Stages of Grace (9 page)

"Mind if I pop into the dairy?"

"The what?"
It sounded like he said diary.

"Um, the store.
I just need a loaf of bread."

"Sure. I'll just wait in the car."

Ryan pulls into a Circle K. I have never heard anyone call a gas station a dairy before. He walks out not long after with bread and a quart of milk. Then we are off again. He turns into a gated neighborhood and I admire the Spanish-style ranch houses we pass. After turning onto a cul-de-sac, Ryan parks in front of a pretty little house with a yellow mailbox. I am still not sure if I’m ready to meet the grandmother I never knew I had but figure I have made it this far. It would be silly to turn back now. I walk around to the back of Ryan's car to help him with my bags. Ryan passes me my carryon while he pulls my big bag. I follow him up the drive.
Ryan walks right in the front door, booming "Kate! Where are you? I've got Grace."

My grandmother's house smells like a can of lavender air freshener, a nice smell but not the real thing. The first room is a s
itting room that looks like no one ever sits in. My parents had a room like that when I was growing up, the room I was never allowed to play in unless we had company, and then it wasn’t to play in but to sit politely while the grownups talked. The sitting room leads into a pretty little kitchen with a breakfast nook that opens onto a screened-in outdoor room with a pool.

"The lanai," I hear. I recognize the voice from our phone calls.

I follow Ryan out on to the pool deck.

"How lovely," I smile, looking around.

"What was that? Come closer so I can get a look at you." My grandmother is seated at a bistro table by the pool.

I approach her, not certain if I am expected to hug her or not, this being the first time we have met. My grandmother looks me up and down. I attempt to smooth the wrinkles from my slacks before pulling the clip from my hair in an attempt to look more presentable.

"You look like your mother, only her hair was brown, not blonde. You must have gotten that from your father. Come closer so I can see your eyes better."

I shoot a panicked look at Ryan, making him laugh before lowering my face to be closer to my grandmother's.

"Your mother's eyes were brown. You must have gotten your blue ones from your father as well."

"I did." Somehow, being told my own parents’
appearances is annoying me. Doesn’t she realize I am fully aware that my mother had brown hair and eyes? And my father had blonde hair and green, not blue, eyes.

"Well, you're a pretty little thing. Don’t you think so, Ryan? Isn’t my granddaughter pretty?"

I look at my feet, turning red. How embarrassing.

"You have a lovely granddaughter, Miss Kate. I'll be off s
o you two can get acquainted." He turns to me, "It was great to meet you, and I hope you enjoy your visit. I'll put your cases in the guest room on my way out." I blush.

"Thank you Ryan. You are a sweetheart" Kate gushes.

"Anything for my favorite lady."

After Ryan leaves, I sit on the other side of Kate. There is a plate of sliced cheese and crackers on the table and a pitcher of lemonade. I help myself as I wonder how to ask my grandmother what had happened between my mother and her. I am conscious to not fill my plate. I don’t want to seem like I’m gorging myself, but I’m not sure when or what we will be having for dinner. It is mid-afternoon, and my grandmother is old. Don’t older people like to eat early and be in bed by eight?

"Is it alright if I make a phone call? I just want to let my, ah, well, Jon know that I made it here safely."

"Of course."

I stand and walk over to the other end of the pool and sit on a deck chair. Jon is still at work and doesn’t answer when I call. I leave him a quick message letting him know I am fine. After I hang up I realize I did not tell him I love him. I sit for a moment, trying to recall the last time I had. It has been some time. Shaking that thought from my head, I walk back over to my grandmother.

"Everything alright, dear?"

"Yes. I just left a message."

"Well, that's nice."

We spend the remainder of the afternoon like that, in silence. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. I just have so many questions and am not sure how to ask them. I know I am here to meet my grandmother, and clearly, we have accomplished that. What else does she want with me for a week? Once we finish the food on the table, she gets up and begins stacking the plates and silverware. I notice the cane beside her. When Kate goes to turn with the plates in one hand, cane in the other, I stop her.

"Here, let me carry these."

"Oh, alright. Just follow me."

Standing and using a cane, my grandmother seems shorter than she had in the photo I have of her. Is that osteoporosis? Otherwise, she is on the slim sid
e on top, while somewhat bottom heavy. Her hair is much shorter than in the picture, a silver curled coif. The clothes she wears remind me of the scrubs I wear at work: simple blue elastic pants and a printed top. I set the small tower of plates on the kitchen counter and begin rinsing the crumbs off of them before loading them into the dishwasher. Someday, I would love to have a dishwasher of my own. Kate leans up against the counter, watching me work.

When I finish, I turn
to look at her. "What would you like to do now?"

"I'd like to have a bit of a lie down if it's okay with you. You're welcome to explore the house or swim in the pool. It’s heated."

"Oh, thank you. Which way is the room I'm staying in?"

"Your room is the last one down that hall," she says, pointing past the kitchen. "Now if you need anything my room is on the other side of the living room."

We go our separate ways. I slow down to look at the photos on the wall of the hallway. They’re of my mother as a young girl. There are also photos of a young man. I wonder who he is. In the pictures they seem close. There is one staged professional one where he sits with my mother and grandmother in matching sweaters. Do I have an uncle I never knew of as well? This all seems so strange. I continue down the hall to my room, passing a pale blue bathroom on my right before coming to my room.

I lean on the doorway before going in. It may be the prettiest spare room I have ever seen. The walls are papered with a pale, butter shade striped print. In the center of the room is a queen-sized bed with cream comforter and an antique white metal frame. The bed has a
rounded look that gives hint that it's a featherbed. There is a mass of pillows at the head: four plump standard pillows behind maybe five decorative pillows, each one different. A mismatched pair of white tables are on either side of the bed, each with matching glass lamps. In the corner is a comfy looking gray armchair with a cream crocheted blanket draped across the back. Next to the chair is an oversized ornate white dresser with a mirror top. An antique tortoise shell brush and hand mirror surrounded by various perfume bottles sit on top of the dresser. My suitcase is lying on top of a bench at the end on the bed.

Pushing myself off of the doorframe, I walk into the room and begin unpacking my things. There is a small closet off to the side with free
hangers and the top two drawers of the dresser are empty. Not knowing what to pack, I had possibly over packed. I just didn’t know what to expect and wanted to have multiple options. I brought two sundresses and a more formal sheath-style dress. The sundresses traveled well. The sheath dress would need to be ironed if I actually want to wear it. Next I hang the dress shirts and slacks I had packed. My other clothes could go in the dresser.

I use the top drawer for my underclothes, one bathing suit, and socks. I open the next drawer to unpack t-shirts, shorts and
capris. I set my toiletry bag on the dresser and extra shoes I packed in the free space beneath it. Placing my carryon inside of my larger suitcase, I store them on the floor of the closet. Before shutting the door, I look at my clothes, hoping they aren’t too out of style. It has been ages since I bought anything new. I think about going for a swim but suddenly feel beat from all of my traveling and can’t help but curl up on the fluffy looking bed.

It’s
dark outside when I blink open my eyes. I look around, not certain where I am or where to find a light switch. My hand fumbles up and down the glass lamp closest to me until I find its switch on the cord. Once the light is on, I reach for my phone to see what time it is: nine o'clock. I wonder where my grandmother is and if she’s annoyed I have slept through dinner. I go to the bathroom to freshen up before heading towards the kitchen. Nearing the kitchen, I hear voices; I flush when I recognize the one with an accent.

It sounds as though they are by the pool. I
head that way and peek through the doorway.

"Ah, it's Sleeping Beau
ty, awakened from her slumber." Ryan catches my eye and raises his beer in my direction.

My grandmother laughs and turns towards me. "Grace, come sit. Are you hungry? Let me get you some food."

"I can get it. Please, you don’t have to get up."

"Oh, don’t be silly." she pats me on my arm as she moves past me. "Go sit."

I bob my head and sit in the free chair between my grandmother's seat and Ryan's. As I get closer, I realize Ryan is shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist and still damp hair. I have to tell myself not to stare more than once. A body like that and an accent? Maybe I should visit more often.

"Um, I noticed you, ah, have an accent, um, but I couldn’t place it."

"Oh, right. I'm a Kiwi."

I snort.
"A what?"

Ryan laughs at my reaction, running his hand through his hair. "Not the fruit. I'm from New Zealand. It’s—"

"I know where New Zealand is." I cut him off. "I've just never met anyone from there."

"Didn’t mean to imply you didn’t. Most people assume I'm Australian."

"Never met anyone from there either, but I did see those crocodile movies."

This makes Ryan laugh again, which makes me feel
a little silly. My grandmother walks back in with my plate, and I rise to take it from her, thanking her. A filet of tilapia on rice surrounded by steamed carrots and green beans. She pours me a glass of white wine to go with it. I groan in appreciation at my first bite. This may be the best thing I have ever eaten.
"Your Gran is a wonderful cook." Ryan smiles at my reaction.

I blush. I didn’t realize he heard me. Meanwhile, my grandmother is telling him to hush. I listen to them chat as I quietly eat. This is commonplace for them. Ryan comes to have dinner with Kate most nights, sometimes taking a dip in her pool. He rents the house next door, and it doesn’t have a pool. In
exchange for pool use and home cooked meals, Ryan keeps her company and takes care of her landscaping. I can tell my grandmother adores him. I am hungrier than I think and finish my plate in no time. I wave off help from Kate and get up to rinse my plate and put it in the dishwasher.

When I come back out, I notice she has refilled my wineglass. I am not much of a drinker and already feel a bit tipsy from the first glass. That d
oesn’t stop me from drinking it. I am on vacation.

Peering up at Ryan, I ask. "Why did you move to the U.S?"

"Guess I've got a bit of an adventurer in me and wanted to travel. I had been bumming around from place to place with some friends and came across a business opportunity here so I stayed."

"
Ohhh. Where have you been?"

"All over Asia, Hawaii, then South Africa, Brazil, California, Puerto Rico, before settling here."

"This is the first time I've been outside of Ohio," I say, looking down.

"Do you want to travel
?" Kate asks me.

"I really don’t know. Airplanes kind of make me nervous, but I would like to go see some places, maybe Paris or Dublin."

After another thirty minutes of talking, Ryan stands to leave, admitting he has an early day the next day.

"What do you do?" I ask.

"I run a water sports rental in St. Pete. Jet skis, kayaks, and fishing boats for charter. I'm taking a small group fishing in the gulf tomorrow."

"What
fun. I love the water!"

"Would you like me to take you out while you're here?"

"I don’t know. I've never actually done any of those things before."

"You'll be in good hands with me."

I inhale, my eyes widening. Ryan clears his throat and looks down.

"What a wonderful idea," Kate says clapping, looking back and forth at us. "Ryan, what day works best for you?"

"Ahh, I'd have to check the calendar. Maybe the day after tomorrow." He looks at me, giving me a half smile.

"That sounds like a date," Kate says, patting me on the arm.

"A date? I, ah, have a, well, live with Jon. You see there—"

"
Shhh, sweetheart. I meant like date on the calendar," Kate says, looking somewhat mischievously at me.

All I want to do is disappear. Ryan seems to be holding back a smile and leaves through the screen door, walking barefoot to his house. Kate laughs as my eyes are glued to his back as he walks away. He looks back right before walking out of view, and I quickly look away, wondering if he saw me watching him. Kate stands up, saying she is going to turn in. I follow her back into the house. As I walk back to my room, I think of all of the questions I have for my grandmother. Maybe tomorrow, after a good night of sleep, I will have an opportunity to find out what happened between her and my mom
.