Lily White Lies - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 of the award-winning, 'Lily White Lies', available in paperback or Kindle.

Five

 

...I have a mother, but can’t make her understand she has a daughter.  It feels painfully similar to not having her at all...

 

 

Friday’s weren’t the regular visiting days at Cherry Hall and  I didn’t usually ask for special privileges, but after the visit to my grandmother last night, today’s visit seemed extremely urgent.

The visit wasn’t important because I thought my aunt would confirm or deny anything my grandmother had told me the night before.  I would be equally happy if she offered no more than a smile, as she had last Saturday.  If I were lucky, maybe she would acknowledge my presence or my conversation.  It was more than a dream to think she would respond, but I would be lying to say it hadn’t crossed my mind.

I never usually said much during a visit with my aunt, letting Gram do most of the talking, but today I thought I would try to keep an upbeat conversation going in the hopes of putting Aunt Karen at ease with my unexpected visit.

As I entered the room, I noted the smell of clean linens; I saw fresh flowers on the night table and I heard a soothing stream of Mozart throughout the room.  I thought how pleased Gram would be.

I spoke softly to keep from startling her.

“Aunt Karen... hi.  I hope you’re up for company.” 

She slowly turned her head to face me and I checked carefully for signs of annoyance or displeasure.  I saw neither so I took a seat on the uncomfortable, cast iron radiator Gram usually occupied and faced her.

“I know you weren’t expecting me today but… you don’t mind do you?”

It was silly of me to expect an answer, but I was inexperienced when it came to talking to someone who wouldn’t respond.  I didn’t want to sound like I was pacifying her, but I didn’t want to seem ignorant to her special condition.  It seemed like such a tough call and it was only now that I fully understood the emotional drain each visit had on my grandmother.

Her attention had gone back to something on the other side of the glass.  I turned myself to face the window and stared with her, using the time to form my thoughts into words�"words she probably wouldn’t understand.

After a few minutes, I faced her again and began to speak, slowly and thoughtfully.

“Aunt Karen, this is hard for me.  I don’t know if you’ll understand what I say, but I have to say it.”   

She continued to stare out the window without acknowledging my words and I decided to continue.

“I went to visit Gram last night, I’m sure she’ll tell you about it when she comes tomorrow.  I didn’t get to spend any time with Gramp while I was there.  I wish I had though.  Gram says he spends all of his time outside with his animals… has Gram told you about them?”  Feeling silly for asking another question, I continued, “Yeah well, he has quite a few animals now.”

She was still staring out the window with no readable expression on her face.  I never realized how hard it was to keep a one-way conversation interesting.  I found myself admiring my grandmother for something she had done each week for as long as I could remember, always making it look so easy.

Reluctantly, I continued, “Anyway, Gram and I talked about when you were little.  She told me how much you loved people and how much she loved you…” 

I couldn’t have known how difficult this would be before I arrived.  Telling me about Aunt Karen had left Gram in tears, while it left me speechless.  Only now did I consider the effect it might have on my aunt after all this time.

I sniffled once, and continued, “You know, I had wanted to talk to you about something when I got here, but now that I’m here, I think… well, how about we just relax and look out the window together, okay?”

Relieved to have a moment to compose myself, I turned and closed my eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears I felt welling up inside.  Gram told me to do what I felt was necessary, but now that I was here, my visit seemed much more selfish than it did necessary.

We had been relaxing in the peace and quiet of a serene view, when all of a sudden and quite unexpectedly, I felt a touch on the back of my hand.  My breath caught in my throat briefly, and I slowly opened my eyes to find Aunt Karen’s hand resting on top of my own.  Her touch was cool, but soft.  From the lack of making use of herself physically, her skin felt like that of a baby.

This one, simple gesture told me she had been listening and was now ready to hear more. 

I began slowly. 

“Did Gram ever tell you about the time I went to the hospital to get my tonsils out?  I was seven and had never been so scared in all my life.” 

I no longer looked in her direction when I phrased things as questions.  I focused on the story I was telling, wondering how much, if any, she would understand.

“The day before I was supposed to have them removed, Gram took me to the carnival in Wheaton.  It was a special treat on account of my surgery and all.” 

I noticed she was still resting her hand on top of mine as I spoke, and I smiled inwardly.

“I rode a lot of rides that night, most of them, I think.  But the one that looked like the most fun�"was the one that scared me to death.” 

From the corner of my eye, I could see she was looking in my direction.  I deliberately kept my eyes from falling directly on hers, as I continued with my story.

“I was in awe of the bright lights and the seats that rocked gently with each stop... well…  I watched as my friends climbed into the seats all night long... taking one turn after another.”  Smiling at what was now a fond memory, I continued, “Gram asked me many times if I wanted to go on the Ferris wheel and I kept telling her no.  I lied and told her it didn’t look like it was much fun.”  I gave her hand an affectionate rub.  “We stayed until the very end of the night, until all of my friends had gone home.  Once the lights on all of the rides had gone out for the night, Gram took hold of my hand, led me over to the man who operated the Ferris wheel, and tapped him on the shoulder.  She said, ‘Excuse me sir, my granddaughter is having her tonsils out tomorrow and she’s about scared out of her mind.  She’s also scared of this ride.  Will you please take us for one quick trip around so I can show her that scary things aren’t always bad things?’

He grumbled about how late it was and how he wasn’t supposed to run it for just two people�"but you know Gram.  I think her mind was made up to stay there for as long as it took him to agree, which he finally did.”

Just thinking about what Gram had done for me that night caused a tear to dampen my lashes.

“I was so scared I was trembling, but Gram took hold of my hand and never let it go.  I was nervous as we worked our way to the top of the wheel, but once we came back down…  I couldn’t wait to get to the top again.”

I directed my attention toward my aunt.  She was still very much involved in me and my story and I decided to use the story as a stepping-stone to the real reason I was here.

I continued, “I remember that so well because when it was over, Gram admitted that before that night, she had never been on a Ferris wheel in her life.  When I asked her why not, she said it was because she was always afraid to ride one but that night, she put her fears aside to help me deal with mine.”

In the silence that followed my fond memory, I looked deeply into my aunt’s eyes.  I was studying them, reading them, and paying close attention to what they had to say.

“Aunt Karen, there aren’t many things in my life I’ve ever been certain of.  I mean so certain I could bet my life on… but I’ve always been positive Gram loved me.”  I reached out and pushed several loose strands of hair from her face, and continued, “And that love caused her to make some decisions that may or may not have been for the best, but her intentions were always planted in love.”

I couldn’t help but look at my aunt through sympathetic eyes.  Gram had left this my decision and I could only pray I had made the right one.

“Aunt Karen… last night Gram told me about what happened… to you… at the church.” 

I searched her eyes for a sign of fear or pain to let me know it was time to stop.  I had her attention and her expression was one of certainty, as if she were expecting what I was about to say.

Words bounced through my head trying to put themselves in order and I knew that once I said them, there would be no taking them back.  No matter how hard, no matter how uncomfortable, Gram, Aunt Karen and I would have to live with a truth that had been buried for many years. 

With both of my hands, I held the hand she had rested on mine, and spoke softly.  “Aunt Karen, I thought you should know…”  I swallowed hard and stared down at our joined hands.  As broken as my thoughts were, somehow, I managed to finish my sentence, “Last night Gram told me…  Aunt Karen, I know the whole story.  I know you’re my mother.”

The instant the last word crossed my lips, I shivered, anticipating a reaction and expecting the worst.  I tightened the grip I had on her hand, searching her eyes for pain or comprehension.  She didn’t offer any verbal or visible sign that she had understood a word I said and the silence became stifling.

Shifting my position on the radiator, I cleared my throat and offered an apology. 

“I’m sorry; I was hoping that...”  Lowering my head, I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Brought on by a little disappointment and a lot of guilt, I had a strong desire to flee the room.  Wishing I could take it all back, and knowing I couldn’t, I wanted to distance myself from the events of the afternoon.  I was mad at myself for being unable to let the past alone.  I was insensitively mad at my aunt for being unable to communicate her feelings to me and I was mad at Gram for shining light on something from the past that had no hope of being changed.

I felt like a coward for wanting to run out on her.  I had selfishly thought that bringing the truth to light would somehow give me back something I had lost almost twenty-five years earlier.  It wasn’t even that I thought she could take an active part in my life; just knowing she was there and that she knew whom I was would have been enough. 

I have a mother, but I can’t make her understand she has a daughter.  It feels painfully similar to not having her at all.

 

When the orderly appeared, holding a tray, I felt a rush of relief pass over me.  Mealtime was a legitimate reason for me to excuse myself without feeling guilty of desertion.

“It looks like dinnertime, so I guess I’ll be going now.”  I hesitated.  “I’m not sure if my coming was the right thing, but… well, I just hope it wasn’t the wrong thing.” 

The orderly placed the tray on the table, offering me an impatient stare.  I made my goodbye a quick one with a kiss on the top of her head.  “I’m sorry, Aunt Karen, but I really do have to go.”

I had been foolishly mistaken if I thought I’d feel better after my visit.  I was so confused about everything from whether or not she understood a word I said, to what I should call her now, to how I felt about returning with Gram tomorrow.

Between tears and exhaustion, I stared out the cab window for what seemed like an endless ride to Willoughby.  Gram couldn’t fix what I had done, but I hoped I’d feel better by talking to her.

 

~ ~ ~

 

I called out several times but couldn’t find anyone inside so I ventured outside and followed the smell of manure to the small barn behind my grandparent’s house.

“Hello.  Gram, Gramp, anyone here?”  When no reply came, I yelled, “HELLO!” once more.

I stood quietly and looked around as I took in the aroma of farm life.

I hadn’t considered that my grandparents might be out when I paid the cabdriver off.  My grandfather had become quite reclusive since his release from prison almost two years earlier.  Gram said it was easier to feed twenty people with one hen than it was to get Gramp to leave the house.

“Hey Sugar, didn’t hear you pull in.”

Gramp came from around the side of the barn and it was apparent he had startled me more than my unexpected visit had startled him.

“Hey, I was just about to call a cab to come get me.  I thought that maybe you went out with Gram.  Is she here?”

Gramp, always known to have busy hands, filled buckets with feed from various bags, as he spoke.

“Naw.  She went to the market for a few things.”  Throwing a cup of oats into the last bucket, he raised an eyebrow and faced me.  “But you can visit a bit with me if you like.”

I looked around the backyard, almost as a trapped rat would search for an escape. 

“Uh…  Sure.  I guess I will.” 

As he took the buckets for delivery to anxiously awaiting recipients, I prayed Gram would soon be home.  I guess deep down I loved my grandfather but I felt uncomfortable around him, never knowing what to say.

Between my grandparents, Gramp was the easy-going one.  He had gone to prison for accidentally killing Wesley Ellis, the same man who killed my parents.  Prison broke most men.  The steel bars, the infinite weeks, months and years for retrospection and the fight for survival and respect within the cold, merciless walls would take the strongest of men and beat them down to a fraction of their emotional worth.  But not Gramp.  If anything, I sensed an added degree of calmness and strength since his release. 

Maybe that was the reason for my uneasiness around him.  I felt as if he were bottling his prison experience inside and that one-day he would unexpectedly blow.  I had also heard rumors while growing up that contradicted what Gram always told me about why he went to jail.  I’d never had the nerve to ask him or Gram about it, but it was something I thought about, especially when I found myself alone with him.

I stepped back, startled by his voice.  “So, how’s that fellow of yours?  Treating you well?”

Glancing at the ground to make sure I wasn’t stepping in animal droppings, I replied, “Uh, yeah.  It’s been a little hectic lately, but yeah… things are good.”

He turned his suspicious stare in my direction.  Before he said a word, he had me feeling like the guilty child who had just been caught in a lie.

“Good?  What’s good, Sugar, how’s he treating you good?  He helping with the wedding?”

I shook my head, but before I could offer a verbal reply, he continued.

“How about your business?  He behind you on that?  He there to talk to?  He support you when you’ve had a bad day?”

 I was inwardly screaming ‘Gram,’ but outwardly, I couldn’t get a word past my lips.  Gramp never involved himself in my private life, I think in part because I never really included him.  This uncharacteristic line of questioning caught me off guard and unprepared.  The hours spent at the nursing home had been trying and left me emotionally depleted for his rapid-fire inquiry.

I said, “You’ve been talking to Gram,” for lack of a better answer.

He walked past me on his way to the house and gave me a sly smile.

“We’re married.  We’ve been known to do that every now and again.”  Taking the rickety stairs two at a time, he added, “Besides, I have to hear it from her.  You don’t tell me anything.”

His last statement carried a verbal sting, but he was right.  I didn’t share anything with him.  It wasn’t an intentional act but more of an omission brought on by discomfort in his presence. 

Had Wesley Ellis’s death truly been an accident, I could have understood and dealt with the feelings that arose.  However, word had it Gramp had killed him for revenge�"and I didn’t know how to deal with the thought of cold-blooded murder.

Once inside the house, Gramp offered me something to drink, which I perceived as a sign he expected me to stay and wait for my grandmother. 

Pouring a glass of iced tea, he suddenly turned to me and asked, “You’re not real comfortable around me, are you Sugar?”

The temperature in the room seemed to rise a degree with each second that passed between his last word and my reply.  I viewed his question as loaded, and knew I had to handle it carefully.

Taking the glass of tea from his outstretched hand, I lied, “I guess… well, it’s probably because… it’s because I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with you… you know, growing up without you… being around and all.”  Aware my reason sounded more like an excuse, I offered, “I’m sorry, I never meant to make you feel that way.”

Sadness filled his eyes and suddenly I wanted to cry and beg forgiveness, knowing I was the cause of his pain.  I stared into my glass and tried to think of something I could say to make him feel better�"but nothing came to mind.

He spun one of the padded kitchen chairs around and threw a leg over it, sitting backwards on the seat to face me.  He ran a hand through his thinning gray hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck, as he stared at the table. 

Blue-collar hands.  That’s what Gram used to call them.  Hands that were strong enough to endure hard physical labor, but soft enough to cradle a family.  I watched as one rough, calloused hand slid across the table�"and quite involuntarily�"my own hand met it half way.

He didn’t speak right away, taking a moment to read my eyes.  I recognized the expression on his face as one of profound thought.  The undetected tremble that inched along my spine couldn’t prepare me for a deep, meaningful conversation with my grandfather.

“You know Sugar; lots of people are uneasy around me these days...”  Nodding in sad acceptance, he added, “…it’s not just you… hell; I figure I left myself wide open for it.”

His sorrow acted as a force, taking control of my emotions.  My heart broke for him and to deepen the pain, I knew there was nothing I could do to take it away.

I barely choked out the words, “I’m sorry.”

With a slight shake of his head, he stated, “I got no one to blame.”  He hesitated.  “But I wouldn’t do anything different if I had to do it all over.”

My mouth twisted as the skin around my eyes tightened.  It would have taken God, Himself to stop the next words from crossing my lips, even knowing before I said them�"I would regret my haste.

“Gramp… was Wesley Ellis’s death really an accident?”

He gave my hand one more squeeze before releasing it.  Picking up my glass, he stood and walked to the sink.  The silence in the room became brittle.  At that moment, I thought the quiet was more deafening than anything he could have said. 

His eyes held mine for an unnerving length of time.  Certain I couldn’t take another breath until he answered; I tugged on my lower lip with my teeth, fighting the urge to bite down, as my nerves grew more tense. 

He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand, drew in a long breath and shook his head as he let it out. 

“No, Sugar.  It was no accident.”