Secrets Unveiled

by Mary Manners

  “Hang on.” He sprang up from the bed and bolted to the hall, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the kitchen. He snatched the inhaler from the countertop and turned back to re-climb the stairs in record time.

  “Here,” he said as he bounded through the doorway to the bed where Gemma was doubled over in a fit of raspy coughs. “Take two puffs.” He hoisted Gemma onto his lap and held the tube to her mouth, urging her to purse her purple-tinged lips around the opening. Then he counted aloud as he quickly pressed the dispenser, “There you go…One…two…”

  A tense moment passed as he waited to see if the medicine would take effect. Only once before had they required a trip to the emergency room to bring Gemma’s breathing under control. Grant prayed silently, fervently…

  Gemma let out a trio of sharp, bark-like coughs before her breathing suddenly eased, going from short and raspy to deep and clear. Just as quickly as it had come on, the episode faded. That was the benefit of quick action. Thank God Cara had reminded him to get the inhaler refilled.

  Grant thought of the second dispenser still packaged in its pharmacy bag in the console of his car. He was supposed to give it to Maggie when he picked Gemma up from school that afternoon, but with the way things had transpired, he’d completely forgotten to leave the medication with her.

  Until now.

  Like it or not, he’d have to rectify that in the morning. Allergy season was just beginning for Gemma. She’d need to keep the inhaler close by at all times.

  “You OK now?” Grant settled back on the bed, studying Gemma carefully. She seemed much less affected by the episode, but that didn’t surprise him. Gemma had no idea asthma ran in their family—or that his mother—her grandmother—had died as a result of a severe asthmatic attack.

  If it was up to him, she’d never know. He didn’t want the knowledge to frighten her or hold her back from doing the things she loved.

  Like jumping on the bed.

  “Yeah, I’m OK.” Gemma reached for the doll on the nightstand and cuddled it to her chest as the last of the wheezing faded. She peered up at him as she settled back against the pillows. “Are you OK?”

  “Uh huh.” Grant managed to chuckle. The kid had the wisdom and insight of an old woman. Sometimes he found it unsettling. But tonight he was just happy the medicine had worked so quickly. “No worse for wear. Now…about that story….”

  “Why is Miss Andrews mad at you?”

  The question surprised him, and he struggled to find an answer that might satisfy. “She’s not mad…just disappointed in me.”

  “Why? Does it have something to do with the locket?”

  “Yes, that…and more.”

  “Does this mean you’re not friends anymore?”

  Grant sighed and scooted back along the bedside to rest his spine against the headboard. He gathered Gemma in close as he wondered how he might explain. “Miss Andrews and I have been friends almost forever.”

  “Since before I was born, right? Miss Andrews told me that while we were waiting for you today.”

  “She did? Well, that’s right. We went to high school together…even sat through some classes together. And sometimes even friends who care deeply for each other manage to get their feelings hurt. It happens.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then they talk about it…and try their best to work things out.”

  “But Miss Andrews was crying.”

  “I know.” The thought pinched at Grant’s heart. “I guess I hurt her pretty badly. I didn’t mean to, but it happened anyway.”

  “Like Oscar hurt my feelings when he was a puppy and he chewed up my favorite doll, so then you had to throw it away?”

  “Exactly. Oscar didn’t know any better then. He does now, so he won’t chew your toys anymore.”

  “I’m glad for that.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You’re still gonna come to school with me tomorrow…to help with craft day, right? ‘cause you promised.”

  “I…um…” Grant figured he’d best keep his distance from Maggie. He didn’t want to upset her further, and she’d certainly made her wishes known. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, given the circumstances.”

  “But you promised, Uncle Grant. You promised.” Gemma wrapped her fingers around his thumb and tugged. “And you said you never break a promise. So you have to come. You just have to. Please-oh-please-oh-please come!”

  Grant sighed. His fate was sealed. He couldn’t deny a request such as this. Tomorrow was shaping up to be a school day for the both of them—along with Maggie.

  The circumstances weren’t ideal, but Grant was determined to make the best of it.

  “Do you want to pray about it?” Gemma asked. “Mama says praying makes everything better, even when the answer is no.”

  “Well, she’s right, even when no is a tough answer to swallow.” Grant squeezed Gemma’s hand as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. “God, please help me make lemonade out of this situation.” The words came from the depths of his heart. “I don’t want Maggie to hurt on account of my actions—or lack of them. Show me how to make things right again. I care about her…deeply. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Gemma echoed. She opened her eyes and turned to him. “Don’t worry. God will help you make lemonade, Uncle Grant. I know He will.”

  8

  “So, I heard you crashed and burned in the romance department.” Cara’s voice drifted over the phone line as Grant used the hands-free device on his way home from craft day. “Gemma told me all about it when I picked her up from school today. She’s worried about you and Maggie, by the way. Congratulations—you earn an A-plus in the art of stirring things up, little brother.”

  “Yeah, yay me. Go ahead, say I told you so, sis. I know you’re itching to.”

  “Who, me?” Cara huffed out a breath. “Please give me a little credit; I’d never say that—at least not out loud—and to you.”

  “Thanks for that.” Grant groaned as he turned into traffic along Chapman Highway. Cars whizzed by as drivers rushed home from the city, back to South Knoxville and Seymour. He’d been so worked up after spending the day doing the dance of avoidance with Maggie that he went into the office for a few hours afterwards to work on the final preparations for a merger closing scheduled to take place next week. Now, his brain felt truly muddled. “It’s…so noble of you. I’m sorry I’ve got Gemma upset. Maggie was pretty agitated about things, and so was I. I thought things might ease up a bit today, but I was wrong. Not a good thing, I know. Believe me, I’m working on it.”

  “There’s nothing like a little fireworks finale smack-dab in the heart of October. We both know Gemma’s resilient. She’ll ask some questions, mull things over a bit, and then move on to the next adventure. It’s you I’m worried about, Grant—you and Maggie.” The sound of running water trickled over the line and Grant imagined Cara moving about the kitchen of her house as the dinner hour quickly approached. He was certain after the string of double-shifts she’d taken on that week that Cara looked forward to an evening relaxing with Gemma. “Seriously, though, is it true Maggie cried?”

  “True as a heart attack.”

  “Good grief…what on earth did you say to her?”

  “Why do you automatically assume it’s my fault?”

  “Hello…the locket?”

  “Right…yeah. Well, I really didn’t say much.” Grant adjusted the radio to a lower volume as the roar of a truck engine drowned out the conversation. He raised his voice a notch to be heard. “How was it possible to get so much as a word in edgewise when she was too busy kicking me out of the classroom yesterday?”

  “Kicking you out…Oh, no.”

  “Oh yes. And today, well…I’m sure Maggie thought I’d never show up for craft day after the disastrous encounter yesterday. But I had to go…I promised Gemma I’d be there to help with things and she’d never let me live it down if I reneged on a promise. Besides, I had to take Gemma’s new inhaler to Maggie,
anyway, since I forget to give it to her yesterday before I left the classroom.”

  “Thanks for taking care of that for me. Gemma’s asthma’s really been acting up the past week or so. She’s got an appointment with the pediatrician next week because things seem to be getting worse instead of better. I’m going to send a note asking Maggie to pay extra attention to her during the day and watch for any signs of distress. We’re just entering the height of her allergy season, you know.”

  “Yes, I do.” Grant thought of the episode the night before and raised another prayer of thanks that Gemma’s breathing had quickly come back under control. The alternative was truly frightening. “I’ll keep an extra close eye on her, as well.”

  “I know you will.” Cara’s tone spoke volumes.

  Grant wondered if she was thinking about their mother’s battle with the disease. Cara, like him, would always remember the way their father blamed himself for failing to stop by the pharmacy to pick up her inhaler, as he’d promised, on the way home from work that night. Being without the medicine had proved to be a fatal omission—one for which Cal Anderson never forgave himself. The guilt had worn him to a bitter mess as time went on, and he and Grant found themselves constantly at odds, the largest argument being that of Grant’s choice of a university. When Grant chose to stick close to home and attend the University of Tennessee, his father rescinded his financial support in the hopes that Grant would bow to his demands.

  Grant felt the slightest prick of guilt as he remembered the way his father’s expression had changed as his words resonated. For the first time, Cal Anderson lost his unflappable composure as the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened and his lips sagged to a puzzled frown.

  “You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.” His voice was a rasp of gravel and in that span of seconds he suddenly looked old…ancient. At the time, winning this battle had given Grant a sense of satisfaction. But over the years, the satisfaction had worn off, leaving him with a nagging sense of shame. Perhaps his father had merely pushed so hard in an effort to sway him to accept what he deemed the best path for a successful future. Or maybe he was simply attempting to fill a void that had been left by the death of Grant’s mother. It pained Grant that he would never know for sure.

  No matter his father’s intention, Grant struggled to secure loans and scrape up the cash to pay for his schooling. But he failed to scrape together enough funding and his hopes for college were dashed until he got word of a miracle.

  Someone had endowed a scholarship to the University of Tennessee on his behalf. The day he received the letter in the mail was one of the best of his life. Though he’d inquired, ad nauseum, as to the source of the money, the generous soul’s name was never disclosed to him. All he knew for certain was that the benefactor lived locally and was now deceased. In gratitude, Grant used funds from the closing of his first merger to set up a scholarship through the University to benefit others. Each May, he and Cara pored through applications before selecting one deserving high school senior to receive the gift of a full ride through the UT College of Business.

  And, just as his benefactor requested with his or her generosity, Grant remained anonymous throughout the entire process. No one besides Cara and a few people in the finance department at UT knew where the money came from.

  To this day, Grant still wondered over the miracle of the generosity he’d received. The kindness had forever changed the course of his life.

  The sound of a sigh drew him back. Cara asked, “So, how was craft day?”

  “Let’s just say I had no idea—until today—that two people could spend an entire day in the close proximity of a kindergarten classroom and barely look at each other or say two-dozen words to one another.”

  “Ouch.” Cara’s grimace was nearly palpable, even over the phone line. “I’m sorry. Truly I am.”

  “Me, too.” Grant shifted gears as he coasted to a stop at a red light. “Maggie completely shut me out. I tried to talk to her today while we helped the kids with their projects, but she was having none of it. All I got for my efforts was a case of hypothermia and a sticky coat of decoupage glue on my arms clear up to my elbows. As a bonus, there’s acrylic paint splattered over my shirt.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “Rough doesn’t even begin to describe it. I don’t know how Maggie does it every day—outnumbered thirteen to one as she teaches the kids. I’m exhausted by the sheer energy of the little munchkins. And I thought business and property mergers were frightening. Man, was I wrong. They’re not even in the same ball park.”

  “Did you share those thoughts with Maggie?”

  “How could I? Like I said before, she barely acknowledged me.” Grant drummed his fingers along the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change from red back to green. “I felt as if I spent the day draped in the proverbial cloak of invisibility. We didn’t even employ so much as sign language or hand gestures or even a smile; forget about the friendly realm of verbal communication.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to find a way to express your feelings to Maggie. You’re a smart guy, Grant. Figure it out. Compliments never hurt a situation…especially where women are concerned. Trust me, I know.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement. I’ve learned my lesson—again—the hard way. I should have trusted your advice—and heeded it—when you gave it to me in the first place last weekend. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Hindsight is twenty-twenty. We all make mistakes, Grant. The point is not to dwell on those mistakes, but to learn from them and move forward.”

  “What if my feet are buried in cement?”

  “Quit feeling sorry for yourself, Grant Anderson. You’ve made a mess of things and you need to fix them. That’s the bottom line.”

  “You’re right. I know.”

  “Now, how about if you come by for dinner with Gemma and me? It’s Thursday and that means movie night at the Stuart household. We’ll even let you choose the movie—so long as one of the stars is a fairytale princess—and we’ll share our popcorn.”

  “Sure. That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.” Grant gunned the engine as the light switched over. He checked the side mirror before shifting lanes as he ascended a hill. “Count me in.”

  “Spaghetti and meatballs are on the menu tonight, with a side-order of garlic bread and a nice, green salad. I’ll even make a to-go box for Oscar.”

  “That sounds better than good…it’s perfect.” He tapped the brake, dodged the semi in front of him and changed lanes once more. “I’ll be there in about an hour—right after I swing by Maggie’s house. You’re right—I need to tell her a few things and now is as good a time as any to say my piece.”

  ****

  A rap on the front door startled Maggie as she drew a pan of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. Steam drifted up in a burst of heat, carrying with it the sweet aroma of milk chocolate. She set the pan on the stove-top to cool and then wiped her hands on an apron tied snugly at her waist as she wound her way through the living room to the front door.

  She paused and grimaced as she caught a glimpse of the shadowed figure standing on the front porch, waiting just beyond the glass.

  Grant.

  He’d come back for more, even after the way she’d treated him in the classroom while he offered help to the kids—and to her. A slight niggle of guilt pricked Maggie…but not enough to soften her rock-hardened heart toward him.

  She fingered the locket, now safely clasped at her neck. Tucked inside were the photos of Grandma Nell and Great-grandma Colleen. She felt close to both women who had once also worn the delicate piece of silver. Maggie had only a few vague memories of Great-grandma Colleen, but she and Grandma Nell had been close as sisters despite the difference in their ages. She missed the woman so much that sometimes it still took her breath away. She wondered now what Grandma Nell had seen in Grant way back when he was no more than a troublemaker casing the next house or looking for the
next brawl.

  He’d been born into a well-to-do family—much better off financially than Maggie ever dreamed of being. Why on earth did he feel the need to steal things from those who happened to be less fortunate?

  Maggie was now privy to details concerning how Grandma had made an anonymous scholarship to the University of Tennessee in Grant’s name, with the intention to pay for his bachelor’s degree. Even after the way Grant had stolen from her, Grandma still longed to help him.

  “Why?” Maggie murmured aloud, as if Grandma Nell stood right there in the room with her. “Why did you do it, Gran?”

  No answer came as Maggie unlatched the door and pulled it open. For a moment, she simply stood there with one hand propped on her hip and her heart—darn its blatant betrayal—pounding at a cadence that was much faster than mere moments ago. Again, questions rumbled through her mind.

  Why, Grandma…why?

  “Hi Maggie.”

  “Hi yourself.” Maggie smoothed her hands over the front of her apron as a cool breeze chased the heat from her cheeks. Grant’s dark eyes skimmed the length of her, causing her pulse to join her heart rate in a traitorous tango. She forced the thrumming back, chastising herself as she held onto her anger. “I’m busy, Grant, and I’m not at all sure what you could possibly have to say to me anyway.” The words came in a sharp, staccato burst that left no room for a skittering pulse or a prayer of backpedaling toward acquiescence.

  “If you’ll listen for a minute—just give me a chance to say a few words—you might find out exactly what I could possibly have to say to you.” Grant took a single step forward, filling the doorway. “And you might also be pleasantly surprised by what you hear, Maggie.”

  “I highly doubt that.” Maggie ran a hand through her hair. It must look a fright, disheveled and wilted from the heat of the oven. Why she cared, she couldn’t fathom. “Besides, I’ve had all the surprises I can take for one week, thank you very much. Why should I listen to you, anyway?”

  “You should listen because I’m asking you to give me a minute or two…or, if you can find it in your heart, five.” His lips curved slightly, forming the softest of smiles as his eyes crinkled around the corners. Maggie averted her gaze before she was swept away again for good.