Page 2 of When We Were More
I don’t say anything, and she accepts my silence for a bit. Perhaps she’s going to let the conversation die down, though it didn’t get much of a start, but then she stops the swing and turns to address me.
“You’ve lost more weight, weight that you didn’t need to lose.”
I can’t meet her eyes. “Of course, I had some to lose, Gram. It’s healthier and more?—”
“Is that you talking, orhim?” My breath stills. How does she know Joe wants me to lose more weight? “Sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything, right? You deserve to be happy, and you’re not happy right now.”
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I don’t bother to wipe it. I’m sure it’s one of what will be many, based on this conversation heading toward talking about my marriage.
“I can’t fail at this, Gram. Besides you, Joe is the only other person who loves me.”
“Sweetie, I do love you. More than you’ll ever realize. But what he’s giving you, that’s not love, baby. And I promise you, if more people had a chance to get to know you, you’d have a lot more people loving you.”
As I predicted, the tears flow more rapidly. She’s right, but I’m a wife now, and for the first time since my summer visits to Gram’s house, I belong somewhere. Even if that ‘somewhere’ seems like a prison.
I lean over and rest my head on Gram’s shoulder. She holds me while I cry.
“I’ve only been married for a few years, Gram. I can’t get divorced at twenty-five. Plus, Joe will never let me go. That’s gotta mean something, right? He must love me to want to hold on so tightly.”
“That’s not love, sweetheart. That’s possession. He’s treating you like something he owns, not someone he’s lucky to have in his life. It’s his ego and pride.” Anger resonates in Gram’s voice.
She’s not wrong. I cry harder.
“I don’t know how to get out,” I whisper to her. “I’m embarrassed and ashamed. What kind of woman am I if?—”
Gram sits up, takes my face between her wrinkled hands, and holds it tenderly. It’s such a stark contrast to the way Joe grabbed my chin and jaw before he left. “You are an amazing woman. You’re kind, forgiving, and compassionate. You’d givethe shirt off your back if someone needed it. You arenotwhat he has tried to reduce you to, sweetheart. Do you understand me?”
It takes a moment of trying to see myself through her eyes, but eventually, I give her a weak nod.
“I don’t want to be one more person who takes your choices away, baby girl, so I’ll ask you and not presume. Do you want to get out? To leave him?”
My heart pounds in my chest as anxiety makes my throat tight. I want to be free of him, but I’m afraid I’m not strong enough. I hate that I’m weak. Still, the way Gram is looking at me makes me believe I might have a little fight left in me.
I nod.
Gram uses the pads of her thumbs to wipe my tears as they continue to roll down my cheeks.
“Okay. Then I’m going to help you, and I promise you that man’s control over you is at an end. Now let’s go inside and get you into bed. We’re leaving here first thing in the morning to get your things. You’re coming back home with me, Tillie girl.”
CHAPTER 2
Five years later
Tillie
The words printed on the piece of paper shaking in my hands tell me I’m up next. Sitting in the front row of the church, with Lester on one side and Ruthie on my other, I don’t know where I’m going to find the strength to go up there and speak. Everything in me wants to stay here, on this hard wooden pew with Ruthie’s arm around me and Lester’s rough hand holding mine. They, along with Ruthie’s sister, Sally, were Gram’s dearest friends, and when I moved to Aron Falls five years ago, broken, they were there for me, too. I’ll never forget their love and kindness.
Gram wasn’t religious but always described herself as “spiritual.” Still, she loved the inside of this church. She used to meet a group of women here to prep meals for a soup kitchen she helped run in the neighboring city. She always said the church’s decor was understated.
Lester squeezes my hand.
“It’s your turn, Tillie girl. You can do this. You’ve got your Gram’s spunk and spirit in you.” I dip my head at him, afraid that if I speak, I’ll cry before I get on stage.
I turn to look at Ruthie. “He’s right, sweetie. You take your time. Everyone here loved her, and they love you, too.”
I nod and stand, the white piece of paper trembling in my hands. When I get to the podium, I clear my thoughts and fumble with the microphone. I finally glance up at the crowd and see, for the first time, how many people are here. I swear the entire population of our small town showed up.
I swallow past the lump of emotion building in my throat.
