them.
Chapter 7
“Beatrice. Brinley. LeClare!”
Aunt Lu’s voice boomed
from the kitchen. She was using my real name, a sure sign of trouble. Beatrice
Brinley, the maiden name of my grandmother, was also the name on my birth
certificate. I’d always gone solely by Brinley. It was one of the reasons that
I doubted Granton’s ability to find me. I never told him my real name. After
the previous night’s texts, I wondered if my doubts were mistaken.
I was still in pajamas when
I trotted down the stairs and rounded the banister. I wasn’t due at the diner
until 11:00. My brain was groggy from lack of sleep. Worry over Granton’s messages
had vied with pleasurable thoughts of Cayne to keep me up until sunrise.
When I peeked around the
doorframe of the kitchen, I saw Aunt Lu seated at the table, her hands neatly
folded. A mug of coffee steamed in front of her and another in front of the
seat that I was presumably intended to occupy.
She wore a bright yellow
shirt embroidered with a smattering of bumble bees. From my observations thus
far, Aunt Lu seemed to prefer wardrobe pieces with an element of whimsy despite
being one of the least whimsical people I had ever known. She stared into the
coffee like it was a crystal ball. I slid fully around the doorjamb. She looked
up and caught my eye, nodding at the empty seat across the table.
“Brinley, I need to talk
to you.”
Her voice sounded
unexpectedly gentle. I pulled out the chair and sat on its edge. My knees
jumped up and down in a nervous fidget. I wrapped my palms around the coffee
mug, taking comfort from its warmth. Aunt Lu’s expression was solemn and pained.
She opened her mouth to speak but remained silent. She took another minute to
collect her thoughts as the clock ticked loudly on the wall behind me. Then she
breathed deeply and began.
“You left your phone
here yesterday.”
My stomach dropped into
my shoes. I kept my face still as a stone statue while my heart fluttered like
a bird. I knew what she was going to say next.
“I saw your messages.”
The clock ticked seconds
away into the silence. I gripped the coffee mug to prevent my hands from
trembling. My throat felt hot and constricted. She was waiting for me to speak,
but my vocal chords were squeezed tight by fear.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to look at them,” she continued, shifting her eyes downward and rubbing
her hands together. “I was cleaning the table and they were just there, right
in front of me.”
I winced with guilt when
she apologized. I should have been the one apologizing for showing up on her
doorstep with no explanation and a heart full of secrets.
“Brinley, you know that
I love you like a daughter.” Her blue eyes misted with tears, but she cleared
her throat and continued. “When you were gone all those years, I hoped that you
were happy. I wanted to see you. I wished that you would come back and visit.
When you didn’t, year after year, I thought it was because you were busy living
the life that you wanted to live. That was enough for me, even though I missed
you terribly.” She lowered her head for a moment. “Was that not true? Was I
wrong all this time?”
I reached out and
grabbed her hand. Her skin was velvety and dry. I stared down at the scratched
table surface, willing my emotions to stay in check and my tears not to flow.
Once they started, they would never stop.
My head nodded slightly.
She squeezed my hand. I looked up and found her eyes searching my face with a
penetrating focus.
“I need you to tell me
right now,” she said in a voice that had suddenly cooled to a lethal calm. “Who
is Granton Langley, and where do I find him so that I can aim my shotgun straight
at his balls and shoot them clean off if he ever comes near you again?”
Her words hit me with
the shock of a grenade. I almost laughed and cried at the same time. A barrier
had been broken with one swift hammer blow. My wall of shame and guilt crumbled
beneath a roaring
Chapter 7
“Beatrice. Brinley. LeClare!”
Aunt Lu’s voice boomed
from the kitchen. She was using my real name, a sure sign of trouble. Beatrice
Brinley, the maiden name of my grandmother, was also the name on my birth
certificate. I’d always gone solely by Brinley. It was one of the reasons that
I doubted Granton’s ability to find me. I never told him my real name. After
the previous night’s texts, I wondered if my doubts were mistaken.
I was still in pajamas when
I trotted down the stairs and rounded the banister. I wasn’t due at the diner
until 11:00. My brain was groggy from lack of sleep. Worry over Granton’s messages
had vied with pleasurable thoughts of Cayne to keep me up until sunrise.
When I peeked around the
doorframe of the kitchen, I saw Aunt Lu seated at the table, her hands neatly
folded. A mug of coffee steamed in front of her and another in front of the
seat that I was presumably intended to occupy.
She wore a bright yellow
shirt embroidered with a smattering of bumble bees. From my observations thus
far, Aunt Lu seemed to prefer wardrobe pieces with an element of whimsy despite
being one of the least whimsical people I had ever known. She stared into the
coffee like it was a crystal ball. I slid fully around the doorjamb. She looked
up and caught my eye, nodding at the empty seat across the table.
“Brinley, I need to talk
to you.”
Her voice sounded
unexpectedly gentle. I pulled out the chair and sat on its edge. My knees
jumped up and down in a nervous fidget. I wrapped my palms around the coffee
mug, taking comfort from its warmth. Aunt Lu’s expression was solemn and pained.
She opened her mouth to speak but remained silent. She took another minute to
collect her thoughts as the clock ticked loudly on the wall behind me. Then she
breathed deeply and began.
“You left your phone
here yesterday.”
My stomach dropped into
my shoes. I kept my face still as a stone statue while my heart fluttered like
a bird. I knew what she was going to say next.
“I saw your messages.”
The clock ticked seconds
away into the silence. I gripped the coffee mug to prevent my hands from
trembling. My throat felt hot and constricted. She was waiting for me to speak,
but my vocal chords were squeezed tight by fear.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to look at them,” she continued, shifting her eyes downward and rubbing
her hands together. “I was cleaning the table and they were just there, right
in front of me.”
I winced with guilt when
she apologized. I should have been the one apologizing for showing up on her
doorstep with no explanation and a heart full of secrets.
“Brinley, you know that
I love you like a daughter.” Her blue eyes misted with tears, but she cleared
her throat and continued. “When you were gone all those years, I hoped that you
were happy. I wanted to see you. I wished that you would come back and visit.
When you didn’t, year after year, I thought it was because you were busy living
the life that you wanted to live. That was enough for me, even though I missed
you terribly.” She lowered her head for a moment. “Was that not true? Was I
wrong all this time?”
I reached out and
grabbed her hand. Her skin was velvety and dry. I stared down at the scratched
table surface, willing my emotions to stay in check and my tears not to flow.
Once they started, they would never stop.
My head nodded slightly.
She squeezed my hand. I looked up and found her eyes searching my face with a
penetrating focus.
“I need you to tell me
right now,” she said in a voice that had suddenly cooled to a lethal calm. “Who
is Granton Langley, and where do I find him so that I can aim my shotgun straight
at his balls and shoot them clean off if he ever comes near you again?”
Her words hit me with
the shock of a grenade. I almost laughed and cried at the same time. A barrier
had been broken with one swift hammer blow. My wall of shame and guilt crumbled
beneath a roaring
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