by Mary Manners
“Hi, Maggie.” Undeterred by her off-kilter mood, he strode over to her and knelt to help her with the books. “How was your day?”
“The usual…chaos and mayhem with a touch of learning thrown in.” Her voice was a breathy murmur. “Just your typical kindergarten experience.”
“Sounds like you need a moment.” Grant found a toy car at the edge of the carpet and placed it in on a low-set round table so it might be returned to its rightful owner in the morning. “Where’s Gemma?”
“She needed a trip to the restroom and to get a drink of water from the fountain.” Maggie placed the last of the books on the shelf, and then took a moment to select a few new ones for the morning. She set a copy of Red Leaf, Yellow Leaf by Lois Ehlert on the seat of her rocking chair. “She should be right back.”
“Good.” Grant loosened his tie and tucked it into the pocket of his slacks, as he’d become accustomed to doing after leaving the office. “I promised her we’d take a trip to the playground if the rain holds off.”
“It’s supposed to.” Though the words were kind, Maggie’s voice carried a stiffness that set off warning bells in Grant’s head. “You should have a nice afternoon.”
“Would you like to join us?” He kept his eyes trained on her, watching for clues to explain her demeanor. Her hand trembled slightly as she organized a stack of construction paper in a variety of fall colors. “We’re going to have a pizza on Market Square afterwards.”
Maggie paused as slanted him a look. Her stormy-blue eyes were veiled with questions. “That depends…”
Grant’s pulse began to race. “On what?” Had she figured things out?
“On you.” Maggie stood and turned from him to cross the room and make her way to the craft table with the construction paper in hand. “As well as your answers to a few of my questions.”
“Do you want to run a background check?”
Maggie paused as her gaze speared him. “Should I?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grant rounded the craft table where glitter sprinkled the floor in a flurry of confetti. He took the paper from her and set it on the table before he took her by the elbows. “What’s going on here, Maggie?”
“You tell me.” Maggie squirmed from his grasp and squatted to attack the glitter. She brushed the pieces into a pile with her hand.
“Wait. Let me help you with that.” Grant dropped down to the floor beside her. “Doesn’t the school supply a vacuum?”
“I happen to have two.” She glanced up slightly and splayed both hands. “They work well enough.”
“Figured as much. Perfect.” He paused to draw a breath and smooth a lock of hair from her forehead. “Something’s troubling you, Maggie.”
“You think?” She recoiled at his touch, startling him. “Let me make something perfectly clear here. Please, keep your hands to yourself.”
“My hands…”
“And the rest of you.”
“I’m not one of your students, Maggie.” Grant’s temper flared. He stood and crossed the room before turning back to her. “You can’t put me in time-out. I don’t like your tone.”
“And I don’t like your secrets.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Had she somehow figured things out before he had the chance to explain? His gaze drifted to her desk, where the photo album lay open to the image of the old woman in the apron. His blood turned to ice crystals. “Oh, Maggie…talk to me, please.”
“You want to talk? Then tell me about the locket.” Her gaze, gray as the sky just before a spring thunderstorm, skewered him as her tone turned from an arctic blast to frozen tundra. “Why do you have Grandma Nell’s—my—locket?”
Grant’s throat went bone-dry as the words resonated. She knew…somehow Maggie had learned the truth.
How?
“Hi, Uncle Grant!” Gemma skipped through the doorway and dashed over. She flung herself at him and threw her arms around his neck. With a squeal of delight, she squeezed as hard as her tiny arms could manage. “Look what I made today.”
Grant flashed the largest smile he could muster as he inhaled the scent of playground dust and strawberry Kool-Aid. Though it was difficult to speak, he managed, “Let’s see.”
She handed him a piece of white construction paper with a collage of color that solved the mystery of all the glitter that littered the floor. Maggie had obviously encouraged the kids to use the stuff to embellish the shimmer of sunshine over images crayoned across their papers. “It’s Oscar and me, playin’ at your house. See?”
“Yes, I see.” Indeed, he noticed four paws of the mutt peeking up from a leaf pile. Standing beside him, beneath the limbs of a massive, barren oak, stood Gemma. She’d colored her hair extra curly and the sprinkle of burnt-orange dots across her face signified freckles, he assumed. “It’s very creative. We can hang it on the refrigerator when we get home, if you’d like.”
That was Gemma…creative to the core. She didn’t miss a beat. She was a perfect fit for Maggie.
Maggie…she stood merely a few feet away but she may as well have been in a different universe. Suddenly, Grant felt as if there were light years between them.
“OK.” Gemma nodded with delight. “Do you see yourself in the shadows, standing behind the tree? We’re playing hide-and-seek.”
Upon closer inspection, Grant noticed the toe of a tennis shoe at the base of the oak’s trunk. He followed the leg up until his gaze met a strand of silver dangling from his pocket. “Gemma, what’s this?”
“It’s the locket…the one we found in the box of clothes, in your pocket. Remember?” She angled him a look that seemed to say, “Come on, Uncle Grant…you know what I’m talking about.”
“Of course I remember.” Though, at the moment, he truly wished he didn’t. He’d blown it, big time.
“It’s just like the one in Miss Andrews’s picture album.”
So the mystery was solved. Gemma had blown his cover. He should have figured it was only a matter of time. Cara’s words raced back to him once again. Return the locket to Maggie today and come clean with her. God will take care of the rest.
Had it really been days…nearly an entire week…since Cara said those words? How had he let the time slip away? Why had he delayed the inevitable for so long?
Gemma tugged at his shirt sleeve as she asked, “It looks like the one the lady in the photo is wearing. How can that be, Uncle Grant?”
“Yes, Grant…” Maggie rounded the table to face him head-on. Her eyes held a spark of disbelief that cut him to the core. “How can that be?”
****
Maggie turned into her driveway as the sky opened up and a splash of raindrops assaulted the windshield. So much for the sunny-skies forecast. Lightning flashed, illuminating the darkened sky and mirroring the storm that raged through her heart.
She’d allowed Grant to kiss her. She’d begun to trust him with her heart. How could she be so foolish? She didn’t know anything about him, and now that fact was brought painfully into focus.
Maggie shuddered as she caught a shadowed glimpse of a figure seated in the glider on the front porch. It took a moment to recognize the silhouette.
“Mom?” she called, but a clap of thunder drowned out the question. So she rolled down the window. “Mom, what are you doing here in this storm? You’re going to get struck by lightning.”
“Then I suggest you hurry up, dear, and let me inside. We’ll have a cup of tea and a bite of the cannoli I brought.”
Cannoli…Mom knew it was Maggie’s favorite. This was serious. She swiped her eyes and slipped from the driver’s seat. She bowed her head and covered her hair with her purse as she headed up the walk, but the effort did little to stave off the chilly assault of raindrops. The air swirled around her, as if mocking her for being so gullible. She started as a bolt of lightning flashed a little too close for her taste.
“Come on inside, Mom, and tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Well, that’s the
warm welcome I expected.” But it would take more to detract Stella Andrews. “It’s good to see you, too, honey.”
“You know what I mean.” Maggie swiveled the key in the lock. “That wind is turning brutal. It will knock you clear off your feet. I can’t believe you’ve been sitting out here in it. Why didn’t you wait in the car?”
“Because I like the scent of the rain and the electricity in the air…the feel of the breeze against my face. It makes me feel alive and reminds me of your dad. He used to love to watch a good thunderstorm roll in.”
“I know. I remember.” Maggie’s parents had been married thirty-two years when her dad succumbed to cancer last September. The disease had hit hard and taken him quickly… unexpectedly. Her mom still reeled from the loss.
The door swung open, and the pair stumbled into the alcove. Maggie set her purse on the hall table and slipped out of her wet jacket. She hung it on the hall tree to dry and then turned to her mother.
“Your tennis shoes are soaked.”
“That last gust got me good.” She shimmied the shoes from her feet. “But it’s not fatal; I’ll dry.”
As usual, her mother took everything in stride. Maggie supposed she stressed less about the little stuff since losing Dad. “I’m glad to see you, Mom, but I’m not really in the mood for company.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here, and since when am I company?”
“You’re not…I mean…” Maggie stumbled over the words. “You’re never company, Mom, I’m just tired.”
“And you’ve been crying.”
Maggie swiped at her eyes again, neither confirming nor denying. There was no point. Mom could always sense…always tell. “What’s in the bag? It has to be more than cannoli.”
“Take a look.” Mom opened the flap, giving Maggie a peek. Chocolate gelato from the bakery on Market Square…yes, this was serious. “It’s the cure for what ails you.”
“And what, exactly, might be ailing me?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who’s been crying.”
“You’ve said that twice now, Mom. How did you know?”
“Angie called me in a panic. She said you left school in tears this afternoon and wouldn’t tell her why.” She took a step closer and studied Maggie’s face. “It’s not like you to melt into a weeping puddle. What’s going on?”
“It’s…nothing.”
“You can’t fool me, honey.” Her mom took her hand and headed for the kitchen. “Come with me. Let’s have a nice cup of tea, a cannoli, and a bowl of this chocolate elixir while we talk things out.”
Maggie sighed and relinquished control to her mom. She knew from experience there was no putting things off when Stella Andrews set her mind to something. So, tea and decadent cannoli with a side of chocolate gelato it would be.
Silently, Maggie felt warmed by her mother’s concern. Her heart was torn in two, and she doubted it would ever recover from the shock of her discovery—and from Grant’s admission concerning what he’d done. The memory slammed into her head, shattering the already fractured pieces of her heart as she considered all he’d divulged to her.
“I took the locket, Maggie. I stole it from your grandmother when I was in high school. It was a stupid, reckless thing to do. I didn’t know she was your grandmother or I wouldn’t…I couldn’t…” He’d shrugged as he lifted a cupped hand to his mouth, coughed slightly as if the words choked him. “It would have mattered to me, even then—in the confused and self-centered state I was in. I had more respect than that for you.”
“But all this time…why?”
“I forgot I had it. I must have slipped it into my pocket while the police were chasing me. I packed up the jeans with the locket still tucked away in them. Gemma found it just last week, the night before we went to the zoo.”
“So you knew when you saw my grandmother’s photo. You knew then who she was…who the locket truly belonged to…and you didn’t say anything. How could you not say anything to me?”
“I can’t explain it. There’s no excuse.”
“That’s one thing we can agree on—the only thing.” She’d planted a foot then and pointed toward the door. “Please leave—now.”
“But—”
“There’s nothing more to say.” Tears filled her eyes as she crossed her arms tight over her chest and turned her back to him. “So, just go.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie…truly sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”
“I’m sorry, too, Grant…sorrier than you’ll ever know.” She shook her head stiffly, her gaze wounded. “Please, go.”
When he’d left, his footsteps retreating steadily down the tile hall, she’d huddled into a wailing mass as the tears came.
Now, as Maggie related the story to her mother, fresh tears streamed down her face. “I’ll never forgive Grant for what he’s done…not ever.”
“Never is a long time.” Stella plopped a scoop of gelato into a bowl and slid it across the table toward her. “And holding onto that anger will only serve to block the blessings God has in store for you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh, honey, I know you better than that. Those words stem from the hurt you’re feeling, but they’re not real. We both know you most certainly do care deep down inside.” Her mother slipped into the seat beside Maggie and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
The gesture soothed, and Maggie drew a deep, cleansing sigh.
“I guess it’s my turn to come clean, since we’re laying it all on the table,” her mother said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I knew it was Grant who took that locket.” She scooped a bite of gelato, slipped it into her mouth and waited for it to melt. “I’ve known for a while now.”
“But how?” Maggie rubbed at her weary eyes, frowning at the smudge of mascara that came away and clung to her fingers. She knew she must look awful, but she could hardly manage the strength to care. “How did you know?”
“Your grandmother told me near the end, while she was in the hospital.” Stella’s spoon clattered as she set it into the ice cream bowl. “I suppose she wanted me to know. But she asked me not to tell you, and I’ve kept that confidence…until now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Grandma asked me to watch over Grant, to finish the work she’d begun.”
“But he stole from her, and not just anything—but a family heirloom. And to make matters worse he failed to return the piece, even when he knew who it belonged to.” A fresh wave of tears blurred Maggie’s vision and turned her nose to a stuffy mess. “What work could Grandma possibly want to do with someone like that?”
“It’s not that complicated to understand, Maggie.” Mom fished her teabag from her cup and set it on the saucer. “Your grandmother knew the locket was valuable—at least sentimentally. But she also understood that the fate of a lost soul is even more valuable. Grant was lost back then…at odds with his father and mourning the loss of his mother. Your grandmother saw his need, felt it as if it was her own, and so she made it her business to help him.”
“How did she help him?” Maggie frowned as she pressed an index finger to her lips, remembering the way they’d tingled at the touch of Grant’s kiss. Her belly churned. “By keeping his name out of the local newspapers?”
“That was a start, but certainly not everything—not by a long shot.”
“Now, I’m even more confused.” Maggie flattened her palms to the table and cradled her head in her arms. She struggled against the resentment that bloomed inside her like a bouquet of thorny roses. “Am I the only one who didn’t know about this?”
“In part…” Stella splayed a hand over Maggie’s back and rubbed gently. “Grant doesn’t know the entire story either—he doesn’t know all Grandma Nell did for him because she wanted to keep it that way. But maybe it’s time he learned the rest of the story—full disclosure—no more secrets.”
7
“Gemma, it’s bedtime!” Grant cal
led as he approached the doorway to Gemma’s bedroom. The springs of her mattress squeaked beneath the pressure of her enthusiastic bouncing. “No more jumping on the bed. You need to settle down now or you’ll never get to sleep tonight.”
She plopped onto the bed cross-legged and swiped a curl from her flushed face as he entered the room. “But it’s only eight o’clock.”
“Since when do you tell time?”
“Miss Andrews taught me.” She motioned toward the nightstand where the alarm clock sat along with a doll and a coloring book and crayons. “That’s a digital clock…they’re easy. See, it says eight-o-three.”
Grant tweaked Gemma’s nose, feeling the heat that emanated from her flushed cheeks. Her chest held a slight rasp as she sucked down a breath. He thought of the inhaler he’d left on the kitchen counter; he should have brought it up with him. “That makes it three minutes past your bedtime and time to settle in for the night.”
“But you promised a story.” She patted the book splayed over the comforter beside her. “I picked a good one.”
“Love You Forever?” He smoothed her hair back and propped a hip on the edge of the bed.
“Uh huh. And you gotta sing too.” Gemma scooted beneath the covers and settled back against the pillows. “Miss Andrews says you’re supposed to sing. She sings real pretty, you know.”
Grant had no doubts. Was there anything Maggie didn’t do well?
Forgive…that was what.
He couldn’t blame Maggie for her wrath—not really. His words must have come as a complete shock. But she’d reacted just the way he’d expected…the way he’d feared. It was exactly the reason he’d put things off for so long…until it was too late. So much for unveiling the truth and allowing God to take care of the rest. The Man Upstairs must have been on vacation this afternoon.
Gemma’s sudden string of raspy coughs brought Grant back. Her face had gone red to match her hair and the way she bowed forward while her fingers clung to her neck told Grant she was in on the verge of distress.
