Lily White Lies(19)
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.