Page 112 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

Sadness and grief color his aura, and I realize how selfish I’m being. He’s done this alone for five years. I came back to mend my relationship with him, and while I’m less distant, I’m still repeating my mistakes.

I suck in a deep breath. “I’ll go. But don’t abandon me with the Parkers. They’ll start planning my wedding to their eldest son… Neil, is it? They’ll also advise me about the best schools to send our children.”

He laughs, his eyes sparkling. “Deal! No abandoning.”

“I’m going out. Can I borrow the car?”

“It’s your car, Natia, you don’t need to ask. The keys are in the drawer next to the sink.” I grab them. “Would you like me to come with you?” he asks, the easy smile sliding from his face.

“How’d you know where I was going?”

He leans on his elbows and levels me with his special Gramps stare—it’s a Waterford trait I need to learn. “You haven’t driven your own car in four years, you do nothing for yourself, your every thought and action consumed with work… I don’t need to be some secret government agent to figure out where you’re going on this particular day of the year.”

A maid wanders through the door clasping a large tray of champagne flutes. “Not so secret if you keep blurting it out like that,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “Do you want company, sweetheart?”

I shake my head. “I need some time alone. Maybe you could follow in an hour or so?” I try to control the tremor in my voice.

“Sure, I’ll be there soon.”

Before leaving the house, I pluck a yellow rose from an arrangement in the entrance hall.

***

Sitting in the Lake View Cemetery parking lot, I procrastinate—a new personality trait of mine. I haven’t been back since the day we buried my grandmother exactly five years ago. I stare at the rose on the passenger seat.

Stop being a coward, Natia. Get out and face your fears.

It takes me ten minutes to find the right gravestone. I lay the rose on top and sit against it, not caring about the cold, damp ground. Confession is good for the soul, right? I’m not sure this is what they meant, but it’s not like I can blurt out my life to a priest and hope he doesn’t call the police or the mental hospital—so I opt for the dead.

“Hi, Gran… it’s me, Natia. Ha, like you don’t know. If you’re a heavenly being, you’ll know it’s me,” I ramble. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited. There’s no excuse—so I won’t give you one. Look… I just miss you, okay? I’d hoped to make you proud, but I’ve let you down. I miss the ‘me’ I was when you were here.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. Grief changes us. Some people cling to each other for comfort; others hide. I hid, and the girl that loved without fear disappeared. I used to be softer, free, more hopeful, less cynical, and gloriously naive to the true evils that walked the Earth. “I’ve tried to sort things out with Gramps. He’s forgiven me, but I don’t deserve it. Uncle Charlie’s the same. I’m humbled by their forgiveness.”

An invisible bird chirps a cheerful song from the fir tree overlooking Gran’s grave, unaware or uncaring of the grief-ridden environment it’s chosen to sing in. Or maybe it is aware, and that’s why it’s here.

“I’m so tired. I’ve been broken for so long; I’ve forgotten how to let people in. I’m lonely.” Even though heartbreak for my grandmother is crashing over me, Archan’s golden gaze swims before my eyes; that man is always interrupting me. “If you’ve been watching, Gran, then you’ve seen him.” I roll my eyes and chuckle, sniffling a little. “Honestly, I’m not sure what you’d think of him. Didn’t you used to say something like ‘never trust a man who takes longer to get ready than you?’ He must take longer, Gran—even in battle he looks like an avenging angel. Then again, you also said that ‘trust has to be earned.’ He’s done so much to deserve that trust, and I want to, but I don’t know how to open my heart, and I’m not sure he would want me if I did. You would think him being old would make him a romantic, when really, he’s more of a pragmatist. Or maybe he’s just jaded. I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m falling for him—but can you be happy with someone who doesn’t fall for you in return? I want what you and Gramps had.”

I put my head between my knees as the tears flow, and I begin to fall apart. “Do you know what’s happening to me? I wish I could talk to you. I’m so lost in the darkness growing inside me. I took someone’s life—damning my soul. I’m not a good person, I know it… I’m so sorry. Gran, I always thought I would see you again…”

Sensing someone watching me, I lift my head—it’s Archan. How does he always find me? I look away, embarrassed by my tears—more weakness. “Please leave me alone,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I scarcely remember to shield, using Sarah McLachlan’s “Full of Grace” at the last second.

Ignoring me, he sits down so we’re shoulder to shoulder and plays with a strand of my hair. “Go away,” I mumble. He rubs the base of my neck, staying silent. I give in and lean on him, placing my head on his chest, his warmth a comforting contrast on my cold cheek. The tears fall freely as my heart breaks. He wraps a strong arm around me and kisses the top of my head, making me feel safe and protected. Closing my eyes, I drift in and out of sleep.

***

A hand on my shoulder shakes me awake. Gramps stares down at me, a small frown marring his forehead. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

I look around for Archan, but he’s gone. “I’m fine, Gramps,” I mumble, feeling a little disoriented as I stand. My ass is stone cold, and my legs are cramping from sitting in the same position for too long. A white rose rests next to my yellow one on top of the headstone.

Uncle Charlie wanders up the path toward us, holding a wreath. He stops when he sees me, looking shocked.

I greet him, my voice soft. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, coming to stand next to me. We all look at Gran’s grave. My uncle finally breaks the silence. “You need to forgive yourself. She would.” He tilts his head toward the grave. “We all deal with grief differently. But you’re stuck being angry. You need to let go and accept it.”

I stay silent, knowing he’s right. Uncle Charlie lays his wreath next to Gramps’s bouquet of yellow roses. Then Uncle Charlie and I head back to the parking lot, leaving Gramps alone.

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