“What’s that, dear?”
“I didn’t know great-grandpa was an honest-to-goodness spiritualist.”
“Oh yes. Actually, it was why he settled in Virginia. According to his journals, he saw fairies on these lands and that's what convinced him to stay.”
Brows coming together, I turn and lean my bottom against the counter. My head throbs like it has its own heartbeat. “Great-grandpa thought there werefairieshere?”
“He was sure of it. Sometimes, if I watch carefully at night, I see lights bobbing beyond the family cemetery. He never found any proof, but I think they’re still here. Maybe that’s why this family has always been so lucky.”
A huff bursts out of me before I can stifle it. When she eyes me strangely, I shake my head. “Mom and Dad were murdered, I’m going through a horrible divorce, and you—” I cut myself off.
“I’m dying,” she fills in for me, matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me if I fail to see the luck in our current situation.”
She waves dismissively. “That’s only because you’re young and you don’t have perspective. I’m far closer to heaven than you. I can see things you can’t from this height.”
The coffee machine beeps and I whisper, “Thank God.” I spin around to pour us two cups. Nabbing the creamer from the fridge, I bring them to the table, hoping the caffeine will stop my brain matter from melting like a clock in a Salvador Dali painting. I take a sip then refocus on the conversation. “Perspective, huh? Like what, Grams?”
“Well, we’ve always hadeach other, haven’t we? And we’ve always had this place. Howard was born here, you know. In the guest room.” She points one arthritic finger toward the ceiling. I’ve heard the story a thousand times but tilt my head and nod. “And your father, I gave birth to him in the same room. Lord, he was a holy terror of a child. I loved every minute of it. Broke my heart when James went to school overseas, but when he brought your mother home with a ring on her finger, it made it all worth it. Diana loved it here too, you know. Used to run along the edge of those cliffs like she could fly. A few times, I thought we were going to lose her.”
My dream comes back to me in full color. “I had a dream last night that Mom was standing on the edge. Dad was there too. And Max. Do you remember Max?”
“Oh yes. I loved that dog.”
I take a fortifying gulp of coffee. “What can I get you for breakfast? How about some oatmeal?”
“That would be perfect, dear. With chocolate chips and brown sugar.”
I snort. “Are you supposed to have sugar and chocolate?”
She shrugs her bony shoulders. “At this point, what’s it going to hurt?”
I sigh. “Chocolate chips it is.” I take my coffee to the counter with me and dump water and oats into a saucepan.
“Anyway, it’s not surprising you would dream of your mother there. She loved the river. Many of her paintings were influenced by the cliffs and the wind. You know, if you need money, you could take up painting again.”
At one time, my goal had been to become an artist like my mother. She’d had a following before she was murdered, and her art has gone up in value since her death. Income from her paintings used to be what supported us. My fatherowned a greenhouse and landscaping company in Echo Mills, but his income was negligible compared to my mother’s. But when they died, grief smothered my creative flame. The only time I’ve held a paintbrush since is to teach painting, and even that was derailed by my failed marriage. “I’m nowhere near ready to paint for profit, unfortunately. I’m not sure I ever will be again.”
“Pssht.” She smacks her lips in disapproval. “Fine, then sell one of your mother’s pieces. A few are left in her studio. Everything on loan has been returned from the galleries.”
Most of Mom’s work was done on commission. A few she’d painted for us, pieces that hang on the walls of Harcourt Manor and line her studio. Her paintings sold well and quickly. I’m surprised the galleries had any pieces to return. Now that she’s gone, parting with any of them would be akin to selling my soul.
“I couldn’t… possibly.”
Grams frowns. “You’re welcome to anything I have, of course, but I don't have much, I’m afraid. Once I’m gone, you’ll have a nice nest egg?—”
“I thought I’d call Principal Singer and see if he has any openings,” I say loud enough to drown out yet another reminder of her mortality. The oatmeal is done. I divide it into two bowls, add brown sugar and chocolate chips to Grams’s and a handful of raisins to mine, and bring both to the table.
Grams stirs her oatmeal, contemplative. Relief eases through me when she takes a bite. Being with her this morning, having breakfast, I can almost forget her time with me is limited. Well, I could if she stopped insisting on reminding me at every turn.
“I remember when you came along,” she says wistfully. “All that wild energy Jameshad was in you too. The house came alive again. James and Diana raised you without inhibitions. It was refreshing. Everything was exciting again.”
“I’m sure Mom thought I was exhausting. Until I met Tony, I had no goals in life, no fear of anything, especially not failure.” I sip my coffee, trying to put it all into words. “As much as I hate Tony right now, I have to admit that he was kind initially. Remember how he was right after Mom and Dad were killed? Always stopping by to check on the two of us?”
“But then he hit you.”
“Yes, but before that. He did fix the house. And he was the one who encouraged me to go to college and become a serious adult. Who knows where I’d have ended up without his influence?”
