair of huge blue eyes on a body that resembled the walking-stick she'd seen on the nature channel--what was it? Discoverers? Discovering? Something like that.

"Mama not worth a thing, your daddy long gone…how could I say no? But then you got wrapped up in that little girl and every lick of sense you had just walked out, too. You should listen to me about those kind, honey." Her bony shoulders slumped and an uncharacteristically devastated expression filled her brown eyes. "I should have listened to my mama about them." She sighed, the weight of years of silence filling her chest. "I didn't though, and neither did my daughter." She swiped the rag across the counter, not that there was anything to dirty it up now.

"If she had, though, I wouldn't have you."

Gracie looked around the store and saw a run-down old place she swore years ago that she'd never be trapped in. Now here she was, thirty-two years later with a thirty-one-old daughter whose father had been one of those rich kids without a heart and whom she couldn't raise on her own in a small town. That same daughter who had died in Atlanta with her playboy lover , leaving Gracie a sixteen-year-old grandson with no idea exactly who she was to him.

He never would.

"Hey, Gracie Leigh," Eric said, an attempt at a smile on his face as he walked in. "Got anything left?"

"Not really. Not particularly." A memory sparked. "Eric? How hard is it to change my will?"

"Not hard. Just tell your lawyer what you want to change and he'll see that he gets done." His tone was pleasant, carefully neutral about the question. "Would you like some help?"

"Hm?" Gracie was pulled back from her thoughts about what she should have in there for Dale to know. Never the whole truth--he didn't need that. But if it wasn't hard. "Oh, no. I'll see Joseph and then…do you thing your mama would mind witnessing for me?"

"Don't see why not. It's pretty ordinary paperwork."

"It won't be too…macabre?"

How did Gracie know that word? Never mind. His mind was on what was left of the inventory, not Gracie Leigh's mysterious ability to use words generally applied by academics to various heinous acts man perpetrated upon his fellow man.

"Given our recent comparisons," Eric replied dryly, "I doubt it would make her blink."

Gracie nodded. Eric didn't stay much longer. No reason to.

Fifteen minutes later, Gracie Leigh waved Gail Green over to her storefront.

"What is it Gracie? I was just heading home."

"Gail, I was wondering if you'd witness the change I want to make to my will…"

Gail blinked, then nodded, encouraging Gracie Leigh to keep going. From what Gracie Leigh had to say, the thought she'd put into it, there was something more here.

"Why Dale? If you don't mind the question," she amended hastily.

"Well," Gracie said, drawing out the word as she thought quickly. "We neither of us have any family. I guess…we are family for each other. As much as we can be. He loves this store," she added. No, that wasn't enough. There was something else there. She didn't dare tell Gail the truth. The only people that knew were incinerated in Denver. "It just seems right," she blurted.

Gail nodded. Well, if Gracie wanted Dale to have the store if she couldn't run it--the apocalypse would come first… Gail squelched the thought without changing her expression.

No, the apocalypse had already come. Anything was possible now. Even the town store being the sole possession of a kid who was barely old enough to shave, much less regularly.

The way Gracie Leigh spoke, it was even tempting to believe that Dale was somehow her blood. But that was ridiculous, of course. The classic spinster Gracie Leigh was no more Dale's blood than Gail was the mother of a racehorse.

"Then let's get this written out and signed. I know the language," Gail said. "If you've got some paper stashed, we can get this done right now. We'll grab someone else to witness your signature, too, and it'll be done."

"Thanks, Gail," Gracie Leigh said, smiling, an odd feeling of peace filling her. "This will definitely take a load off my mind."

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