Page 51 of The One Who Risked it All

“Aunt Carol confronted Dad that night about the grudge he was holding against the Putnams.”

CHAPTER 20

Carla

Istepped out of my car, clutching the small bouquet I’d brought for Grandma, the cellophane crinkling in my sweaty grip.

I could do this. Okay, maybe I was trying to psych myself up. It was just Grandma. Sweet, loving Grandma who definitely wouldn’t spill any earth-shattering family secrets today.

My heart hammered as I made my way to the entrance of the nursing home. The automatic doors whooshed open, cool air rushing out to greet me. I breathed in deeply, the familiar scent of antiseptic tinged with a hint of potpourri filling my nostrils.

As I walked down the corridor, my sneakers squeaking on the polished linoleum, I couldn’t help but notice the life buzzing around me. Elderly residents shuffled past, some with walkers, others being pushed in wheelchairs by attentive nurses. The soft hum of conversation drifted from open doorways, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

“Good afternoon, Carla!” chirped a passing nurse. “Here to see Rose?”

I nodded, managing a smile. “You bet. How’s she doing today?”

“Oh, chipper as always. She’s been working on some new knitting project all morning.”

My smile grew more genuine. That was Grandma Rose, alright. Always keeping her hands busy.

As I neared her room, my steps slowed. The questions I’d been wrestling with for weeks bubbled up again, making my palms sweat. Why had Dad been so tight-lipped about our family’s history with the Wells? What could have possibly happened to drive such a deep wedge between the once-close friends?

Taking one last deep breath, I squared my shoulders and knocked on Grandma’s door, ready to face whatever truths awaited me inside.

I pushed open the door and the sight of Grandma instantly warmed my heart. There she sat in her favorite armchair by the window, bathed in soft afternoon light, her nimble fingers working away at a vibrant scarf.

“Carla, sweetheart!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up. She set her knitting aside and opened her arms wide. “Come give your grandmother a hug!”

I rushed over, careful not to crush the flowers as I embraced her. The familiar scent of lavender and yarn enveloped me, and I felt like a little girl again, safe in her arms.

“Hi, Grandma,” I said, pulling back with a smile. “I brought you these.” I handed her the bouquet, a cheerful mix of daisies and carnations.

“Oh, they’re lovely!” Grandma exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. “They’ll brighten up this old room nicely.”

As she fussed with the flowers, I settled into the chair across from her, my heart racing. How did someone casually bring up decades-old family drama?

“So, how’ve you been, dear?” she asked, turning her attention back to me.

I laughed, grateful for the easy opening. “Oh, you know, just trying to survive the daily chaos. I helped take care of my friend Rebecca’s kids last week so she and her husband could take a long-overdue honeymoon. How about you, Grandma?” I asked, gesturing to her knitting. “Starting a new project?”

“Oh, this old thing?” She held up the scarf, a riot of blues and purples. “Just keeping my hands busy. You know me, can’t sit still for long.”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. It was now or never. “Grandma,” I began, my voice wavering slightly, “I actually came here today because... well, because I wanted to ask you about something.”

Grandma’s hands stilled, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “What is it, dear?”

I took a deep breath, fortifying myself. “I want to know about our family’s history with the Wells. Why there’s been this... feud for so long.”

As the words left my mouth, I couldn’t help but think of Eli again. His infuriating grin, the way he always seemed to show up just when I least expected it.

I focused back on Grandma, watching as a shadow crossed her face. My heart sank. Would she even entertain the conversation? Her knitting needles lay motionless in her lap, the cheerful scarf forgotten. I watched as her expression shifted, a mix of pain and hesitation clouding her usually warm features.

“Oh, Carla,” she sighed, her voice heavy. “That’s quite a loaded question you’re asking.”

I leaned forward, my heart hammering. “I know it might be difficult, Grandma, but I need to understand. It’s... it’s affecting my life more than I’d like to admit.”

And by ‘affecting,’ I meant making me question every interaction I had with a certain frustratingly handsome firefighter. But I kept that particular thought to myself.

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