She opened the closet door and was amazed at the amount of space it had. Virginia had left a few of Harold’s suits hanging, but the rest of the clothing was hers. She took each dress, blouse, and pair of slacks off their hangers, folded them, and placed them in boxes for donations. Every article of clothing was in good shape—no tears, no stains, no missing buttons. It was obvious that Virginia took great pride in her appearance. Some of the outfits were appropriately stylish for a woman her age. Syd would have to ask Abby where Virginia liked to go, things she liked to do. Did she go to church every Sunday? Did she go out to eat often? Did she like to stroll down Main Street and visit the shops?
She pulled the shoe boxes down from the top shelf of the built-ins and checked inside. She found a few pairs of low heels that were cute, and if they weren’t three sizes too small, Syd would’ve kept them for herself. She chuckled at the size of Virginia’s feet. She knew she was a short woman, and she had very small feet, but it was one more thing that she had learned about her grandmother on that trip. Syd’s mama’s feet were small too, so she obviously got them from her mother. Syd definitely had her father’s feet because they were a little larger than they should be for a woman her height. She smiled at the thought. The last box felt too heavy for shoes, and Syd found it full of photos. She sat on the floor and started looking through them. There was writing on the back of each one indicating who was in the picture and the year it was taken.
Syd was amused at the baby pictures of Virginia being held by her mother and grandmother. She had on a frilly dress and a bonnet on her head. The picture was taken in 1931. The next one was of Virginia as a toddler being held by her father and her mother standing next to them, taken in 1933. These were Syd’s great-grandparents. Her great-grandfather was a tall, good-looking man, dressed in a sharp double-breasted suit that had oversized pockets and pointed lapels, and he was wearing a hat. Syd thought he looked quite dapper. Her great-grandmother was in a floral print dress that came to just below her knees with a matching thin belt high on her waist, and her hat and shoes matched. They made a striking couple. She wondered if her mom knew anything about them. She would have to ask her the next time they talked.
By the time she finished looking at all the photos, two hours had passed. She set the box aside so she could add it to the items she wanted to keep. Even though she didn’t know any of the people in the photographs, they were part of her history, and they didn’t deserve to be dumped in a trash can. Her pile of things she was keeping was growing, and she’d probably have to have some boxes shipped to Chicago because it all wouldn’t fit in her car. To count, she had the china, photos and albums, candles, and some of her mama’s belongings such as her high school yearbooks and report cards that she had found in the garage. She hadn’t even cleaned out the kitchen yet, so who knew what else she’d keep.
Syd went through the dresser and chest of drawers, and again folded and boxed the clothing that she was able to donate. One drawer held antique-looking cloths and doilies. Maybe they had belonged to Virginia’s mother. One more thing to add to the “keep” pile. In another drawer, she came across baby clothes. She recognized them from seeing her mama wearing them in her baby photos. She added those to the “keep” pile.
Syd moved on to the nightstand on one side of the bed, and when she opened the top drawer, she immediately knew it was Harold’s. She found a pair of reading glasses and a bible that had his name inscribed in gold lettering on the front. She also found his wallet that held his expired driver’s license and one credit card, a small notebook that contained bible verses, and a pen. Harold must have been a religious man because it appeared he had put a lot of thought into the verses and had to write them down. There wasn’t much else of consequence. Was it always this tidy? Or did Virginia clean it out but left those few items remaining? Maybe it made her feel less lonely to keep his nightstand with a few of his things. She wasn’t sure what to do with them. She could throw out his reading glasses and notebook, maybe donate his bible. She’d need to shred his driver’s license and credit card, but it was a nice black leather wallet that was in excellent condition. She’d keep that too.
Syd’s stomach rumbled and she looked at her watch. One thirty? Time had flown by, but her stomach was reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything in over five hours. She fixed herself a sandwich and bowl of soup to tide her over until dinner. As she ate, she realized that by going through her grandparents’ possessions, she was learning a little more about them. Virginia liked to sew, cook, garden, and play cards. She was a stylish dresser and took pride in not only her appearance, but also her home. Syd knew less about Harold, only that he farmed, fished, was religious, and didn’t want his daughter marrying a black man. And truthfully, knowing what she knew, she didn’t really have any desire to learn more about Harold, but she felt a heaviness in her chest the more she learned about Virginia and a sadness that she never got to know her or spend time with her. But she still hadn’t found the answers she was looking for. Why had they disowned their daughter? Why did Virginia hire a private investigator to find her but not contact her once she was found? Would Virginia have wanted her as a granddaughter?
She had four hours before Abby would be back. She had no idea what she would fix for dinner, but she was sure she had something she could throw together. She wondered how Abby’s day was going and what she was doing. The more time they spent together, the more she liked Abby. The sex was out of this world phenomenal, but it went beyond that. Syd appreciated Abby’s love for her grandmother, her work ethic, her sense of humor, her capacity for caring. Abby had everything Syd had wanted in a girlfriend yet hadn’t found. Until now. Maybe she should talk to Abby to see how she felt about Syd. Maybe they could do a long-distance relationship if Abby was willing.
Syd pulled out her smart phone and Googled the nearest airport to Charville. Almost an hour from there to Des Moines. She then Googled flight time from Des Moines to Chicago. Almost another hour. A two-hour trip each way wasn’t a long trip. Definitely doable. Since Abby didn’t work, she could fly out and spend a few days, or a few weeks, which Syd would love even more. And she could fly here occasionally and spend a long weekend with Abby and Bernice. The more she thought about it, the more excited she got. She felt a giddiness inside her, like her heart was full but light. She couldn’t wait to discuss it with Abby. But first, she had more cleaning to do.
Syd went back to Virginia’s room and opened the top drawer to her nightstand. The contents were similar to Harold’s—reading glasses, bible, five romance novels by Leah Griffin. Go, Virginia. Syd had to laugh because that was Vanessa’s favorite author. She opened the cover and discovered it had been signed to Virginia from the author. How cool was that?
Syd decided to give these to Vanessa, sure she would love them. She probably had copies of those five books, but at least these were signed. Syd typically read non-fiction, but she felt she knew enough about Leah Griffin. Every time there was a new post on her website, Facebook, or Twitter, Vanessa felt it was her duty to read them to Syd.
According to Vanessa, Leah’s sixth book was going to be released in two months, and she was currently working on her seventh novel. Syd turned the books over to read the blurb and they sounded a little racy. Maybe she should give one of her books a try. She was a little disappointed that there wasn’t a picture of the author on the back cover.
Syd pulled out her phone again and Googled Leah Griffin. She read some of the posts on Leah’s website, and they actually made Syd laugh. They were musings of what it was like when she wrote a book, going through edits, choosing a cover, and coming up with a title and names for her characters. Leah’s humor was similar to Abby’s, and Syd found it rather endearing. Again, she was disappointed there weren’t any pictures of her on her website. Under the “Up and Coming” tab, she saw that Leah was going to do some book signings once her latest novel was released. Syd got excited when she saw Chicago was one of her stops. She couldn’t wait to tell Vanessa. Of c
ourse, she probably already knew. Okay, enough of that. Syd had work to do. She put her phone on the bed without seeing a picture of the popular author and opened the bottom drawer of the nightstand.
Syd’s breath caught when she saw a stack of letters addressed to her mama that were unopened. “Return to Sender” was written on the front in her mama’s writing. Syd took off the rubber band holding the envelopes together and counted eight. Eight letters that Virginia had written to Syd’s mother that went unread. She looked at the dates on the stamps. The first one was mailed out just a few months before Harold died. The last one dated two years ago. With shaking hands, Syd opened the first envelope, unfolded the single page of stationary, and began to read.
Dear Jillian,
I know it’s been too many years since we’ve seen each other or talked, and I regret that immensely. I understand why you haven’t called. Your father said some awful things to you on that day you brought Isaiah and your daughter to the farm, and I didn’t do anything to stop it. For that, I’m so sorry.
She’s so beautiful, Jillian, just like her mother. I feel your father also regrets that day because whenever he looks at the photograph of the three of us taken the day you left for college, he gets moody and retreats to the barn. I wish we could turn back time to the day you brought Isaiah home to meet us. I wish I could do that and change your father’s attitude. In my perfect world, we would have invited Isaiah in, got to know him, made sure his intentions toward you were honorable, then start planning your wedding over supper. But I can’t change the past. I can only hope that we can move on to the future and become a family again.
Unfortunately, your father’s future is coming to an end. I hate that I have to tell you this in a letter, but you keep refusing to take my calls. Jillian, your father is dying of cancer. He hadn’t been feeling well, and by the time he went to see his doctor, it had spread. The doctor said it can be two months or two years, but he probably doesn’t have that much time. It would mean so much to me, to both of us, if you would at least call. Maybe we could all forgive each other while there’s still time. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. I love you and I’m sorry.
Mama
Syd read the letter again. Virginia must not have known that Mama had called the house and Harold hung up on her. Did her mama know that her father was dying? She must not have since none of the letters had been opened. Her eyes stung with the tears that were starting to form. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like if she didn’t have her parents in her life. Even when she came out to them, she was confident in their love and support to know that they would never disown her. Maybe her mama’s estrangement from her own family made the process for Syd so much easier. She opened the next letter, dated just two weeks before Harold died. Again, the envelope had “Return to Sender” written on the front.
Dear Jillian,
I was rather disappointed that you sent back my previous letter unopened. I’m hoping with all my heart that you’ll open this one. Your father doesn’t have much time left, honey. The cancer has ravaged his body, and he spends most of his time sleeping in a hospital bed on the first floor of our house. He’s been placed on hospice care, and the staff have been really helpful, coming in every other day to make sure he’s comfortable. It’s so hard for me to watch him wither away, and I really wish you were here with me, with us. Your father has been contemplative over the past few weeks, knowing he doesn’t have much time left. The thing he’s expressed the most guilt over is being a “racist son of a bitch,” his words.
He told me that he regrets sending you away. All of you. He wants to tell you in person how sorry he is. Please come, Jillian. And please bring your family. He really wants to meet his granddaughter, and he especially wants your forgiveness.
I love you, sweetheart.
Mama
Syd wiped away the tears that were now falling down her cheeks. Oh, Mama. I wish you had opened these letters. Do you regret not making up with your parents before they died? That I was deprived of a relationship with my grandparents? Syd didn’t blame her mama for being hurt by the racism and bigotry of her father, but she lost out on so much and Syd’s heart ached for all the loss it had caused.
She read the rest of the letters, which were so different from the first two. In the third, Virginia had written that Harold had passed away and they had a memorial service for him at their church. In the others, Virginia would write about her new life as a widow, things she did to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t miss Harold so much. She mentioned Bernice and Abby, and how helpful Abby had been in taking care of the work around the farm that Harold had done when he was alive and well.
Virginia spoke so fondly of Abby, the gratitude and love she felt for Abby had been palpable, practically jumping off the page. Syd’s feelings for Abby grew with each praise Virginia had said about her. Syd appreciated the kind of woman and neighbor Abby had been to her grandmother, and now to her.
The last letter Virginia had written spoke of her resignation that she would never reconcile with her only child, that she would never know her son-in-law or her only granddaughter. That no matter how Jillian felt about her, Virginia would think of her every day and love her until the day she died. That she wouldn’t bother her anymore.
Syd wrapped the rubber band around the pile of letters and held them against her chest. Her body slumped as she continued to weep. She never knew how her mama felt when she told her Virginia had died. She never gave any indication that it bothered her. Like she was a stranger, not her own mother. Syd wondered if her mama told Daddy. Did she cry? Was she relieved? Or was she regretful, as Syd was feeling. The big dilemma she was now facing was whether or not she’d give these letters to her mama. It could be cathartic for her mama to read them, to know of her parents’ regret, how they wanted to reconcile and get to know her family.
It might be good for her mama to know they never stopped loving her or thinking about her. On the other hand, it could wreck her emotionally to think about all the time that had been wasted being estranged from them, that if she had not been so stubborn and read at least one of the letters, that she could have forged a new relationship, at least with her mother. Syd understood that her mama had been hurt, and that she was doing what she had to do in order to protect herself and her family.
As much as Syd loved her mama, she had been known to be quite a stubborn woman. There were times that she was so set in her beliefs and values that she was incapable of seeing an opposing point of view or forgiving when she had been wronged. Maybe sometimes that was a noble trait to have. Other times, it could be a downfall. Syd would have to consider the repercussions of giving those letters to her mama. She would talk to her father about it and see what he thought.
Next to where the stack of letters had been was a folder. She opened it to find an envelope addressed to her, and some papers and photos underneath. She set the letters aside and sifted through the photos. They had been of Syd, from what she could gather, taken almost two years ago. There was a picture of her walking in downtown Chicago dressed in her work attire. Another of her and Vanessa sitting on a park bench near Lake Michigan. Another of her visiting a museum with the kids. And a final one of her having breakfast on a patio of a café with her parents.
She read through the papers and realized it was a report completed by the private investigator Virginia had hired. It had a lot of her personal information—phone number, address, birth date, employment, education. Syd was conflicted. She felt violated that so much information could be obtained by a complete stranger. Overjoyed that her grandmother would go through so much just to find her. Sad that even though Virginia had her address and phone number, she didn’t reach out to get in contact with her. Why would she spend all that money on a private investigator if she had no intention of using his information? She stared at the sealed envelope that bore her name, flipping it over and back, trying to gather up the courage to find out what her grandmother couldn’t say to her in person or
on the phone, that she felt the only way to say it was on a piece of paper. Syd took a deep breath and carefully opened the envelope. She pulled out pages of paper and ran her fingers over the writing as if she could actually touch her grandmother. After a few more moments, she unfolded the letter and began to read.
My dearest Sydney,
If you’re reading this letter, then I have passed on and my attorney contacted you. There is so much I want to say to you, I don’t know where to begin. Maybe I should start with regrets. I regret that I never got to meet you or have a relationship with you. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but your mother and us, your grandfather and me, had a falling out, and our relationship never recovered.
I tried several times to contact your mother, but she was probably too hurt, too angry, and probably too stubborn (she got that from her daddy) to forgive us of the major mistake we made with her. I’ll get back to that later.
I saw you in person only once. You were just a young thing, but I loved you with all my heart from that moment on. I don’t know if you remember that day, but you and your parents arrived unannounced to introduce you to us. Unfortunately, my husband, your grandfather, was raised by a racist father, and that bigotry spilled down and tainted your grandfather. Please know that I didn’t share his views in that manner. He wasn’t happy that your mother married a black man. I’m sorry. I’ll get back to that later, too.
A Call Away Page 16