Life Without You. Liesel Schmidt
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surveyed him from a distance, once again feeling amazed at how much he’d visibly aged since the last time I’d seen him. At eighty-four, he was still undeniably robust and extremely energetic, but the emotional strain of the past months had obviously taken their toll. Though he might never say it, all of those days at the hospital had stripped a few layers. And missing Grammie was harder on him than he would admit.
“Are you ready?” he asked when I finally sidled up next to him.
I nodded, wordlessly holding up the small striped pink bag. “All set.”
“Anywhere else you’d like to go while we’re here?”
I shook my head, feeling fully satisfied.
“Okay…how about some food. Are you hungry?”
I hadn’t noticed it before, but now, at the mention of hunger, my stomach suddenly seemed to awaken. Breakfast had been a long time ago. I stole a quick glance at my watch to see exactly what time it was.
“I wouldn’t argue at some lunch,” I replied tentatively, surprised to see that it was nearly two o’clock, yet afraid that whatever suggestion he made might be far out of my comfort zone. My bucket list flashed into my head: Eat Somewhere Unsafe. Was I prepared to tackle that challenge right then? I knew that this was going to be one of my biggest hurdles—one that I would have to face time and time again until Safe and Unsafe no longer existed. Was I ever really going to be ready? The truth was, I’d been allowing myself to back down, to retreat on the justification that I just wasn’t ready to be brave, that it seemed easier not to jump. Not to fight. Not to eat things that people ate everyday without thought or worry. I’d gotten so restricted by the boundaries my mind had created that a once healthy awareness of nutrition had become a dangerous disorder; and if I was ever going to get better, I was going to have to make changes, even when I didn’t feel ready.
“There’s a Chick-fil-A not far from here, if you’d like to go there,” he offered.
I felt a quick twinge of panic as I nodded in agreement. “Sure. I haven’t had their food in a long time.”
He smiled. “Most of the time, I just go there for a breakfast biscuit; but when I go there for lunch, I like their Chick-fil-A sandwich best. And those waffle fries are pretty tasty, too.” Grandpa rubbed his solid stomach as he spoke.
He may have been frequenting the fast food restaurants much more than he had while my grandmother was alive, but it certainly wasn’t adding to his waistline.
“It’s a plan, then,” I said, not really knowing what else to say and trying to feel a sense of empowerment at even this tiny test of the boundaries I’d set on my comfort level. “Have anything else in mind for the day, or should we just go on home after that?”
“I’ve been meaning to mow the grass, so I think we’ll just head back to the house, if you’re okay with that,” he answered.
“You’ve got it. And don’t worry, Grandpa,” I said, hoping the sincerity was evident in my voice as I spoke, “I don’t need to be entertained—that’s not why I came. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I expect you to make major schedule changes or anything like that.” I reached out for his hand, grasping his big, gnarled fingers in mine. “I’m just glad to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you, too,” Grandpa said back, squeezing my hand as we walked, now hand-in-hand along the sidewalk back to the truck.
“I meant to tell you, I met somebody interesting in the lingerie store earlier,” I said a little while later when we’d settled into a booth at the restaurant with our food. “Someone you know, too—Annabelle MacMillan?” I popped the lid off of my bowl of chicken noodle soup, hoping I wouldn’t splash any of the hot liquid anywhere. It had been a compromise, I knew; but when I’d gotten in line to order, I’d parroted the words that screamed through my head, opting for something that felt safe to eat in this restaurant that had somehow become unsafe.
“She seems like a very nice lady. Said she used to come to Grammie for cakes anytime she threw a party,” I continued, trying to distract my own mind from the food—safe, unsafe, or otherwise.
Grandpa paused, his hand poised in mid-dip with waffle fry still immersed in his ketchup. Obviously, the name registered.
He nodded, then resumed his fry-to-mouth mission.
I watched him closely, trying to gauge his oddly noncommittal reaction. Clearly, the man had no intention of elaborating.
“Sounded like she’d known Grammie for a long time, too,” I continued, keeping a gimlet eye on his face. “She said her mama’d hired Grannie Rose to do her housekeeping for awhile.” I dipped a plastic spoon into my soup, hoping I sounded far more casual than I felt. Obviously, the suspicions I’d formed earlier weren’t totally off base. There was more to the story, and I was dying to hear it.
More nodding. “She did,” he said finally, having stalled long enough to finished chewing and swallowing his waffle fry. “Didn’t do it for very long, though.” He reached for his sandwich.
“I didn’t know Grannie Rose was ever anyone’s housekeeper,” I said, wondering if I was going to get much out of him. “I didn’t think she worked.”
“She didn’t, except for that little while when your Grammie was a teenager, right before we met.” He poked a thick finger in between his sandwich bun and the fried chicken breast, lifting it just enough to satisfy himself that no one had gypped him of his two pickles.
I raised an eyebrow. The man was not one for details. “Why did she work, then? Did she have to?”
“She was saving money for a wedding,” he said, seconds before he sank his teeth into his sandwich.
That certainly made sense, especially in those days. Lord knew my great-grandparents weren’t made of money. With ten mouths to feed, every penny was pinched within an inch of its life, so the idea of having enough to spare to pay for a wedding was a bit ludicrous.
“Who was getting married?” I asked, finally closing my mouth around my first spoonful of thick broth and noodles.
“Grammie.”
I choked on my soup.
Not, Grammie and me. Just, Grammie.
Which meant that Grammie had been getting ready to get married to someone else.
Who?
This was something I’d definitely never heard about.
“Should let your soup cool down a little before you start eating it,” he scolded, shaking his head.
I coughed some more, trying to catch my breath.
Seriously? He’d just dropped a bombshell like that, and he thought the reason I was choking on my soup was because it was hot?
“It’s fine,” I said, finally finished with my coughing fit. “The soup’s fine,” I added, shaking my head. “I was just surprised, is all. I didn’t know Grammie had ever been engaged to anyone but you.” I paused. Maybe I’d misunderstood. “That is what you meant, isn’t it? That Grannie Rose was saving up for Grammie to marry someone who was…not you?”
He nodded.
“Who?” I probed, feeling as though I was pulling teeth.
“George MacMillan.”
If I’d thought the statement about Grammie being engaged to someone before she met Grandpa had been a bombshell, this was a nuclear blast. I was definitely unprepared for that one.
I gaped at Grandpa, who was as placidly chewing his chicken sandwich as though we were in the middle of discussing the weather.
“George MacMillan?” I repeated, somewhat unnecessarily.
Grandpa