The Favor (13 page)

Bennett sighed from someplace deep inside, turned around and went up the stairs. He didn’t stomp or slam his door, but it was easy to see how put-upon he felt. Janelle hung her head for a moment, one hand on the newel post, trying to gather the strength not to be annoyed by what she knew was typical kid behavior. God knew she’d given her mother more hard times than Bennett, so far, had ever given her. She didn’t know how her mom had managed.

“I almost didn’t,” her mom reminded her on the phone a few minutes later when Janelle called her. “I was at my wit’s end with you.”

“Rehab or reform school. I remember.” Janelle laughed quietly. She’d taken her phone out to the back porch so she could be close if Nan called out. Spring was on its way, but it wasn’t unheard of for March to have blizzards as bad as any in December, and though she was comfortable in a sweatshirt, the sky told her it shouldn’t be a surprise when the temps dropped again. The air smelled good, though. Fresh. She breathed deep.

“But you went to Nan’s instead. I was lucky.”

“No,” Janelle said. “
I
was lucky.”

Her mother chuckled. “Looking back, I think I made so many mistakes with you because I was so determined to make you perfect.”

“Really?” Janelle had never heard her say that before. “What made you think you had to?”

“Oh...so all the people who looked down their noses at me for having you without marrying your dad might be put in their place, I guess. I mean, sure I got knocked up out of wedlock, but look at my beautiful, smart, talented and well-behaved child. See what a good mother I am? It was a plan, anyway.”

“You’re a great mother,” Janelle said.

“And you are beautiful, smart and talented,” her mother replied. “The well-behaved part...not so much.”

Janelle had spent some time feeling bad about what she’d put her mom through, but she snorted softly now. “I could’ve been worse. A lot worse.”

“I know that now. But at the time, you seemed so out of control. You always were more your own person than Kenny ever was. You paved your own path. I shouldn’t have tried so hard to make you fit into a mold, Janelle. I should’ve been more proud of you back then, for some of the things you did. For being unique.”

“For not fitting in?”

It was her mom’s turn to snort. “So you dyed your hair and wore weird outfits. So you pierced yourself and wrote rebellious essays. They were great essays. I guess I just didn’t know how to deal with you. I thought I’d have a daughter more like me, you know. Into pastels and teddy bears and stuff. But really, I should’ve known better. I mean, I did know what your dad was like.”

By the time Janelle had found out she was pregnant, she’d lost track of Connor. It had never been more than a fling, him an exchange student from Ireland determined to sleep his way through as many women as would have him. His smile, that accent, those eyes—they’d given her a perfect reason to go to bed with him for a few months, and an even better reason never to tell him he’d fathered a child. Janelle knew too well what it had been like growing up with a charming desperado as a dad. She’d determined she’d never put her kid through that.

“I look at Bennett and I see Connor. It’s all over his face.”

“You used to look so much like your dad it was scary.”

“He has Connor’s expressions. His sense of humor, sometimes. And it doesn’t seem fair,” Janelle said after another second or so in which she struggled to find the right words to express what had always been a mishmash of emotions, “that he should have anything from his dad, when I’m the one who’s raised him. I’m the one who’s tried to teach him right from wrong, and been with him when he was sick, and helped him learn to read and tie his shoes.... I’m the only one who’s here. There’s just...me.”

“There’s not ‘just’ you. You’re a great mom. I’m so proud of you, Janelle. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know how tough it is to raise a kid alone—you remember I didn’t marry Randall until you were in fourth grade. Before that it was you and me. Sometimes your dad, sure. But mostly, it was us.”

It wasn’t the same. Janelle was a girl, raised by her mom. She’d had a dad, even if his appearances in her life were haphazard and spontaneous. She’d had Nan, too.

“Don’t you think a boy needs a father?”

Her mom laughed, not unkindly. “This from the girl who said marriage was the best way to ruin a relationship?”

Janelle smiled. “I’ve never been married, what do I know?”

Her mom made a thoughtful noise. “Well...sure. I guess it’s better for a boy to have a dad. Or two parents—it’s always better for kids to have two parents. But that’s not always possible. Are you asking me if I think you should get married just to give Bennett a dad? If I thought that, I’d have told you to marry Ryan what’s-his-name.”

“You didn’t like Ryan,” Janelle reminded her.

“No, but you did.”

“Obviously not enough,” Janelle said with a roll of her eyes at the absurdity of marrying Ryan. “Since I broke up with him.”

“You’ll find someone, and when you do, you’ll make that decision. And you’ll do it because you want to marry him, and also because he’ll be a great addition to your son’s life. I know you, Janelle. You’re not one of these women who need a man so much they’ll jeopardize their kid just to have one. You might’ve been a trial as a child, and a pain in the ass as a teenager,” her mom said, “but you’re a wonderful woman and a great mother. Don’t you forget that.”

“I’ll try.”

“Gotta run,” she added. “I need to get this last load of laundry in the wash before Randall gets home. We’re going out to dinner and the movies tonight.”

Thirty years married, and they still went on dates. Janelle and her stepfather hadn’t always seen eye to eye, that was true, but he’d always been good to her mom. He was great with Bennett. In adulthood, Janelle had learned to appreciate Randall a little more, as he’d learned to judge her a little less.

With the phone call disconnected, Janelle tucked her cell in her pocket and stood, now chilled. Inside, she found Nan up and about at the kitchen sink, filling the kettle. “Nan, I’ll do that.”

Her grandma turned, water sloshing in the kettle. “I wanted some tea.”

“I’d like some tea, too. How about a snack? I can put out something to eat, how’s that?”

She wasn’t terribly hungry. They’d eaten dinner just an hour ago, but Nan had picked at it and pushed most of it away. She’d need to eat something with her next round of meds. Without waiting for an answer, as Nan finished filling the kettle and put it on the stove to heat, Janelle pulled out the bowl of cut fruit she’d made earlier that day. She added a plastic container of cubed cheese and some baby carrots, along with a bottle of ranch dressing. Everything went on the table. The dishwasher still wasn’t fixed. She’d had a service guy out, spent a hundred bucks for him to replace the parts she already knew needed replacing because of Gabe’s list, and that hadn’t solved the problem. Until she could figure out how to fix it or buy a new one, they were eating off paper plates and washing by hand.

Nan shuffled into the living room and paused, leaning on a dining table chair. She looked tired, though she’d been napping since shortly after dinner. She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly before looking at Janelle. “Can you get my pills, honey?”

The tray with its selection of bottles was in its place in the corner cupboard, and Janelle put it on the table in front of the chair. Nan hadn’t taken a seat yet. “Sit, Nan. I’ll get the water.”

The kettle whistled. Janelle got it and filled a teapot she took from the cupboard. She added a tea ball filled with loose tea she’d picked up from the store. She’d brought the teapot and tea ball with her from California. She and Ryan, a long time ago, had taken a culinary course that had taught the proper way to make a pot of tea, according to the Brits. Letting it steep, she covered the pot with a knitted cozy and settled it onto a tray she’d found tucked away in Nan’s closet. She added a pair of mugs, thinking about her pretty teacups still packed away upstairs in boxes shoved beneath the eaves. She’d have to get them out. She also added a few packets of artificial sweetener and a small container of milk.

It looked great, all of it, but she nearly dropped the tray when she took it into the living room and found Nan slumped forward in her chair. With a low cry Janelle put the tray on the table, sloshing tea onto the cozy. She put a hand on her grandmother’s shoulder, not quite shaking her. Nan looked up, her gaze unfocused only for a second before it turned sharp.

“Good Lord, girl! What are you doing?”

“Nan, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Nan snapped. “I was just a little sleepy. I got tired waiting for you to bring the tea, that’s all. I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Janelle’s heart was beating too fast. She sank into a chair and put her trembling hands in front of her, flat on the table. “You scared me.”

Nan’s eyes twinkled and her lips twitched. “I see.”

“Not funny.” Janelle shook a finger. “I thought you were taking your pills.”

“Oh. Yes. I was.” Nan looked at the tray and bottles. “I did. I think I did. Oh, I’m not sure.”

Janelle paused, trying to figure out how to tell, but couldn’t. Taking more medication than the dose would definitely cause trouble, but missing a dose...honestly, she thought, as she poured tea for both of them, would it matter? Really? “Careful. It’s hot.”

“It’s bitter.” Nan eyed the tea ball. “Where’d you get that?”

“I brought it with me. You use it instead of a tea bag. So you can use loose tea.”

“Do you know, my mother used to make her own mint tea. She’d grow the mint right out in her yard, bring it in the house. Sometimes she’d just add it fresh to hot water, sometimes she’d hang it up to dry. Oh, it smelled so nice.” Nan took a deep breath as though she could smell it right then. “She’d have liked that thing. That whatchamacallit.”

“Tea ball.”

“Yes, she’d have liked it.” Nan put a hand over her eyes and began to cry.

Alarmed, Janelle reached for her. “Nan, what’s wrong?”

It took a few minutes for her to calm down, but when she did, she waved away Janelle’s concern. “I’m an old woman, that’s all.”

“Does something hurt? What can I get you?” Janelle warmed her hands on the mug to keep them from shaking. She could never remember seeing Nan cry.

“I just missed my mother. That’s all. I thought about the tea and I remembered her, and I just...missed her so much. She died in 1957. She was younger than I am now.” Nan shivered and dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin, then blew her nose with it.

Janelle knew a lot about her mother’s family. Her maternal grandparents had kept a large family tree painting in their rec room, poster-size, with spaces for new additions to the family. With every birth, they’d added the names to the tree. Janelle’s mom had taken it when they passed away, and hung it in her basement bar, though it hadn’t been updated since Bennett’s birth.

Of her dad’s family, Janelle knew very little. Of course, Nan had a mother, but until this moment Janelle couldn’t recall anyone ever talking about her. If her dad had ever spoken of his grandmother, it hadn’t left an impression.

“Tell me about her,” Janelle said. “I’d like to know.”

Nan wiped at her face again and sipped some tea. She gave Janelle a shaky but genuine smile. “What do you want to know, honey?”

Janelle took a drink of her own tea. “Everything you can think of.”

Nan talked for half an hour before the tea was finished and her voice gave out. She told Janelle stories of her life as a child, growing up right there in St. Marys. Of her brothers and sisters. Her aunts and uncles. She spoke in warm and glowing terms of her mother, but didn’t weep for her again.

“Do you have pictures?”

“I’ve so many. Some are in albums. Some in boxes. So many pictures, so many years,” Nan said. “We can look at them. If you’re sure you want to.”

Janelle squeezed Nan’s hand. “Of course I do. I want to know about my family. I feel like there’s so much I don’t know. I guess I want to...I don’t know. Feel like I’m a part of it.”

“Oh, honey,” Nan said, squeezing in return. “No matter where you were, or how long you were gone, you’ve always been a part of it. Don’t you know that?”

Janelle was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Nan.”

“For what?”

“For never coming back until now.”

Nan squeezed her fingers again. “You had your reasons.”

“No.” Janelle shook her head. “You were there for me when I needed someone. You let me come and live here with you, you put up with me. You saved me, Nan. And I just up and left. Never came back, not even to visit. You asked me to, and I just never did.”

“That’s sometimes what children do, honey.” Nan sighed. “They grow up and go away. You had to find your own path, Janelle. You think I didn’t always know that about you? You had so much of your daddy in you that way—”

“No!” Janelle cried, and pushed away from the table. “No, don’t say that. I’m not like my dad. I’m nothing like him.”

The silence after her outburst was too loud.

“I b’lieve I’ll have a little more tea,” Nan said mildly, and held out her cup for Janelle to fill.

SIXTEEN

WATCHING ANDY AND Bennett together at the table, Janelle felt a stab of something wistful. Andy was in his thirties, but still acted much younger. He reminded her of how he’d been as a teen, before everything had changed. He was...happy.

“See, you need to carry this over.” Andy scribbled something on Bennett’s paper. “Your teacher wants to see your work, so you have to show it. Like this.”

Andy was so good with her son. The times Janelle had tried to help Bennett with his math, she’d struggled along with him. He’d been cranky. She’d lost her patience. Now she just stayed out of the way, making dinner in the kitchen while Nan napped or read or watched TV.

From the kitchen doorway she said, “You staying for dinner? I’m making chicken potpie.”

Andy looked pleased, then concerned. “I dunno. I should make sure my dad’s got something for his dinner. And if Gabe comes home and I’m not there and I haven’t told him where I’m going to be...he gets mad.”