“Speaking of which,” I say, entering unchartered territories. “I still have your diary. You remember asking me to bring it to you,right?”
Grams pats my hand that’s resting beside her leg. “Yes, Emma, I remember asking you to bring the book. My mind is still intact, despite what you all mightthink.”
“Well, you’ve had us all a little worried because you keep asking for Charlie,” I tellher.
A smile grows across her frail lips. “Oh, Charlie,” she says breathlessly—his name sounds like a quiet lullaby humming from the depths of herthroat.
“Grams, you've never mentioned his namebefore.”
“Not to you, your mother, or you aunt—you're right.” The sternness in her voice defines a reason for hiding her stories, but I’m still not sure what the reason mightbe.
“I don't understand. Why would you keep your past from us, and who is he?” Not that I don't kind of know who Charlie is, but she doesn't know I've continued reading the diary on myown.
“You have been my granddaughter for thirty-one years. I know you’ve read at least a quarter of my diary by now. Don't play me for a fool, Emma.” Geez, I should have known better than to think she doesn't know everything I’m up to. Just like Mom. The two of them are basically the sameperson.
“Well, why haven’t you toldus?”
“Honey, I married your grandfather, Max. We were married for sixty-one years and raised two girls. There isn’t always space for the past when you're busy planning afuture.”
“Then, whynow?”
“My future is in the past now, Emma. My days are coming to an end, and you know what I’ve been mostly worried about these last fewyears?”
I take her hand, wondering what she might say. “What’s that,Grams?”
“When I get up there, you know…to heaven, I've been worrying about what would happen if Charlieandyour grandfather are both at the gates waiting for me. Your grandfather didn't know much about Charlie, and Charlie certainly didn't know about your grandfather. In any case, it was just a silly concern, since I thought I would see at least one of them earlier when I flatlined, but neither of them were there waiting for me.” Trying to push away the thought of her dying, It’s hard to wrap my head around the rest of herexplanation.
“Charlie died?” Iask.
“You'll see when you finish reading my diary,” she says as she gently closes her eyes, settling into her pillow with a look of relaxation. “I don’t want to spoil it foryou.”
“He was a soldier, Grams.” I'm not sure why I feel the need to point this out to her, but I have to know what she has to say aboutit.
“Yes…and…?” shereplies.
“Well, you’re Jewish. You were aprisoner.”
“He was also a prisoner, just in a differentway.”
“I don't understand,” I tell her. I read Charlie’s explanation on the matter, but it seems like Grams agrees with his declarationnow.
“It’s because you have never felt the desire to give up your life for someone who would give up theirs foryou.”
“I just—that's kind of wrong, though,right?”
“Wrong?” she snaps. “Who’s making the rules in your life…you, or the world aroundyou?”
“I suppose I understand, then.” Or, at least I’m tryingto.
“You know, I have spent seventy-four years asking myself the questions that so easily fly off the tip of your tongue, but after a long life, full of experiences both good and bad, I've decided that no one can tell me how to feel. I made a mistake, Emma, one that cost me my great love story. I settled for what fit into my life instead of entering the dangerous, uncharted territory of forbidden love. The difference is larger than anything imaginable—one option is scary, and one is easy. The scary choice isn’t for everyone, but I now believe in my heart that if you're daring enough to take the chance, it could be worth every breathless second of making itwork.”
My mouth opens and closes at least three times as I try to find words to respond with, but I’m come up short. I'm speechless. “Why didn't you—” I wouldn't be here. Mom wouldn't behere.
“There are some things I can't speak about, Emma. The pain of the past is an emotion I've shut off permanently, and the only way to maintain that promise to myself is by keeping my feelings in the diary—where theybelong.”
“Were you not happy withGrandpa?”
“I was happy with Grandpa,” she insists. “He was a good man who worked hard to take care of his family, but Grandpa and I were more like best friends than anything else, and that’s why we made it work for all of those years. Marriages are built on friendships, trust, and loyalty. We had that.” She left out love. “But when you’ve had more, there’s no going backafterwards.”
