Secrets Unveiled (12 page)

“Like him? You've said that twice now, Grant. What, exactly, does it mean to be like him?”

“Dad was mostly disgruntled, discontent, and sometimes even downright mean.” Grant coughed slightly as the tea went down wrong. “I tried my best to travel the road he'd paved, but once Mom passed away he became a tough sell. We were close once, and then everything suddenly changed. It didn't exactly happen overnight, but it was fast. There was a sudden disconnect in every step he took, like a plug being ripped from the outlet. It spilled over in the way he spoke to me, treated me…in the things we did—or rather didn't—do together any longer.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Me, too.” Grant leaned back against the picnic tabletop and trained his gaze on Gemma, who had crossed toward the play area and climbed the ladder to the top of the slide. Her cheeks were flushed, and he considered walking her drink over to see if she'd like a sip. But he was distracted with finishing his explanation. “I missed the first semester my freshman year of college because Dad decided to pull his funding. It's not that he couldn't afford it—he had plenty of money. He just didn't want to share.”

“Is that why you…did what you did at Grandma Nell's…and all those other places with the rest of those boys?”

“No, by then I was done with that kind of stuff. I'd learned my lesson. I was ashamed of my actions…of hurting Cara. I had already been to juvenile court and promised to walk the straight and narrow. It shamed me, realizing that I'd bowed to that level, got sucked in with the wrong crowd. I wondered what Mom would say if she was here to see. I made a decision… I would never do anything like that again. I've stuck to it, Maggie. I don't even pluck pennies from the sidewalk anymore.”

“But when you found out about your dad…about the money for college?”

“It was tough. If I had known he was going to do that, I would have stepped up work to save some money—and I don't mean the kind of work that led to juvenile. Who knows…it may have given me the focus I needed back then and kept me off the streets. But Dad always promised if I went to college, he'd take care of things for me. I didn't know that promise depended solely on me following his dream instead of mine.”

“What was his dream?”

“Studying law, working my way up the corporate ladder as quickly as possible. But I'd seen enough of the courtroom and all those inner-workings to last me a lifetime. I couldn't stand the thought of sitting there day in and day out, trying to manipulate the system in my favor and arguing with the other side.”

“I can see that.”

“Plus, being an attorney—at least of the caliber Dad expected—consumes hours and hours of time. Dad was gone from sun-up to bedtime. Nights…weekends…there was always a case that required his attention. After Mom died, Cara and I were alone way more than he was with us. If it wasn't for her”—Grant shook his head—”and whoever helped me through college after the old man pulled the rug out from under my feet… I wish I knew who it was. I'd like to thank them for saving me.”

Maggie's pulse stuttered at the comment. Sunlight warmed her back as it peeked through the clouds. Slowly, she murmured, “I know who it was, Grant.”

He shifted his gaze form Gemma to her. “What did you say?”

“I know who funded your scholarship.” Maggie slipped her hand into his and squeezed as the words spilled out in a rush. “I just found out the day I learned you had the locket—when we argued at school. It was my grandmother…Grandma Nell.”

****

“Your grandmother?” Grant kept his gaze trained on Gemma as he and Maggie spoke. The child had moved from the slide to the swings, and now she covered her mouth as a flurry of coughs swept through. He ought to have her come and sit in the shade to cool off a bit. And he would do just that in a minute or two…just a few more minutes. He had so much yet to share with Maggie. “The one who owned the locket?”

“That's right.”

“But why?” Grant's memory shifted to the day he'd sat together with her in the judge's chambers. His dad was detained in circuit court and only Cara, who was barely twenty-one at the time, had come with him. Grant thought his dad might have pulled some strings with the courts, but he'd done just the opposite. The judge's questions shot like a full magazine and at one point, Grant simply broke down. Gone was the tough-guy attitude that had shielded his heart from the loss of his mom…from his Dad's rejection…for so long. At the floor of this cesspool he sat alone, afraid, and exhausted with the anger that threatened to consume him. As the sobs quaked through, Nell had taken his hand and softly whispered, “God still loves you, son.”

Son….she'd called him son.

At that very moment, Grant felt the slightest shift deep inside. He dried his face and sat up straight in the chair, his gaze connecting head-on with hers as the tears trailed down both cheeks.

With a raspy voice, he managed, “I'm sorry for what I've done.”

Her response was a simple, “I know.”

“It will never happen again.” Grant had fisted his hands and propped them on the polished wood table. His words were a plea straight from the very depths of his heart. “I want to do something with my life…something good. I want to make my mom proud…even if she's not here to actually see what I've done.”

Nell's nod was the slightest sliver of a gesture. She draped a hand over his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Oh, she'll know, son…one day she'll surely know.”

As Grant relived the snippet in time, he wondered how he could have failed to connect the dots. It all made sense now…absolutely perfect sense.

But he'd never be able to thank Nell. The realization struck like a blow to his gut. She was gone…for good.

Gemma was crossing the mulch toward the monkey bars when she stumbled and fell to her knees.

“Hey, pumpkin, are you OK?” Grant called.

Silence.

“She's in trouble, Grant.” Maggie clutched his hand. “She needs us.”

Panic swarmed Grant as Maggie leapt to her feet. She kicked off her heels and took off at a sprint. He rose to follow, overtaking Maggie as they neared Gemma's side.

Gemma's distress was evident in the rasp of each breath that failed to fill her lungs. Maggie fell to her knees and turned Gemma to face them. Already, her lips had taken on the purplish tinge that struck a chord of fear.

“Oh, Grant…do something.”

Grant's hand went to the pocket of his khakis for Gemma's inhaler.

“Do you have it?” Maggie cradled Gemma's head. “Hurry, Grant…she needs help.”

“Here.” But his pocket was empty. “Oh, no…the medicine's with Cara…it's in her purse. I forgot to get it from her before she left church for the hospital.”

“The ambulance…”

“Someone must have called; it's on its way.” Off in the distance, the wail of sirens shrieked. “Easy, Gemma,” Grant coaxed as he knelt beside her and lifted her into his arms. “I've got you now. It's OK, honey. Just breathe, Gemma. Please breathe.”

But Gemma's efforts told Grant that her lungs were tight as plaster. For a moment the world went suddenly still, as if the earth itself quit turning. Then Gemma struggled against Grant in one final attempt to draw a breath before her eyes rolled back and she went frighteningly limp in a puddle of polka dot fabric.

11

“Here you go. Maggie handed Grant a cup of coffee as she settled into the glider on her front porch. “Are you doing OK?”

“I'm better now,” Grant scooted over to make room for her beside him, “knowing Gemma's home and tucked safely into her bed.”

“She gave us a real scare, didn't she?”

“She sure did.” Grant sipped the coffee and then set the mug on the table at his side. “I thought it was going to be much, much worse when I saw her collapse, but your quick thinking saved the day…saved her life, Maggie.”

“It's a good thing I failed to take her inhaler out of my purse that day we returned from the zoo. There was just enough medicine left in the pump…just enough...or things might have ended up much, much worse.”

“Yes. Cara called a little while ago and said Gemma was given a thorough once over at Children's Hospital and everything looks fine. The pediatrician recommended she take it easy for the next week or so, with allergy season at its height, and for all of us to keep a close watch on her. Cara's going to cut back on her hours for a while and stick closer to home.” Grant took Maggie's hand and squeezed her fingers gently. “But, all told, it's almost Divine intervention, the way things played out today.”

“It's not almost Divine intervention. I think it most certainly
is
Divine intervention.” Maggie turned to him and her veil of hair, scented with sunshine and something softly floral, spilled over one shoulder. “God brought us back together for a reason, Grant, and maybe this is it…maybe what happened today is the reason.”

“It's more than that.” He leaned in to gather her close. As she rested her head on his shoulder, he felt the beat of her pulse. The rhythm comforted, soothed, and made him feel more alive than ever. “Maggie, I know I've hurt you, but it would mean so much for you to forgive me…to truly forgive me for all the heartache I've caused you.”

“I already have.” She brushed her lips to his stubbled cheek, sending a shiver of heat down his spine. “I've been selfish, treating you like a leper…judging you when God has been so gracious with me despite all of my missteps and flaws. You didn't—don't—deserve that. Almost losing Gemma has brought things front and center. Life is precious…much, much too precious to carry a grudge.”

“Your Grandma Nell had a heart of gold. She believed in me when no one—except maybe Cara—gave me the time of day. It saddens me beyond measure to think I'll never have the opportunity to thank her for all she did for me.”

“You already have thanked her, Grant, a thousand times over. Every day…every action with Gemma…is the best kind of thank you.” Maggie slipped her hand from his cheek to the nape of his neck. “She saw something in you…something good and worthy. I see it, too, in all you do. You're a good man, Grant Anderson. You took all the bad things in your life…all of the hurt and failures…and formed them into something positive.”

“That means a lot, coming from you. It matters to me what you think. It has always mattered, Maggie.” Grant smoothed his lips along the length of one eyebrow and then dipped to claim her mouth. When he came up for air he asked, “So, do you have any adventures planned at school this week…anything you might need a little help with?”

“Just the usual madness and mayhem with a few craft projects and a library of stories tossed in for good measure. And academics…we can never neglect the academics.”

“I can help with that.” Grant pressed his forehead to hers and sighed. “I'll roll up my sleeves and pitch in if it means spending time with you.”

“I'd like that, Grant Anderson…very, very much.”

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