Lily White Lies(17)

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.