Secrets Unveiled (5 page)

“You have to tell Maggie what happened…return the locket to her…and the sooner the better.”

“I will. I promise.” Grant snatched a sliver of bacon from the platter and popped it into his mouth. The rich flavor rolled off his tongue. “It's just that Maggie still looks at me like I'm the high school thug I used to be before, well…just before I became who I am today. I'm not like that anymore. I'm not that awful, self-centered person. Am I?”

“Of course not. I know that.”

“You know it, but I have to get Maggie to see that, as well, before I tell her anything else.”

“It won't do you any good to wait, Grant. God knows your heart. He knows who you are deep down inside, all the way through now. Isn't that all that really matters?”

“I thought it was, but now I'm not so sure. I care for Maggie, so it matters to me what she thinks. I had no idea that locket belonged to her grandmother, no idea that's whose house I was breeching…” He hesitated, nearly choking on the words as he remembered what he'd done. “That I was breaking into.”

“But now you do know.” Cara's fiery-red, close-cropped hair matched her flash-fire of temper. The small mole above the corner of her upper lip danced as she spoke. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don't know. “ Suddenly Grant's appetite fled. The bacon turned to poison on his tongue and he swallowed hard. “After all these years I thought my mistakes were behind me. I thought…” Grant remembered the fallen look in Maggie's eyes, and the way she said she'd never forgive him. He'd hurt her deeply, and his mistakes still loomed like giants seeking to devour him whole. “What if she can't stand me when she learns the truth? What if she never speaks to me again?”

“You can't let your fears keep you from taking responsibility…from doing the right thing. Because, regardless of what you may have thought, there's still more work to be done.” Cara took the filled juice glasses and set them on the table as Gemma came bounding into the kitchen with Oscar loping close on her heels. “The past can be weird that way…sometimes it rears its ugly head to haunt us. I suggest you don't delay. Like the saying goes, get it done, little brother.”

“Little?” Grant laughed softly, though his heart felt heavy. “I tower over you by at least half-a-foot.”

“Maybe so. But in here,”—Cara tapped her breastbone—”you will always be my kid brother. And, like it or not, I worry about you.”

“I'm glad for that, truly.”

“Then take my advice.” Cara lifted a spatula from the frying pan and waved it at Grant as eggs-over-easy sizzled. “Return the locket to Maggie today and come clean with her. God will take care of the rest.”

“Mama,” Gemma called in a sing-song voice as she wove between Grant and Cara on her way toward the table. “Oscar's hungry for breakfast, too. Can he have some eggs?” She scurried into her seat.

“
May
he,” Cara corrected as she turned her attention back to the stove and the eggs that sputtered in the frying pan.

“May he have some eggs and bacon—two pieces—and he likes toast and strawberry jelly real good, too.” Gemma settled down on her bottom in the chair and swung her legs as she waited, rapping the table leg in a staccato rhythm.

“Real well. Very well.” Cara curled her nose at Oscar as the mutt dove beneath the table, hunting for scraps of food. “And how do you know he likes strawberry jelly?”

“He told me, Mama.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” Gemma nodded vigorously. “Just now…while we were playin' in the living room.”

Cara paused, and Grant figured she was debating on whether to reprimand Gemma for making up such a story. The dog spoke to her…really? He held his breath, waiting for Cara's response. It was simply a touch of imagination, right? And Maggie encouraged that at school, which was probably why, in part, that Gemma had taking such a liking to her.

Cara lifted the eggs from the pan as she glanced at Oscar, who looked up at her with the most pitiful expression. The mutt had the good sense to punctuate the frown with a woeful, high-pitched whine that had Grant's ears ringing.

Cara sighed, unable to keep a straight face as her distaste shifted to a round of hearty laughter. “Then, yes, we'll make a plate for Oscar, too. Never fear, we won't let the poor guy starve.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Gemma reached for her juice, but Cara held out a hand to stop her from taking a sip.

“Let's pray first.” She set the spatula on the counter and placed the platter of eggs on the table before she slipped into a chair beside her daughter. “Gemma, would you like to do the honors this morning?”

“Uh huh.” Gemma bowed her head, clasping her tiny hands beneath her chin. She squeezed her eyelids shut and drew a single deep breath before beginning the gentle, innocent supplication. Her voice was so sweet, it melted Grant's heart. “God, thank you for this food and please bless Mama. She worked real hard to make our favorites this morning—Oscar's too.” Gemma paused to scratch her cheek. “Say hi to my daddy and give him a hug…he's up there in Heaven with You. I sure do miss him, but Mama said You need him there with You more, maybe ‘cause he's a soldier in Your army. And thank You for Uncle Grant. He kept JJ from fallin' into the tiger pit at the zoo and helped Miss Andrews talk Ty down from the ledge, whatever that means, when Ty was havin' an awful fit. And bless Oscar, ‘cause he's my special friend, and I love him very much. Amen.”

Grant lifted his head to find tears shimmering in Cara's eyes. The pain of her loss, he knew, was still fresh for her even two years after the fact. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand slightly before patting Gemma's soft curls. “That was beautiful, pumpkin. Now, let's dig into this feast your mama prepared for us.”

****

“So, how did it feel?” Maggie asked as she and Grant meandered along the walkway toward the waterfront. The air was perfect—there was not a cloud in the cerulean sky nor a hint of humidity this Sunday as morning eased into noon. A gentle breeze kissed Maggie's cheek and ruffled her hair so it tickled the nape of her neck. Grant's aftershave, a woodsy blend of masculinity and pine, filled her senses as he settled in beside her.

Grant's shoulder brushed Maggie's ever-so-slightly as they ambled down the winding path and a tingle of delight rippled through her.

“How did what feel?”

Maggie drew a slight breath to mask her nerves. “Sitting near the front of the sanctuary…with me?”

“I'd say it felt just about right.” Grant reached for Maggie's hand. “Yes, it felt perfect even though Mrs. Klingfelter kept staring at us.”

“I'd say the same.” She nodded slightly as she slanted a wink his way and allowed him to twine his fingers with hers. His palm was warm against hers, and she hoped he couldn't feel the throb of her pulse against his wrist. “Yes, it was perfect, despite Mrs. Klingfelter. She's probably wondering what's going on.”

“What
is
going on Maggie?”

“You tell me.”

Grant paused and lifted a hand to skim her cheek with his knuckles. Maggie went perfectly still, breathless at his gentle touch as the sunshine warmed her back through the fabric of her blouse. Grant drew her close as he leaned in to brush his lips against hers in the slightest butterfly caress. When he released her, he stepped back slightly to claim her gaze. “Does that give you any idea?”

“I…oh, my.” Maggie's fingers went to her lips as they tingled with pleasure. He'd barely touched her, yet her entire body trembled, and her legs turned limp as cooked spaghetti. She kept a hand on his forearm to steady herself. “Yes.”

“Any objections?”

“None at all.” She struggled to catch her breath…an impossible task at the moment. “I'm just…”

“What, Maggie?” Grant smoothed the bangs from her forehead. “What is it? Tell me.”

“It's just…I have to admit I'm more than a bit surprised. I never pictured you there at church, sitting beside me. Or here like this…now.”

Grant slipped a finger beneath her chin. “No?”

“No.” Maggie shook her head ever-so-slightly. “You're different now.”

“Aren't we all?”

“I suppose so. Everyone changes as they age but the change in you…well, it's been nothing less than monumental.”

Grant chuckled. “You make me sound like I was some kind of ogre.”

“I don't mean to. I'm just…wondering.”

“About what? Inquiring minds…, right?”

“Right.” She squeezed his hand gently. “It's the teacher in me…forever curious and questioning at every bend in the road—especially the unexpected ones. I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse.”

“I'd say it's a little of both.”

“Regardless, Grant, please tell me…how did you come to be…in this place?”

“It was a journey.”

“By subway, train, car…?” Maggie grinned at him as they began to walk together along the path once more.

“None of those. My journey came by the way of my knees.”

“Really? I'd like to hear.”

“I'd like to tell you, a lot I need to tell you…over lunch?”

“Sure, but look at that line.” They approached Calhoun's on the River where a crowd milled about, filling the waiting-room enclosure and spilling out onto the steps and across the walk. “We'll never get to a table inside.”

“Oh, but we will.” It was Grant's turn to wink. He gave her hand a slight tug, drawing her in. His dark brown hair, tousled by the breeze off the river, skimmed eyes so dark brown they were almost black. “You're not the only one who's a planner. I called ahead and made a reservation. Just follow me.”

“You've thought of everything, haven't you?”

Grant's gaze shifted away from her to study the river beyond. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a murmur. “Almost everything.”

****

The one thing Grant hadn't thought of was how to break the news to Maggie about the locket. He felt like a heel stringing it out and keeping the facts from her, but the day was so perfect, she was so perfect as they shared a meal together…walked the riverfront and pondered the morning's sermon together, that he just couldn't seem to find the right opening to slide in that tidbit of information.

And he couldn't forget the kiss. He'd kissed Maggie, and she'd seemed to like it—a lot. Now he was in even deeper, and the task before him seemed more insurmountable than ever. Oh, what had he done?

Return the locket to Maggie today and come clean with her.
Cara's words echoed through Grant's head and he grumbled inside.
God will take care of the rest.

Would He really take care of things? Or would this new world Grant had discovered—a world that included Maggie—implode?

Grant gave himself a mental kick for doubting God's boundless grace. Perhaps his faith still had a way to go before the events of his past were gone for good…washed away completely. The very thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

OK, who was he kidding? The fact that he had the locket that rightfully now belonged to Maggie wasn't simply a tidbit of information, but more like a two-ton elephant plopped on the pathway between them. But really, just when was the right time to break the news to her…while they walked along the waterfront before lunch?

“Excuse me, Maggie, but I am the one who stole your grandmother's locket years ago, and I've had it this whole time…”

Sure, that would have made for a nice, cozy stroll.

Or, while settled in at their table inside the restaurant, overlooking the sparkling-clear river as they enjoyed their entrees?

“Yes, I was once a horribly misdirected thug, but I've been transformed by the grace of God. Now, about that locket you've been missing…I'm the culprit. I've had your treasure all this time…”

Or, best yet, on the drive home, with the windows rolled down and the breeze lifting Maggie's black hair like a long veil of silk as she graciously laughed at one of his jokes. She looked his way with those almond eyes of hers…a shade of blue-gray that had his pulse thrumming…and Grant knew there was something more, something uniquely profound, building between them.

“I'm beginning to care deeply for you, Maggie, but let's just take this short commercial break while I spill my dark, awful secrets. You see, I have your treasured locket. I'm the one who stole it from your grandmother. I've had it this whole time. I just didn't know…”

Yeah, like she'd believe he'd just realized he still had it after all this time. Even to Grant, the very idea suspended belief.

Maybe he should simply return the locket to Maggie anonymously. He could send it in the mail—with the package casually devoid of a return address—or place it on her desk at school one morning before she arrived to work or in the evening after the work-day had ended. She'd never know who left it, and what would that possibly hurt?

Grant's conscience pricked as they turned into Maggie's driveway and pulled up to the door of her modest brick rancher. The type of cowardice he entertained—failing to take full, disclosed accountability for his actions—might be the easy way now but it would surely harm any chance of a long-term future for his and Maggie's relationship. The easy way out wouldn't work at all because a long-term relationship was exactly what he hoped for—a future.

The realization came as a sucker-punch to his gut. He cared for Maggie, had cared for her since the first time he laid eyes on her in the high school cafeteria when they were both sixteen. He couldn't take a chance on marring what remained so pure and sweet, and if he failed to come fully clean, the secret would lie like a pile of dirty laundry between them. He couldn't—he wouldn't—have that. No, he had no choice but to tell her the whole, ugly truth.