I take a deep breath. “I need to tell you something important.”
“Are you all right, dear?” That’s her, leaping to the conclusion that something bad has happened to me. She has become my mother, who I see in her mannerisms sometimes. Will I see any of those inhermother?
“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually.”
“Is she?” Grandma asks Matthew.
He swallows a bite of his donut, trying not to laugh. “She certainly is. She just has some big news.”
“Well?” she demands. “Don’t hold out on me.” Her eyes light up. “Are you two getting married?”
“Grandma!” I cry.
Matthew covers his mouth, keeping the crumbs from flying out when he laughs.
“What? Is that a no?”
He leans forward, his expression conspiratorial as he casts his spell on her. I understand that feeling very well.
“I haven’t asked her yet,” he tells her softly.
Not soft enough, though. I am so surprised by this confession, I almost forget why we’re here.
“Anyhow,” he says, waving me on, “Bridget has something important to tell you.”
She nods in anticipation and reaches for my hand. I drop my gaze to where they link, and I see the transparency of her skin, the network of blue veins beneath. I have seen so many photographs of her when she was younger, and I know she had a good life. A happy one. And a long one. Still, that doesn’t stop me from wishing for more time.
I summon courage, then I throw it all out at once. “Your mother is alive and living in the Summerside Seniors residence downtown. I want to take you to see her tomorrow afternoon.”
No one moves. Matthew and I are watching, waiting for some kind of reaction. I see Grandma’s expression transform from disbelieving to forbidding, but somewhere in between I swear I see a glimmer of hope.
“No, that can’t be right, Bridget. She would be far too old.”
“She is a hundred and twelve,” Matthew puts in helpfully. “A friend of mine is interviewing her for an article, and we’re going to see her.”
Grandma and I stare at each other. It’s her turn. After a pause, her shoulders fall, and I know her answer before she says it.
“Well, I’m not coming with you.”
“Grandma—”
“You go.”
She drops her donut onto her plate and rubs her hands together to clear them of sugar. Her mouth pulls into a tight grimace, and I’m afraid she’ll cry. I’m not sure how to handle that. The only time I’ve ever seen Grandma cry was after my mother died. For as long as she could, she’d kept up that stiff upper lip people are always talking about, but she could not hold it forever. I remember, as a child, feeling completely bewildered, seeing her in that state. Grandma had become my world in the moment the car killed my mother, and I was frightened to see her so sad.
But this time, I’m wrong. She’s not sad. She’s furious.
“You go. Ask her where she’s been all my life, Bridget. Ask her what kind of mother dumps a baby, then forgets all about her. Ask her… Oh, it doesn’t matter. Ancient history. I have absolutely no interest in meeting that woman. Thank you for telling me, but I’m not coming with you, Bridget, and that’s final.”
chapterFORTY-ONE
I barely sleep that night. In the morning, I am buzzing with nerves even before Matthew puts coffee in my hand. I sit with him on the couch, but I can’t relax. I get up and pace while he observes from his comfortable seat. By the early afternoon, I am a wreck.
“I wish she was coming,” I say for the dozenth time. He wisely doesn’t answer.
At the appointed hour, Louis meets us outside the residence, and the men nod at each other. Men always do that. There’s no hidden meaning behind a nod, because nothing has been decided upon yet. It’s a simple greeting, not reading into something. Women are far too complicated.
My nervous energy is taking over my thoughts, apparently.
