Stages of Grace (10 page)

"I've got a week
" I try to joke.

"That you do." S
he brings one of her hands up to finger the wisps of fine hairs along her scalp. "I just wonder if you'll want to leave early once I tell you." her eyes seem wet and her voice hushed.

I reach out to touch her arm, suddenly feeling guilty for asking. "I'm sorry. I just can't help but wonder why I didn’t know about you."

"It's alright dear. Don’t apologize." Kate pushes her chair back and stands.

"You haven’t finished eating. Please
come sit back down."

"Oh, I'm not going far," Kate murmurs as she sits on a wicker-style loveseat a few feet from the table. "I just like to be busy when I talk." She pulls a bundle of yarn with two needles sticking out if it from a basket that sits below the loveseat.

She pulls the needles from the bundle, careful not to drop any of the stitches and begins to knit. Once she knits a couple stitches, she looks up at me, her hands still busy and says, "Your mother stopped talking to me after I tried to convince her to leave your father and give you up for adoption."

I gasp.

"I want you to know, my dear, that I have regretted that for twenty-five years."

"Why would you tell her to do that?"

"Well, I was just scared she would end up like me, and I also didn’t like the idea of her leaving me behind. I had no right to put that much pressure on your mother. I'm not sure if your mother ever told you much about me or her life growing up." Kate eyes search mine.

I shake my head and look down.

Kate blinks a few times, taking a shaky breath and goes on. "I see. Well, I married very young, too young. I was a lovesick fool, and your grandfather was a good-for-nothing. We got married when I found out I was pregnant with Ronald, and not long after, your mother was born. Your grandfather left us. Here I was, all on my own, with two little ones. I moved back in with my parents, which was a nightmare because now, not only was I a disgrace, I was also divorced. In those days, that was a very bad thing."

As I listen to her speak, she never slows her pace, needles clicking.
Row after row of, well I'm not quite sure what she is making, but am amazed at how fast she goes with barely a glance down.

"Living with my parents was awful. Trying to get out of their house is what had pushed me into the arms of your grandfather in the first place. My mother watched your mother and uncle while I went to work. I managed to scrape enough together to get my own place. My mother kept watching them while I worked but at least I was out of their house. I waitressed and
worked like a dog. It was not a life I would wish on anyone, but somehow I made due. Once your mother and uncle were old enough to keep watch of themselves, I stopped taking them to my parents. Happy to once and for all be free of them, I also swore off men. I had plenty sniffing around, but men led to babies and I had enough of those already." Kate motions for me to pass her unfinished plate to her. Setting her knitting on her lap, she takes a bite of her muffin and puts the plate on the seat next to her.

Once she finishes chewing, she goes on. "Your uncle Ronny was a bit of a trouble maker. He was always up to no good. Anne tried to keep up with him, but Ronny was almost two years older than her and your mother was on the small side, even as a child. I was at work when it happened." Kate pauses again, setting her knitting in her lap once more to pick up a napkin to dab the corners of her eyes. Tears keep forming so she looks up at the ceiling and blinks rapidly before going on. "Ronny had built a fort out of old boards he came across on his escapades
, high up in an oak tree. It made your mother so angry that she was so small and couldn’t climb up there with him. She used to sit cross-legged at the bottom of the tree and wait for him to come down. While I was at work one day, a board broke, and Ronny fell out of the tree. He landed right in front of your mother and broke his neck."

Kate sets her knitting to the side and grabs her cane to stand. Placing one shaking hand on her hip, she randomly pats it. "Your mother didn’t leave him. She was too little to understand that he was dead. It was maybe hours later when I got home from work and went looking for them. When I first saw them,
it just looked like Ronny was lying on his belly looking at a bug or something." Kate takes a deep breath and starts pacing slowly along the pool deck, still patting her hip with her hand, almost like setting a rhythm for her words to follow. "I didn’t think anything was wrong until I saw Anne crying. I started hollering at Ronny to get up and Anne just looked up at me shaking her little face, saying ‘Mama, mama, mama.’ I fell to my knees and turned him over. He was lifeless in my arms, already cold, and heavy. I think people heard me screaming because the next thing I knew my father was pulling me off of him and my mother was holding Anne."

Kate takes another napkin off the tray, and after wiping her eyes, blows her nose before sitting back down. I am oblivious to my own tears as I sit next to my grandmother and put my hand on her arm. I want to hug her but feel uncertain, having only met her the day before. Kate reaches a hand up to wipe the tears from my eyes and then pats my hand.

"I never even knew I had an uncle," I say, sniffling. "How old was he?"

"Ronny was nine. Your mother was seven. I had a very hard time dealing with losing Ronny. Your mother and I moved back in with my folks because I could not manage to work after that. Your mother, if possible, took it even worse. To her, Ronny hung the moon. She used to follow him everywhere. Now that he was gone, she seemed lost. I wasn’t much help. I understand that now. I was the adult and should have paid more attention to her grief. I can't claim to have been much of a mother after that. Your mother slowly came around with no help from me. If anything, she took care of me. Five years later, I managed to go back to work and was set on staying at my parent's house this time around. It was just easier that way, and your mother and mine got on so I just stayed."

Kate picks her knitting back up, and I lean my head on a pillow of my hands on the back of the loveseat. "Your mother met your father when she was sixteen years old. She hated him. I think he bullied someone, but your mother, little thing that she was, scared the crap out of him and stopped him. After that, she could not get rid of him. He was like some lovesick puppy that could not leave her be. It wore her down eventually, and before I knew it, every time I turned around I was tripping over them kissing. They didn’t even try to sneak around. It was as though someone sewed their lips together. My father was old-fashioned, and it drove him nuts. I wasn’t happy about it, either. Anne was only seventeen when she found out she was pregnant with you. I could see history repeating itself and your father leaving her just like your grandfather had left me. I tried to talk your mother into going to college and giving you up for adoption, but her heart was set on marrying your father. I just could not believe it would work out and told her so. We were both stubborn, and I told her I never wanted to see her again if she went through with it. That is my greatest regret."

"Your father had a friend who had moved out to Ohio and offered them a place to stay. I tried sending your mother letters over the years, but they all came back return to sender. I know now your father was a good man and didn’t leave her. I only wish I would have trusted that then. I know your mother never forgave me for what I did, and now that she's gone, well, I hope maybe we can have a chance to still be family."

"I'm sorry you never had the chance to talk with her again. I'm sorry she sent your letters back."

"Shh, sweetheart," Kate says, patting me on the cheek. "In time, I will be with Anne and Ronny again."

After our talk, Kate admits to being overtired and needing to lie down. I clear the table and load the dishwasher. I think about putting my suit on and going for a swim but after sitting on my bed decide a bit of rest is in order. I replay the conversation in my head. I cannot imagine how Kate or my mom dealt with Ronny's death. Picturing my mother, only seven years old, with his body breaks my heart. I also cannot understand why my mother had kept all of this from me. I wonder if my father even knew about Ronny. Part of me can understand Kate's advice to do an adoption. My mother had been so young.

I cringe, remembering the very in-depth birds and bees talk I had been subjected to as an adolescent. Had my mother worried the same thing would happen to me? Thinking about it, she did seem to be very pushy about me getting on the pill before I even contemplated having sex for the first time. Even considering all of that, I can't understand why my mother would still refuse to reconcile with Kate. I know she was stubborn, but to keep my own grandmother from me seemed overly harsh.
Is there more to the story, I wonder as I fall asleep.

When I wake up the next morning, I consider pulling back the fitted sheet to check the brand of the featherbed. I seriously need one back home. This is the most comfortable bed I have ever slept on. My stomach rumbles as I stretch, reminding me that I missed lunch
and dinner the day before. Walking to the kitchen, I feel bad for sleeping through two meals in as many days. I pause at the photo hanging in the hallway. I lean in to look at Ronny. This picture must have been taken not long before his death. My heart breaks a little looking at his impish grin.

My grandmother is sitting on the wicker loveseat, knitting.

"What are you making?"

"It’s a prayer shawl. I'm part of a knitting group at my church. We knit these shawls and then the pastor prays over them, and we give them to people going through a rough time."

"It's very pretty."

"Thank you. Do you knit?"

I shake my head, reaching out to touch the shawl.

"My group meets tomorrow and since you'll be spending the day with Ryan I'm going to go. So I'm trying to finish it.

"Oh, right…"

"He's a very handsome young man isn't he?"

I look at her, confused.

"Ryan" she answers the question I didn't ask.

"Kate…"

"Okay, I'll stop. Hungry?"

My stomach answers for me. I don’t let Kate get up to make me something, telling her to keep knitting and just let me know what I can have. She grumbles about me not being very easy to wait on and tells me there is lunch meat and cheese in the fridge. I make myself a sandwich with some chips on the side and grab a soda before heading back outside. I still cannot get over how pleasant it is compared to Ohio this time of year. We chat while I eat, keeping to easy topics, neither of us prepared to revisit the emotional discussion of yesterday morning.

Sometime after lunch, I change into my swimsuit and try out the pool. It is a bit strange to be swimming outside this time of year, but the water feels wonderful. I’m
dozing in an armchair-style float when a splash wakes me. Blinking, I look around trying to place the source of the splash, locking eyes with Kate who is still sitting on the loveseat. How strange, I think to myself. Suddenly, I’m in midair as someone flips my float. I come up sputtering and wiping water from my eyes to see Ryan standing in front of me laughing. Ryan is clearly not expecting me to pounce on him. I dunk him in the water, causing him to do some sputtering of his own.
My eyes widen at his mischievous expression as he charges me. I squeal, “No, no, no!” But it’s useless as his hands circle my waist and he pulls me under. As we're coming back up, I kick his legs out from under him before fleeing to the other end of the pool. With my back up against the wall and just my head above the water, I keep my eyes on Ryan. He puts his hands up in defeat and slowly swims over to me.