Circle in the Sand (13 page)

Once I’ve recapped the bottle, I slide it back into place. I slam the drink back in
two big gulps, run the cup under the water, and place it in the dishwater. Then I
grab two tums from the bottle and pop them in my mouth. The chalkiness helps erase
the smell. I head straight to the bathroom to rub some toothpaste on my tongue. It
all sounds so seedy, but I push those thoughts away, telling myself it’s only temporary.
Temporary as in almost two years.

By the time I slip back onto the bed, my pulse is already decreasing. I pretend to
watch the TV, while focusing on inhaling, exhaling, letting the warm buzz melt over
me. I’m about resigned to begin my battle with sleep when Eric’s hand finds my inner
thigh. He’s still got his eyes on the TV when his hand slides between my legs. He
strokes, slowly, up and down while staring at baseball highlights. Then, it’s just
up—all the way up—my skin heating beneath his touch. I help him out by uncrossing
my legs. Suddenly it’s dark again, and I hear the remote hit the floor. His hand is
still in that perfect position, working magic, when he begins kissing me—my lips,
my neck, my breasts. I reach around his neck, and then his back. I love his strong,
sexy back. My body reacts quickly, and soon my heart is racing for a much better reason.
Need fills me as Eric slides on top of me. The pure weight of him both excites and
comforts me. I want him crushing me into the bed, smothering out everything else,
until there is only us. I began this night wanting to take control, but I see now
that what I really want is for him to control me, my mind, my body. Not the kind of
control that is forced and horrible. The kind you willingly give to someone because
you love and trust them with every bit of your being.

When we finally become one, I open for him more easily than I have in a long time.
He takes it slow at first, allowing me to enjoy each deliberate movement. My legs
wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper. He knows me so well, he quickens his
pace at the right time. Feeling his breath against my ear, hearing his pleasure, showing
me what I do to him, heightens my own arousal and brings me the rest of the way.

After, as my head rests on his chest, we talk about old times, exchanging memories
of times and places we made love. We may not have that freedom, but neither of us
would trade that for what we have now. We’re both quiet for a long time, and I assume
he’s fallen asleep. Finally, Eric whispers, “I wonder if this time will be it,” he
says, talking about a new baby.

I keep my eyes closed, breathe deeper, and don’t answer.

I’m waiting in my car outside Oak Grove just before eleven. A faint drizzle dots my
windshield as I aimlessly scroll through messages on my phone. There’s no sense in
stalling any longer, so I exit the car and walk toward the door. My thoughts go back
to the call from the nurse, inviting me here. A strange uneasiness took over my stomach
then. The same feeling I’m having now. Something about this isn’t right. It’s not
my usual hesitance—worrying about arguing with Rose, or the regret about how much
I visit, or how sick she is. I should be optimistic after the last visit. Whatever
has been happening between her and Jax has definitely made an impact on my grandmother.
As much as I have to fight my tendency to be jealous, I’m thankful for their relationship.
I don’t know how much time she has left, but I want her last days to be happy. And
if Jax is the one making that happen, then I’ll be happy too.

Walking into the seating area, I see that boy Dante sitting next to my grandmother.
She’s in an armchair and he’s sitting on one of the arms. She hasn’t spotted me yet,
so I stop by the information table and pretend to be looking at a flier. Rose has
an earbud in one of her ears, the other in Dante’s. This time she’s not smiling. Confusion
covers her face while his is alight with enthusiasm.

“So what do you think, Rose?” Dante says, pulling out the bud and smiling at her.
“Is that song fly or what?”

Rose looks up at him, a smile almost breaking through her resistance. “I don’t know
what fly means, but I don’t appreciate all the profanity in today’s music.”

Dante shakes his head, sending his braids slapping the side of his face. “Okay, check
this out, you take out the swear words. What about the beat? Can’t you get your groove
on to that?”

I decide to walk over before I’m caught eavesdropping.

“I suppose I could get my
groove
on,” she says and plucks the bud out by the wire. She hands it over to Dante. “Here
take this. I see my granddaughter is here.”

Dante stands. “Oh, yeah.” He gives me a long look, up and down. “What’s up, sugar?”

Jax says she likes this kid, but he seems to be a little punk to me. “I’m not sugar,
I’m Sage.”

“Yeah, yeah, Sage. So you here for the Sunday brunch?”

I tilt my head around him, since he isn’t aware he’s rudely blocking my view of my
grandmother. “Yes,” I smile at her.

“Me too. Guess I’ll go find my Aunt Lydia. See you over there.” Then, to my surprise,
he turns and kneels down next to Rose. “It was nice hanging with you again, Mrs. Douglas.”
He pats her arm, eliciting a grin from her, before standing to walk away.

“Good morning, Grandmother.” I pull a chair closer and take a seat.

“Well you just barely made it, didn’t you?” she says as she looks at her watch. I
can tell she’s not as relaxed as the last time.

“Yes…road construction. Shall we go?” I turn to look in the direction Dante went in.

“There’s always plenty of food,” she says. A long pause tells me she’s waiting for
me to turn my attention back to her. “I’d like to talk to you before we head over.”

A cloud of discomfort descends on me once again, even though I have no idea what she’s
about to say. I look at her and wait as people shuffle by us toward the eating commons.
“Is everything okay?” I can hear her telling me the cancer has spread. It could be
any day now.

She fingers the sapphire pendant on a chain around her neck. Dishes clank in the other
room. “I’m changing my will,” she says as if she’s picking chicken instead of fish.

I stare at her, not sure what that means. I don’t say anything as she watches for
my reaction. It brings me back to when she told us all she was done with chemo. It
wasn’t working, only eating away at her tiny body.

“Sage, did you hear what I said? I’m changing everything. I don’t want to die with
all this money, and I want you to help me give it all away.”

I blink a few times in an attempt to make sense of what she said.
Give it all away
. What does that mean? It’s not as if I’ve been waiting by her bedside with my purse
open, but this sounds insane and so unlike my grandmother. “Rose…I…
Grandmother
, I don’t understand. Are you feeling all right? Should I get the nurse?”

“No, I’m not feeling all right. I’m dying, Sage. But my mind is perfectly intact,
and I do know what the hell I’m saying if that’s what you were going to ask next.”

Was she seriously going to try and erase three decades of brainwashing…over half a
century of family tradition, with one simple sentence:
I’m giving it all away
? I didn’t mean to but I coughed out a laugh.

“I’m sure this comes as a shock to you, honey.”

Honey? God, this
is
serious. I wrack my brain for a response. After a few seconds, I realize my mouth
is open, but nothing is coming out.

“Sage, I’m not doing this to punish you…or your father. It’s simply something I have
to do. To make peace with my life.”

I turn away, staring at the fountain in the foyer. Oh, yeah, make peace with your
life. No sense making it with your family. We only followed in your footsteps, did
everything you asked. Damn near everything you expected and didn’t ask. All these
arguments forming in my brain are too cowardly to step foot out of my mouth. Then
I turn to see tears rim my grandmother’s eyes, something I hadn’t seen in many years.
I lean forward, put my hand on her leg. “I don’t understand where all this is coming
from. What exactly do you want?”

“What I want is to change some things before I leave this world. Your father, you,
Sierra—you don’t need my money. Well maybe your sister; she never did have the drive
you have,” she says with a slight grin. “You’re all doing so well. You’re on your
way. But I’d advise you to take a look at how you’re living your life. Hoarding all
your money away for some damn sense of security is no way to live.”

I execute a deep inhale hoping to summon the right words. Right for me or for her?
But the only word that keeps flashing before my eyes like a neon sign is Jax. This
has to be her influence. I can’t say this to my grandmother, though. I see the look
of determination in her eyes, one I’ve seen many times before. She’s made up her mind.
And even if I thought I could convince her otherwise, is that what I’d want our final
time together to be? Arguing over money? “I’m not sure what you want me to say? This
is all so sudden, so confusing, after all these years.” I exhale before continuing
with hesitance, wondering if she’s told my father and what his reaction would be.
“Obviously, I will do whatever you want.”
             

She looks in my eyes, and I know she can see my pain. I’m not being petty about this.
It’s not about the money—not fully. It’s about a lifetime of trying to please a woman
who could not be satisfied. And now this? She leans back in her chair, folds her hands
in her lap. “Do you know why your father is an only child?”

“What?” This conversation is taking on more twists than a corkscrew.
God I need a glass of pinot right now.

She looks past me, not wanting to meet my eyes. “I never wanted children,” she says
without emotion. “I love your father. He was a good boy, did everything I asked and
more. I just believe some of us are not cut out to be mothers.”

Hearing that sends a dagger of pain straight to my gut. How much like her was I?

She continues. “I was more concerned about my career, traveling, and making money,
stuffing it all away like some hibernating squirrel.” She turns her gaze back to me,
checking for my reaction. I fight to show nothing and she continues. She clutches
the chain around her neck for security. “When your grandfather died, I was devastated,
but not in the way you think. Your father was only sixteen and truthfully, Mitch and
I were going to divorce as soon as Steven turned eighteen and went off to college.”

I interrupt her story too curious to wait. “Did he give you that pendant?”

She nods, “It’s the one special gift I have from my husband. When he gave it to me,
he said, ‘but nothing can outshine you, baby.’ He got sappy that way sometimes. And
he was the only loving parent your dad knew. You would have enjoyed your grandfather.
He was the complete opposite of me. So carefree and full of love. Perhaps that’s what
brought us together; opposites attract and all.” She lets herself smile remembering
her late husband, places a hand over the charm against her chest. Her reminiscent
eyes tell me how special the pendant is to her. “Maybe if he was still alive, things
would have been different. He might have made me see all this sooner.” We exchange
looks as if we both know that’s not true. No one could ever convince grandmother of
anything that wasn’t already in her head. “I understand what I’m asking won’t be easy.”

“Did you tell Dad?” I finally ask.

She nods. “He took it surprisingly well.”

I don’t mention my mother because we both know she’s more like my grandmother than
Dad is, which is probably why he married her. She will not take this well. Even through
her own illness and recovery, mom never wavered in her pursuit of the all-mighty dollar.

I let out a cleansing breath, trying to accept this new reality. “So, where do we
go from here?”

“Brunch.”

●●●

In the car, tears drown my eyes as I finally let myself process all that grandmother
has told me. I don’t fight them, let the tears spill out of my eyes and slide down
my cheeks. The last time I cried was eight years ago when my mother was in the hospital.
I sit for five minutes before pulling away. What am I most upset about? I don’t know
why I should let myself be affected by grandmother’s sudden change in how to live
her life. She’s right; I don’t need the money. It would have been nice to have, but
for what? Still, why do I feel as though a rug has been swiped from beneath me? Part
of my frustration, I believe, is that this epiphany shows how close Rose must be to
the end, and I’m not ready to think about that.

The entire drive home I go over her words. I have no choice in the matter as they
keep playing in my head again and again. Especially, “I want
you
to give it away.” Why me? My father is semi-retired, has an absentee wife, and thirty
more years of experience dealing with money than I do. My job is to help people save
money. I have no idea how to give it away. I don’t want to whine
it’s not fair
, but damn this isn’t fair. How do I even begin?

When I pull into my driveway, I realize this will mean many more trips down to San
Diego and much more time spent with my grandmother. The only thing I can do is try
to see the positive side of this, which I plan to do, tomorrow. But what frustrates
me now is that the one person I should turn to for help is the one person I am currently
pissed at. I pick up my phone and tap a speed dial number. My heart races as four
rings pass before voicemail kicks in. “Jax, it’s Sage. Call me when you get this message.
I need to know what the hell you said to my grandmother!”