Staying True - A Contemporary Romance Novel (17 page)

“Don’t say that, dear.”

“She was weak. I don’t know how you
didn’t see that.” I stood up and walked away from my Grampa. “I need some air.”
I walked out of his apartment and to the waterfront across the street.

Moments later, Nadia found me
pounding the sand with a stick. “He thinks she was such a perfect mother. I
want to tell him the truth. I want to tell him how I had to endure listening to
her fights, witness her bruises, and whisper whenever I spoke so my stepfather
wouldn’t get angry and take it out on my mother for having such a noisy
daughter. Who am I to ruin his perception of her?”

Nadia wrapped her arm around me. I
pulled away and stared at the waterfront. I watched a riverboat pass. A little
girl on the boat waved at us. I dropped my sadness and waved back, honoring her
youth and innocence. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the cool breeze wash over my
face. I breathed in and held it there for a few long seconds before
disengaging. “I never want to disappoint that man. It’s just so hard to listen
to him always say such great things about her. But, what good would it do now
if I told him how ugly things turned?”

“No good at all.”

I looked up at Nadia and found
comfort in her smile. “We should get back before he gets worried.”

I turned, and she followed.

* *

My grampa huddled over the photo
album.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know
why I said all that.”

A wave of relief crossed across his
pale, grayish face. A fresh golden tone surfaced and brought him back to life.
“Let’s eat and get this road trip started already. What do you say?”

“Let’s do it.” I helped him up from
the couch.

“You girls are going to love it
there,” he said. “You’re going to just love it.”

“I can’t wait to stand on top of that
hill again and sit by the creek with fishing rods,” I said.

His smile brightened the space around
us all. “Sounds like a slice of heaven is awaiting us.”

Chapter Thirteen

Ruby

We knocked on the front door, and a familiar
woman in her late seventies answered with a smile. “Welcome.”

“Do you remember this handsome guy?”
I tilted my head in Grampa’s direction. He stood close by my side, beaming.

Recognition splayed on her face. “Mr.
Clark!” She stretched out her arms to him. He folded into them like he’d been
waiting to do this since the day he signed over the papers to her family.

“You still look beautiful as ever,”
he said to her.

She pulled away and blushed. “You’re
still a flirt.”

“Always,” he said, not even turning
red.

She turned to me. “And you’re the young
lady?”

“Yes, ma’am. That would be me.” I
relaxed into a giggle.

She turned to Nadia and Shawna. “And
who might these two lovelies be?”

Shawna blushed red.

“Great friends,” I answered. “They needed
to see this place for themselves to understand how magical it is.”

“Well, come on in.” She waved us into
the foyer. Nostalgia danced in my heart and swirled in my head. “I’ve got your
rooms ready to go upstairs.”

I balanced a hand on the post of the
staircase that led up to my old bedroom and the other eight guestrooms. Its
slippery and smooth texture hadn’t changed in over a decade. The same carpet
runner blanketed the steps, and I spotted the stain I had created back on
Christmas day when I dropped a Dixie cup of pink oil paint. The foyer even
smelled like home, like freshly baked bread and coffee.

“Wow, this is weird.” I peeked around
the planked floor and recognized the four divots I used to use as jumping
points when I played hopscotch. “I feel like I just walked out the front door
to get my grampa’s
Providence Journal
and walked back in again.”

The lady crossed her arms over her
chest and nodded. “Yeah, I adored everything about this place. I’ve changed
very little. Last summer I had to put a new heating system in, and the year
before that we updated the carpeting in the bedrooms upstairs. For the most
part, everything is still as charming as you all left it.”

The air flowed, as fresh as ever.

Suddenly I heard a door close from up
above, and a moment later a man and woman walked down the stairs holding hands
and wearing easy smiles. The man tipped his head in my direction. “Hi there.”

I smiled back. I morphed back into a
young girl again with no troubles, no fears, just happiness floating around her
greeting guests.

“Are you ready for some lunch?” The
lady asked them.

“Of course. We’re starved,” the man
said, sneaking past me with his hand draped across his lady’s petite back.

“Why don’t you join us for lunch?”
she asked us. “Then, you can have a look around.”

My mouth watered at the memory of a
table filled with pretty casserole dishes overflowing with bacon, creamed
sauces, loaf bread, pastries, and juices. “We’d love to.”

“Do you still have that old,
double-barrel woodstove in the basement?” Grampa asked.

“Oh yes. In fact, my beagle, Molly,
loves it so much that she spends her nights down underneath it. Sometimes, she
comes upstairs glowing.” She giggled. “Would you like to see it while I’m
cooking lunch?”

“You bet,” he said, lighting up like
a kid seeing his first airplane in the sky again.

“I have a better idea,” I said. “Why
don’t we help start the lunch, and you two can go check out the stove?”

The lady looked from me to Grampa and
shrugged. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

We whipped up bowtie pasta, marinara
sauce, garlic bread, and salad while listening to James Taylor tunes on the old
record player still working in the kitchen pantry. The kitchen smelled like a
slice of heaven. This kitchen had always been the perfect one to cook in. The
pans all hung from the ceiling right above a freestanding island. The lady had
the best knives. They could cut through tin cans, I would guess.

The lady kept popping her head into
the kitchen to see how she could help, and I kept brushing her away, waving my
spatula in the air at her, and telling her to go keep my grampa engaged and
happy.

The two of them laughed and chatted
with each other in the living room in front of a roaring fire. A few other
guests joined them, and they recommended great trails for hiking and great
lakes for fishing. Then, my grampa told his famous story about the time he and
I were on a hike and came across a cow giving birth. All that blood, the sac,
and the mother licking the gooey slime were the grossest things I’d ever seen.
Then, I saw that little calf stand up not more than five minutes later and
wobble. It looked at its mother and walked to go stand by her side. My grampa
hugged me, and I cried. I’d never witnessed anything as beautiful as that.

His voice rose higher. “I told her,
sweetheart, you just witnessed a miracle.” The guests oohed and ahhed, and this
just kept Grampa going, telling more tales about fishing with sticks when no
poles were around, about the time we got lost for nearly three hours in the
back woods, and about the time a bear stood not more than fifteen feet in front
of us and watched as we inched away. At one point, his voice animated so out of
normality that I peeked in on him. I didn’t need him passing out on us.

He sat on a chair waving his arms
around telling the guests a story about the time we had a blizzard. It snowed
for three days straight, and he had to shovel us out through a window.

My grampa went from a frail
eighty-five year old man to a young, vigorous, jubilant man about twenty years
younger. His face glowed, his eyes sparkled, his posture straightened. These
people loved him. They smiled, nodded, and expressed pure joy from his
excitement. I was fifteen years younger looking in on my grampa again,
marveling at how he could stir a crowd.

I returned to the salad I had chopped
and poured dressing over it. I wondered what kind of person he would be today
if he hadn’t sold out on himself.

A few minutes later, we called
everyone to the dining table and enjoyed their compliments on the
delicious-smelling lunch. We dug in and ate together, laughing and passing each
other golden brown garlic bread and dressings and pasta dripping in tomato
sauce. Being around people who were rested, peaceful, and excited to spend
their day enjoying nature just did something to me that no neck rubbing, no
beautiful ocean view, no wind-in-the-hair ride in my Camaro had ever been able
to do. I belonged at this table. It grounded me in something beautiful. When I
looked over at my grampa and saw him flirting with the pretty old lady with
silver hair and laugh lines earned by a full life of smiling, my heart leapt. I
was home. The peace and joy of my younger years returned like I had just gone
out for a mail check and walked right back in. I tasted the pasta and its tangy
flavor. I savored the garlic. I devoured the crisp salad and waited in fruitful
anticipation for the tomatoes to squirt their flavor in me and fill me with
that delicious homey warmth.

The room filled with laughter and
chatter and buzzed with life. These were the good old days. I had forgotten all
about this luxury of sitting in one spot for hours enjoying the stories of
people from Great Britain and Germany and Colombia. I drank five cups of iced
tea in that sitting, and even though I had to pee like no one’s business, I
stayed put in that seat because I didn’t want to miss a syllable.

And then suddenly, the room quieted
after the German couple finished telling their story about how they lived an
entire year traveling in Japan, staying in bedrooms no bigger than broom
closets.

The little old lady flirting with my
grampa broke the stillness. “Why did you ever sell this place?”

My grampa dropped his smile and
fiddled with his napkin a few too many times. I jumped to his rescue. “He
wanted someone else to have some fun.”

He looked to me. “That’s right,
sweetheart. I chose best.” He turned back to the lady. “You’ve done a great job
keeping up this place.”

“It’s a lot. My son-in-law and
daughter help me out. And my granddaughter, Eloise, is a God-send.”

“Yeah,” my grampa said shaking his
head side to side. “I get it. It’s a lot of work. That’s the reason I sold it.
Isn’t that right, dear?” He asked me.

I reassured him with a hand to his
wrist. “Absolutely.”

We broke into more idle chatter about
farmlands in Colombia and how beautiful the mountains were during their summer
seasons and how gigantic the insects grew in all of that open, undeveloped
land.

Later that afternoon, Eloise arrived.
She was a petite girl who looked about twelve, though we were told was twenty-three.
She needed help getting some groceries out of the car. Shawna jumped to her
rescue.

When they returned, Shawna popped
into the living room. “I’m going to help Eloise with dinner. What do you say
you girls go and get us some wine to go with it?”

It didn’t take us long to agree to
this marvelous idea. “On our way, I want to show you the apple orchard down the
road. It’s breathtaking.” I handed Nadia her coat.

* *

Nadia and I enjoyed the fall
afternoon strolling the open paths of the local apple orchard. We walked down a
wide path, brushing hands every few feet each holding a basket for the apples.
The trees reminded me of cranky old people when they first climbed out of bed
in the morning, before they straightened their spines. The branches, knotty and
crooked, stood against the backdrop of the perfect blue October sky. Big, red,
shiny apples hung on the branches bringing beauty to the worn and
battered-looking trees.

Nadia ran ahead of me to a tree. She
dropped her basket and started to climb it, bracing her left foot in the crook
of a branch and the tree trunk. She lifted herself up and onto the first
branch.

A few people dotted the horizon, and
a few more scampered around the main building paying us no mind. “I love it. A
crazy girl just like me,” I yelled up to her. “You’ll probably get us kicked
out before we can pick one of them.”

She climbed up another branch and
balanced her feet against two branches that didn’t look strong enough to
support her. “Stand right below me, and I’ll toss some to you.” She reached up,
and her t-shirt scrunched up with her arms, exposing her tight tummy and her
belly button. She picked an apple and tossed it to me. It landed by my foot.

“You’re supposed to catch it,” she
said, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Try again,” I said, readying myself
for her pitch. She lobbed it down to me, and I hinged my eye on that apple not
letting it bypass me this time. I caught it and leapt in the air.

“Good girl.” Nadia winked at me, and
we stared at each other, blocking out the rest of the orchard. She tossed apple
after apple, and I caught them like a Gold Glove ballplayer each time.

Once my basket was filled, she
climbed down and landed in my arms. Her hair hung wildly and blew around her
face.

I couldn’t help myself. I kissed her.

Our lips and tongues danced together
under the apple tree, catapulting me to levels that opened up the gates to
freedom, love, and beauty. “I shouldn’t be kissing you, huh?”

Nadia placed her finger up to my
lips. “Words get in the way.”

I looked up at the tree. “She’s a
beauty, isn’t she?”

“She sure is sweet.”

“Let’s call her Sweet Tree.”

“Sweet Tree.” Nadia eased into a
smile. “What do you say we leave our baskets under Sweet Tree and just walk?”
She reached for my hand. “Come on.”

We strolled the orchard fields
staring up at the blue sky and being present in the moment. Her hand softened
in mine, warming my core, filling me with love and gratitude.

We circled the orchard three times,
and I eventually led her back over to our Sweet Tree. We sat with our legs
touching, our hands still entwined. “Something about fresh air brings back
great childhood memories,” I said.

“Tell me about your childhood.” She
scooted closer. “Tell me what excited little Ruby did when she was a young
girl.”

I stared off to the horizon. Nadia’s
eyes followed me. She feathered my hand. No one had ever asked me about my
childhood. Up until that moment, I was happy about this. Now, I just wanted to
tell her everything. She helped ease me into this state of safety that I didn’t
fear. It was the most beautiful feeling.

A smile sprung on my face. “I loved
the fall. We’d get guests traveling in from all over the world to see the
foliage. Each morning, the guests would gather out on the patio and huddle
around the fire pit to drink their morning coffee and talk about how rested
they felt and how comfortable the mattresses were. I loved this small talk. I
loved seeing strangers come together to share stories and laughter. I would sit
and sip my hot cocoa with marshmallows and giggle to myself over how some just
looked so shackled to their rigid lives, and in a matter of moments, as the
north wind blew in across the fields, their whole personas shifted. They became
softer, flexible, and unrestricted from the heavy weight that they carried in
just a day before. My grampa would call this first coffee morning the ‘shedding
period.’ The next morning he named the ‘bonding period.’ That’s when the same
people came and picked up the same mug they used the day before and sat in the
same spot they sat in the day before. They bonded by breaking the routine of
the previous day by delving into questions. Before long, two hours passed, two
or three cups of coffee were drunk, and these people were showing off photos of
their kids, grandkids, dogs, neighbors, you name it.”