Page 44 of The Affair
Things at work since our less than cordial conversation had been incredibly professional. We both arrived every day in the morning, said our hellos to each other, discussed anything pertinent to the business, and then went our separate ways.
No long conversations. No endless Q & A sessions.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I had seen him smile.
Well, not at me at least.
I’d begun to leave the sales floor to him since he was so good at it while I handled new inventory, bookkeeping, and other managerial-type things. It allowed me to stay holed up in my office for the majority of the day.
It was a win-win for both of us.
I knew he was working beyond his three-hundred-dollar rental fee that we’d negotiated on. In all honesty, a few hours a week would have sufficed—something I’d told him a week ago. But despite the notification that he was overworking, he still continued to show up.
Every. Single. Day.
I had a feeling he was nervously waiting for someone to purchase a piece from his furniture line, but so far, it hadn’t happened. I could see the disappointment in his face each day, but he wouldn’t talk to me about it.
He would barely talk to me about anything.
Which was why I’d made this journal my new life goal.
Everyone needed a hobby, right?
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I let out a tired sigh. I’d lost count of how many entries I’d typed out of my grandmother’s journal. I was nearing the end of this particular binder, which should feel like some sort of milestone but I knew it was just a drop in the bucket. There were at least six more waiting for me in the guest bedroom, if not more. Each binder covered somewhere between three and five years.
It was a lot.
I didn’t know how many times I’d typed out entries about her garden and her crossword puzzles… her senior citizen group and her trips to visit William. This particular binder covered the month of July from the late nineties all the way through the millennial. She’d died in 2010 at the age of ninety-three. So much time. So many years. The simplicity of her life was what truly amazed me. Year by year, very little had changed.
I couldn’t help but wonder,was she happy?
She’d rarely written about my grandfather. Remembering my visits during these times, I knew she used to stop by the local nursing home to see him every day, like clockwork.
Why didn’t she include that in her journal?
She’d written about everything else—from the loads of wash to the types of plants she was growing. But Grandpa was omitted, almost completely.
It was something that unsettled me, and I wanted answers.
I wanted to ask my mom, but it had been weeks since we last talked, and the jaded part of me was holding out, waiting for her to make the first move. It was petty, but I couldn’t help it.
But I still had questions, which left only one viable option.
Checking the clock, I knew the time difference would be in my favor. It might be eleven here, but it was only nine o’clock in the mid-west. My mother might have left her hometown to put down roots elsewhere, but her sister?
She’d stayed.
“Hello Aunt Sally,” I said the minute I heard her distinctive voice greet me on the other end. It was so loud that I nearly had to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Eloise! Well, isn’t this a nice surprise! How are you, my dear?”
“Good,” I answered, suddenly feeling like I was twelve again. Her larger than life personality always seemed to have that effect on me.
“Well, lovely. And how’s the weather out there? It’s getting chilly here already. Can you believe that? They’re calling for snow this weekend. I am certainly not ready for that nonsense.”
I smiled, recalling my aunt’s hatred of snow. She and her mother had that in common. I’d recorded several journal entries where Nana had complained about the infernal snow and cold.
“The weather is fine, a typical Southern fall; hot one day and cold the next,” I said before adding, “Hey, I’m actually calling about Nana’s journals. I had a few questions for you.”
