Stages of Grace

by Carey Heywood

  "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 side 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 Beauty, 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 doesn’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.

  ~*~

  The next morning, I awake to the smell of coffee. I push myself up onto my elbows and deeply inhale. God, that smells amazing, good enough to start drinking coffee again. I take a moment to decide what to do. On one hand, I could go get some coffee, and I do really want some but, on the other hand, this may be the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in, and it feels like a disservice to leave it. I snuggle back under the covers only to give up, not being able to ignore nature’s call. I head straight to the bathroom. Checking myself out in the mirror, I pull my hair back into a messy bun at my nape. I had slept in an old pair of scrub pants and a concert tee. Off in search of coffee, I pad barefoot to the kitchen.

  Kate is at the counter cutting a grapefruit in half. Raising one half, she asks if I want any.

  "Sure." I peer at the coffeemaker. It looks fancy, and I can’t tell if it is done yet. "Coffee ready?"

  "It is," Kate says, pulling a cup down from a cabinet and handing it to me.

  I pour myself a cup and hold it right under my nose to smell. Nothing like the smell of fresh coffee. Sometimes I wonder what I prefer: the smell or the taste. After adding a dollop of milk, I take a small sip, trying not to burn my tongue. Kate has a tray of muffins and fruit that I take from her, making her tsk at me. I shrug and follow her out to the pool. Setting the tray on the table, I hurry back inside to retrieve my coffee. I don’t want it to feel abandoned. Kate laughs at my near embrace of my mug. I had gotten out of the habit of drinking coffee in the morning, but I'm looking forward to picking it back up. As we eat, I push my fears aside and ask Kate point blank what had happened between her and my mother.

  Kate pushes her plate away and steeples her hands on the table in front of her. I pause to watch her, noticing her hands tremble.

  "That, my dear, is a long story."

  "I've got a week" I try to joke.

  "That you do." She 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 ha
ve 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.