“Gram.”
“The other night?”
I nodded.
“No wonder you were so quiet on the way home, I thought you were drunk.”
As I turned my napkin into confetti, I looked up from the task, and said, “Not drunk enough I guess. If I didn’t remember Gram telling me, I wouldn’t have done what I did yesterday.”
Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “What did you do?”
I shook my head in disgust. I knew what their reaction to my answer would be. “I went to Cherry Hall to talk to her.”
Charlotte blurted, “You told your mother you knew?”
“I told my aunt I knew.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Our waiter brought our drinks, and still no one had spoken a word.
After another moment of silence, I said, “She may be my mother, but I guess it hasn’t sunk in yet. Maybe because she doesn’t understand, it seems less real. And then there’s the fact…”
Just the thought of what happened to her was so painful; I didn’t know how I’d handle talking about it openly.
The girls expressed curiosity in what I had to say, but sat silently, waiting for me to organize my thoughts.
I wished I could blend into the buzz that surrounded us. The sounds of passing cars, easy conversations and flatware hitting softly on gold-banded plates were trying to lull me into a world of complete detachment from reality.
After one, burdened breath, I continued what I had been saying.
“Gram told me that when Aunt Karen was just thirteen, she was raped.”
“Oh my God.” Cory’s words were barely audible through the hand that covered her mouth.
Sensibility taking control, Charlotte asked, “How did they know? I mean, was she able to tell them somehow… were there visible signs...” With apologetic eyes, she added, “I’m sorry, Meg… kick me, you know how I get...”
To put an end to her unnecessary apology, I interrupted, “Gram said she wasn’t always the way she is now. But even if she couldn’t tell them what happened at the time…” Tossing what was left of my tattered napkin to the table, I finished, “My birth would have been a dead-giveaway.”
Charlotte’s mouth hung open in an impolite fashion and her eyes grew wide.
“Oh shit, Meg. How stupid am I? It didn’t occur to me that...”
I hushed the rest of her sentence with a wave of my hand.
Cory asked, “Do they know who did it?”
I shook my head.
“Well, that would bother me more than the fact that I was the result of a heinous crime.”
Charlotte shrugged off her statement as superfluous, but I found myself curious as to her thinking.
“Why’s that?”
“Meg, think about it! For all you know, Brian could be your half brother.”
I felt the color drain from my face as one, clammy hand clasped the front of my blouse. Cory’s last words came with more of a wallop than Gram’s original admission or anything that followed. I believe it was at that very moment when shock gave way to the horrifying truth. I had absolutely no idea who I was.
“Meg,” once Charlotte had my attention, she continued, “you know, we could go to Willoughby with you.”
I sat up straight, pushed my hair back and took a deep breath. Inside, I was falling apart, but I did my best to put forth a strong front.
“You guys are the best, but I’ll be alright.”
The wrought iron chairs were heavy and difficult to slide across the rough stone patio. Struggling to slide my chair far enough from the table to stand, I barely noticed that the girls hadn’t heard what I said, their attention directed on something behind me.
“Here, let me help you with that.”
Startled, I turned to find the muscle-bound waiter from the previous week towering over me, holding the back of my chair.
After an embarrassing silence, I managed to stand and say, “Uh… yes… thank you.”
In his masculine voice, he replied, “Uh… okay… you’re welcome.”
Prepared to be upset with myself for my repeated lack of communication skills in his presence, instead, I suddenly found myself hurt and angry, offended by his words.
Before I could unleash a dose of sharp tongue and clever wit on him, he glanced at each of us, his eyes resting on me, and said, “Have a good day, ladies,” turned, and walked away. As suddenly as he had appeared, he had disappeared, leaving me to stew.
I turned toward the girls, anger lacing my words.
“How do you like the nerve of him? He pretends to be helpful and friendly and then he turns around and makes a fool of me.”
Obviously confused, they looked at each other and back to me, their brows creased.