Secrets Unveiled (8 page)

Gemma tugged at his shirt sleeve as she asked, “It looks like the one the lady in the photo is wearing. How can that be, Uncle Grant?”

“Yes, Grant…” Maggie rounded the table to face him head-on. Her eyes held a spark of disbelief that cut him to the core. “How can that be?”

****

Maggie turned into her driveway as the sky opened up and a splash of raindrops assaulted the windshield. So much for the sunny-skies forecast. Lightning flashed, illuminating the darkened sky and mirroring the storm that raged through her heart.

She'd allowed Grant to kiss her. She'd begun to trust him with her heart. How could she be so foolish? She didn't know anything about him, and now that fact was brought painfully into focus.

Maggie shuddered as she caught a shadowed glimpse of a figure seated in the glider on the front porch. It took a moment to recognize the silhouette.

“Mom?” she called, but a clap of thunder drowned out the question. So she rolled down the window. “Mom, what are you doing here in this storm? You're going to get struck by lightning.”

“Then I suggest you hurry up, dear, and let me inside. We'll have a cup of tea and a bite of the cannoli I brought.”

Cannoli…Mom knew it was Maggie's favorite. This was serious. She swiped her eyes and slipped from the driver's seat. She bowed her head and covered her hair with her purse as she headed up the walk, but the effort did little to stave off the chilly assault of raindrops. The air swirled around her, as if mocking her for being so gullible. She started as a bolt of lightning flashed a little too close for her taste.

“Come on inside, Mom, and tell me what you're doing here.”

“Well, that's the warm welcome I expected.” But it would take more to detract Stella Andrews. “It's good to see you, too, honey.”

“You know what I mean.” Maggie swiveled the key in the lock. “That wind is turning brutal. It will knock you clear off your feet. I can't believe you've been sitting out here in it. Why didn't you wait in the car?”

“Because I like the scent of the rain and the electricity in the air…the feel of the breeze against my face. It makes me feel alive and reminds me of your dad. He used to love to watch a good thunderstorm roll in.”

“I know. I remember.” Maggie's parents had been married thirty-two years when her dad succumbed to cancer last September. The disease had hit hard and taken him quickly… unexpectedly. Her mom still reeled from the loss.

The door swung open, and the pair stumbled into the alcove. Maggie set her purse on the hall table and slipped out of her wet jacket. She hung it on the hall tree to dry and then turned to her mother.

“Your tennis shoes are soaked.”

“That last gust got me good.” She shimmied the shoes from her feet. “But it's not fatal; I'll dry.”

As usual, her mother took everything in stride. Maggie supposed she stressed less about the little stuff since losing Dad. “I'm glad to see you, Mom, but I'm not really in the mood for company.”

“That's exactly why I'm here, and since when am I company?”

“You're not…I mean…” Maggie stumbled over the words. “You're never company, Mom, I'm just tired.”

“And you've been crying.”

Maggie swiped at her eyes again, neither confirming nor denying. There was no point. Mom could always sense…always tell. “What's in the bag? It has to be more than cannoli.”

“Take a look.” Mom opened the flap, giving Maggie a peek. Chocolate gelato from the bakery on Market Square…yes, this was serious. “It's the cure for what ails you.”

“And what, exactly, might be ailing me?”

“You tell me. You're the one who's been crying.”

“You've said that twice now, Mom. How did you know?”

“Angie called me in a panic. She said you left school in tears this afternoon and wouldn't tell her why.” She took a step closer and studied Maggie's face. “It's not like you to melt into a weeping puddle. What's going on?”

“It's…nothing.”

“You can't fool me, honey.” Her mom took her hand and headed for the kitchen. “Come with me. Let's have a nice cup of tea, a cannoli, and a bowl of this chocolate elixir while we talk things out.”

Maggie sighed and relinquished control to her mom. She knew from experience there was no putting things off when Stella Andrews set her mind to something. So, tea and decadent cannoli with a side of chocolate gelato it would be.

Silently, Maggie felt warmed by her mother's concern. Her heart was torn in two, and she doubted it would ever recover from the shock of her discovery—and from Grant's admission concerning what he'd done. The memory slammed into her head, shattering the already fractured pieces of her heart as she considered all he'd divulged to her.

“I took the locket, Maggie. I stole it from your grandmother when I was in high school. It was a stupid, reckless thing to do. I didn't know she was your grandmother or I wouldn't…I couldn't…” He'd shrugged as he lifted a cupped hand to his mouth, coughed slightly as if the words choked him. “It would have mattered to me, even then—in the confused and self-centered state I was in. I had more respect than that for you.”

“But all this time…why?”

“I forgot I had it. I must have slipped it into my pocket while the police were chasing me. I packed up the jeans with the locket still tucked away in them. Gemma found it just last week, the night before we went to the zoo.”

“So you knew when you saw my grandmother's photo. You knew then who she was…who the locket truly belonged to…and you didn't say anything. How could you not say anything to me?”

“I can't explain it. There's no excuse.”

“That's one thing we can agree on—the only thing.” She'd planted a foot then and pointed toward the door. “Please leave—now.”

“But—”

“There's nothing more to say.” Tears filled her eyes as she crossed her arms tight over her chest and turned her back to him. “So, just go.”

“I'm sorry, Maggie…truly sorry for the pain I've caused you.”

“I'm sorry, too, Grant…sorrier than you'll ever know.” She shook her head stiffly, her gaze wounded. “Please, go.”

When he'd left, his footsteps retreating steadily down the tile hall, she'd huddled into a wailing mass as the tears came.

Now, as Maggie related the story to her mother, fresh tears streamed down her face. “I'll never forgive Grant for what he's done…not ever.”

“Never is a long time.” Stella plopped a scoop of gelato into a bowl and slid it across the table toward her. “And holding onto that anger will only serve to block the blessings God has in store for you.”

“I don't care.”

“Oh, honey, I know you better than that. Those words stem from the hurt you're feeling, but they're not real. We both know you most certainly
do
care deep down inside.” Her mother slipped into the seat beside Maggie and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

The gesture soothed, and Maggie drew a deep, cleansing sigh.

“I guess it's my turn to come clean, since we're laying it all on the table,” her mother said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I knew it was Grant who took that locket.” She scooped a bite of gelato, slipped it into her mouth and waited for it to melt. “I've known for a while now.”

“But how?” Maggie rubbed at her weary eyes, frowning at the smudge of mascara that came away and clung to her fingers. She knew she must look awful, but she could hardly manage the strength to care. “How did you know?”

“Your grandmother told me near the end, while she was in the hospital.” Stella's spoon clattered as she set it into the ice cream bowl. “I suppose she wanted me to know. But she asked me not to tell you, and I've kept that confidence…until now.”

“I don't understand.”

“Grandma asked me to watch over Grant, to finish the work she'd begun.”

“But he stole from her, and not just anything—but a family heirloom. And to make matters worse he failed to return the piece, even when he knew who it belonged to.” A fresh wave of tears blurred Maggie's vision and turned her nose to a stuffy mess. “What work could Grandma possibly want to do with someone like that?”

“It's not that complicated to understand, Maggie.” Mom fished her teabag from her cup and set it on the saucer. “Your grandmother knew the locket was valuable—at least sentimentally. But she also understood that the fate of a lost soul is even more valuable. Grant was lost back then…at odds with his father and mourning the loss of his mother. Your grandmother saw his need, felt it as if it was her own, and so she made it her business to help him.”

“How did she help him?” Maggie frowned as she pressed an index finger to her lips, remembering the way they'd tingled at the touch of Grant's kiss. Her belly churned. “By keeping his name out of the local newspapers?”

“That was a start, but certainly not everything—not by a long shot.”

“Now, I'm even more confused.” Maggie flattened her palms to the table and cradled her head in her arms. She struggled against the resentment that bloomed inside her like a bouquet of thorny roses. “Am I the only one who didn't know about this?”

“In part…” Stella splayed a hand over Maggie's back and rubbed gently. “Grant doesn't know the entire story either—he doesn't know all Grandma Nell did for him because she wanted to keep it that way. But maybe it's time he learned the rest of the story—full disclosure—no more secrets.”

7

“Gemma, it's bedtime!” Grant called as he approached the doorway to Gemma's bedroom. The springs of her mattress squeaked beneath the pressure of her enthusiastic bouncing. “No more jumping on the bed. You need to settle down now or you'll never get to sleep tonight.”

She plopped onto the bed cross-legged and swiped a curl from her flushed face as he entered the room. “But it's only eight o'clock.”

“Since when do you tell time?”

“Miss Andrews taught me.” She motioned toward the nightstand where the alarm clock sat along with a doll and a coloring book and crayons. “That's a digital clock…they're easy. See, it says eight-o-three.”

Grant tweaked Gemma's nose, feeling the heat that emanated from her flushed cheeks. Her chest held a slight rasp as she sucked down a breath. He thought of the inhaler he'd left on the kitchen counter; he should have brought it up with him. “That makes it three minutes past your bedtime and time to settle in for the night.”

“But you promised a story.” She patted the book splayed over the comforter beside her. “I picked a good one.”

“Love You Forever?” He smoothed her hair back and propped a hip on the edge of the bed.

“Uh huh. And you gotta sing too.” Gemma scooted beneath the covers and settled back against the pillows. “Miss Andrews says you're supposed to sing. She sings real pretty, you know.”

Grant had no doubts. Was there anything Maggie didn't do well?

Forgive…that was what.

He couldn't blame Maggie for her wrath—not really. His words must have come as a complete shock. But she'd reacted just the way he'd expected…the way he'd feared. It was exactly the reason he'd put things off for so long…until it was too late. So much for unveiling the truth and allowing God to take care of the rest. The Man Upstairs must have been on vacation this afternoon.

Gemma's sudden string of raspy coughs brought Grant back. Her face had gone red to match her hair and the way she bowed forward while her fingers clung to her neck told Grant she was in on the verge of distress.

“Hang on.” He sprang up from the bed and bolted to the hall, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the kitchen. He snatched the inhaler from the countertop and turned back to re-climb the stairs in record time.

“Here,” he said as he bounded through the doorway to the bed where Gemma was doubled over in a fit of raspy coughs. “Take two puffs.” He hoisted Gemma onto his lap and held the tube to her mouth, urging her to purse her purple-tinged lips around the opening. Then he counted aloud as he quickly pressed the dispenser, “There you go…One…two…”

A tense moment passed as he waited to see if the medicine would take effect. Only once before had they required a trip to the emergency room to bring Gemma's breathing under control. Grant prayed silently, fervently…

Gemma let out a trio of sharp, bark-like coughs before her breathing suddenly eased, going from short and raspy to deep and clear. Just as quickly as it had come on, the episode faded. That was the benefit of quick action. Thank God Cara had reminded him to get the inhaler refilled.

Grant thought of the second dispenser still packaged in its pharmacy bag in the console of his car. He was supposed to give it to Maggie when he picked Gemma up from school that afternoon, but with the way things had transpired, he'd completely forgotten to leave the medication with her.

Until now.

Like it or not, he'd have to rectify that in the morning. Allergy season was just beginning for Gemma. She'd need to keep the inhaler close by at all times.

“You OK now?” Grant settled back on the bed, studying Gemma carefully. She seemed much less affected by the episode, but that didn't surprise him. Gemma had no idea asthma ran in their family—or that his mother—her grandmother—had died as a result of a severe asthmatic attack.

If it was up to him, she'd never know. He didn't want the knowledge to frighten her or hold her back from doing the things she loved.

Like jumping on the bed.

“Yeah, I'm OK.” Gemma reached for the doll on the nightstand and cuddled it to her chest as the last of the wheezing faded. She peered up at him as she settled back against the pillows. “Are you OK?”