I was cleaning up my desktop when I came across something I wrote last summer. I really loved this story and hoped Woman's World would too but, alas, it was not accepted. I thought I may as well post it here so someone reads it besides Patricia. LOL
When Ramona saw the lemonade stand manned by two little girls, she had to stop. Almost fifty years ago, she and her sister had spent several Saturdays one summer similarly occupied with a wooden stand that their father built them.
One of the little girls waved enthusiastically. Grabbing her wallet, Ramona got out of the car and approached the card table with a poster taped to it. The poster, decorated with big daisies and hand-drawn glasses of lemonade, said, “All profits go to the Halfway Home Shelter.”
“Boy, am I thirsty,” Ramona said.
“Then try our lemonade!” the younger girl exclaimed. She wore a pink T-shirt with a kitten on it.
The front screen door to the house opened and a handsome man about Ramona’s age, presumably the girls’ grandfather, came out.
“I’d love some lemonade,” Ramona said. “Especially since the money is going towards a good cause. What are your names? I’m Ramona.”
“I’m Olivia,” the one in pink said.
“I’m Grace. We raised twelve dollars yesterday, but we want to triple that today!”
“My granddaughters are nothing if not ambitious.” The man smiled as he laid one hand on each of the girls’ shoulders. Ramona noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “I’m Tom,” he said, “Tom Richardson.”
Ramona liked the merry twinkle in his brown eyes and his short salt and pepper hair.
Grace tugged on Tom’s shirt. “If we’re going to triple our money, we need a fresh idea, Granddad,” she said.
“You know,” Ramona said, eyeing their canister of just-add-water mix. “I just happen to have lots of personal lemonade stand experience and I might be able to help you increase your sales.”
The girls gasped. “Please tell us! Please!”
Grinning, Tom met her gaze over their heads and all of Ramona’s nerve-endings zinged with awareness. Although her husband had passed nine years ago, she hadn’t been attracted to a man in ages.
“Let me taste the product first.”
She took a sip and nodded thoughtfully. “This is good, but we can make it much better. My grandmother made the best blueberry lemonade in the state. People came from miles around to get some. It was so good that the Queen of England herself bestowed the special title of ‘Duchess of Deliciousness’ upon her.”
The girls stared at her with wide eyes.
“I think I saw something about this on the nightly news. Didn’t the First Lady have her over for tea at the White House?” Tom asked, spontaneously adding to Ramona’s tall tale.
“I believe so,” Ramona said, stifling a laugh.
“Grandpa, let’s go buy some blueberries right now!” Grace said. Olivia nodded eagerly.
“Hold on,” Tom said. “I don’t think it’s as simple as just dropping blueberries in our lemonade.”
“It isn’t,” Ramona agreed. “If you want to make lemonade as good as Grandma Esther’s…”
“We do!” both girls exclaimed.
“You have to make it from scratch. Fresh lemons, fresh blueberries. You should put that on your sign, too. ‘Blueberry lemonade, made from scratch!’”
“Wait. Are you saying you’ll actually share the Duchess’ recipe with us?” Tom asked with exaggerated shock.
Ramona had to laugh. “Of course, I will. The Duchess was always generous with her recipes. I also happen to know of a blueberry farm where you can pick your own and get more for your money than at the grocery store.”
The girls clapped their hands in delight as their grandfather laid out a plan to go to the blueberry farm the next day, bright and early. “That way,” he said, “we can come back home, make the lemonade and be selling it by the time it gets hot and people get thirsty. In the meantime, you can make your new sign, like Ramona suggested.”
Brimming with excitement, the girls abandoned the stand and ran inside.
Tom chuckled. “Thank you so much, Ramona. I think your recipe will give this little enterprise a real kick in the pants.”
“My pleasure. The memories I have of selling lemonade with my sister are priceless.”
After getting his email address so she could send him the recipe, she turned to go, but Tom said, “Say, if you’re free tomorrow, would you like to come with us to the farm? And maybe help us with that first batch?”
Their eyes met and Ramona felt a thrill she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I’d like nothing more,” she said, her heart filling with hope.
Photo by Amy Gizienski via Flickr cc license






































