Page 64 of Luck of the Devil
“Harper,” Malcolm said quietly behind me. “Maybe she should sit down.”
He was right, and I was kicking myself for not pushing for that myself. “Grandma, he’s right. You should probably sit down. Can my friend and I come in?”
Her head bobbed up and down, and she made a sound as though she was trying to say something, but it came out garbled. I suddenly worried the shock had given her a stroke, but when I walked over the threshold, she wrapped her arms around my body and held tight as she started to cry.
I hugged her back, surprised at the burning lump in my throat. My visits with my grandmother had been infrequent when I was growing up, but she’d always been warm and loving. It made me wonder even more what had really caused the rift with my parents.
I realized she was still shaking, so I released her, lowering my face to hers. “Let’s get you to that chair.”
She nodded, and Malcolm walked in around me and tucked my grandmother’s right hand into the crook of his arm. “Where should we go, Mrs. Langford?”
It took me a second to realize he’d jumped in next to her in case she collapsed.
The entry was so small that they took three steps and were at the threshold to the living room. My grandmother pointed her cane. “That recliner over there.”
Malcolm guided her across the small living room to one of two threadbare recliners against the wall left of the sofa. “You have a lovely home,” he said, patting her hand.
I blinked hard, shocked at how sweet he was being to her. While he’d said he could be charming, this wasn’t what I’d expected.
Malcolm helped her turn and remained next to her as she sat in her recliner. Knitting needles with a square of knitted baby blue yarn rested on the overstuffed arm of her chair. The TV was on and tuned to a black and white movie, the sound surprisingly low given my grandmother’s age.
My gaze swept over the room, and I was amazed that that décor was exactly as I remembered, down to the landscape painting over the sofa. I was pretty certain they hadn’t redecorated in thirty years or more. I remembered she’d had a small ceramic rabbit that I’d been fascinated with when I was in preschool, and after another sweep of the room, I saw it sitting on a shelf on the wall over the television.
My grandmother stared up at me, tears streaming down her face, still mute. I worried the shock was too much for her, so I knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her knee.
She patted my hand, then leaned forward, pressing her forehead to mine. The smell of Estée Lauder perfume filled my nose, reminding me of my mother and why I was here.
“Grandma,” I said, my voice catching. “Is Grandpa home?”
She pulled back, nodding, then pointed toward the kitchen, but I knew he wasn’t in there. Memories of wood shavings and the scent of pine flooded my memories. He was in his workshop out back.
“I can go get him,” Malcolm said, still standing to the side.
“No. He doesn’t know you,” I said, studying my grandmother’s face, still worried about her. “Grandma, will you be okay if I go out and get him?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, reaching for a tissue from the box on the table next to her chair. “He’ll be thrilled to see you.”
I shot a glance to Malcolm, who gave me a reassuring look. “I’ll make sure she’s okay. You go see him.”
I nodded, nervous all over again. Grandma thought he’d be happy to see me, but what if he wasn’t?
It didn’t matter. I still had a job to do.
The door to the backyard was through the small kitchen with its avocado green appliances. Nothing had changed in here either.
Once I was out the back door, I took in the yard, from the lilac bushes planted against the house, the bird bath and feeder in the center of the yard, and the single bay, detached garage at the end of the cracked concrete driveway. The garage door was open, and I could hear the hum of an engine and the familiar whine of wood giving way to a blade.
My heart skipped a beat as I saw my grandfather through the open garage door. He was turning a piece of wood on his lathe, his gnarled hands holding the end while he wore safely goggles. He was shorter and more stooped than I remembered him, but he still had a full head of grey hair.
I took several steps closer and stopped, not wanting to startle him while he was working with a power tool, but he must have caught my movement out of his peripheral vision because his head turned to face me, surprise filling his eyes. He stood upright and stared at me for a moment before reaching down and blindly flipping the switch to kill his machine. The motor slowed down then stopped as he took off his safety goggles and set them on his work bench.
“Harper?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Is that you?”
I nodded, my eyes burning as I closed the distant between us.
He engulfed me in a massive hug, nearly squeezing the breath out of me. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he choked out.
I hugged him back, fighting the tightness in my chest. I felt dangerously close to crying, something I hadn’t even done after finding out about my mother’s death. But I couldn’t fall apart, especially now. I had a job to do. I had to tell them their daughter was dead.
