Page 10 of Living for Truth
“Hmmm. Interesting how things work out.” Izzy shrugs, then goes back to texting.
I’m about to do the same, but her mom comes to sit by me instead.
“Hannah.” Louise gives me a curt nod. I swear her face is always in a permanent frown.
“Aunt Louise. How is Spencer doing?” I ask, knowing the topic of her son on his mission is safe territory.
“Oh, just wonderful,” she gushes, her lips tipping in a rare smile, happy to talk about her favorite child. “He’s a zone leader now and has baptized ten people in the last two months! We couldn’t be more proud of him and the work he’s doing. How firm he is in the gospel.” Her eyes dart to Izzy disapprovingly. “Have you heard from Elliana recently?”
I internally groan. I knew this would happen, yet I’m still surprised.
I plaster on my best smile. “We chat occasionally. Wes’s stop in Salt Lake is next month, so it’ll be good to see them.”
Her nose wrinkles like Wes’s name smells bad. “She never mentioned stopping in Salt Lake.”
“You haven't talked to her since Spencer left so how would you know?” Izzy murmurs, still looking at her phone.
Aunt Louise’s face turns a shade of red, but instead of responding to Izzy, she excuses herself and walks away.
“She really hasn’t spoken to Elli in almost nine months?” I whisper to Izzy once her mom’s out of earshot.
Izzy looks at me and shakes her head sadly. “Every time I bring Elli up, or try to get my mom to talk to her, she shuts me down or pretends she doesn’t hear me. It’s like Elli doesn’t exist. She’s too stubborn and hard-headed to apologize, and Elli’s set a clear boundary.”
“That sucks, Izzy. I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is. I—”
“Isabelle. Time to go,” Louise barks, interrupting Izzy.
Izzy’s posture stiffens, and the light playfulness that usually surrounds her dims.
“See you later, Han,” Izzy says, leaning in for a hug.
I squeeze her tight and whisper in her ear, “Text me if you need anything, okay?”
Izzy nods once before she leaves, and my heart breaks a little bit for her. I wish I could do something to help her, but I wouldn’t know how. I only hope she can escape before the light in her dims completely.
The rest of the party goes on as it usually does with people congratulating Jake and saying how proud they are of him.
I’m proud of him, too, but not because he’s going to be playing white savior to the people of Cape Verde. I’m proud of how hard he’s worked in school and how kind he is to everyone.
Mormon missions are nothing but a waste of time and money for those who go.
My Grandpa Walter, the patriarch of the Monson family, hobbles over to me and wraps me in a hug that’ssurprisingly strong for such a frail, old man. He always smells like pine and cedar—the nostalgic smells of working in his workshop.
“How are you holding up, my dear?” His voice always has a bit of a melodic lilt to it, like at any minute, he’s about to burst into song—which wouldn’t be surprising in the least.
I plaster on my best fake smile and look at him as best I can seeing as he hasn’t released me from his vice grip. “I’m hanging in there. Thanks, Grandpa.”
He hums, then steps back to put a hand on my shoulder and look me in the eyes. Sometimes, I swear he can see straight through to my soul. He’s what people call a “spiritual giant.” He and my grandma, Eileen, have been mission presidents twice. He’s currently a stake patriarch—a Mormon version of a fortune teller—and a temple sealer. He’s known for his words of wisdom, musical talents, and storytelling abilities.
“Liam was but a bump in the road to an extraordinary love, my dear Hannah. You’ll find someone whose dreams and values match your own, just as long as you remain true to who you are and never falter. Live for truth, and the right man will see the way you shine.” He ends his speech with a solemn nod.
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I whisper, tears brimming my eyes for many reasons. I know he means what he says, but he doesn't know my truths don’t align with his own anymore. He wouldn’t tell me to live for truth if he knew I didn’t live, breathe, eat, sleep, and shit the gospel anymore. If he knew my thoughts about Joseph Smith being a pedophile con artist who made his money by telling elaborate stories. If he ever finds out, he’ll be extremelydisappointed. It’s a big reason why I haven’t publicly left, why I keep up the ruse.
“I love you, Hannah. Don’t hesitate to come visit. The garden will need tending soon, and I know how much you love weeding.” He gives me a playful nudge that evokes a genuine laugh.
I do love his garden. It’s gotten significantly smaller in recent years because he can’t keep up with it. When I was with Liam, we lived on the other side of town from my grandparents, and I’d spend my random days off helping in the garden and doing yard work when I could.
