She pushed her hands into her pockets. What could she say? That maybe she was his granddaughter? She sucked in a tiny breath and hesitated; she could hear birds far up in the trees.
Taking heart from their noisy chitter-chatter, she let her words ride out on a soft exhale. “I think we may be related,” she said.
Chapter III.
Otto swayed. Jilly feared he would fall down and she crossed the yard to take hold of his arm. “You aren’t okay. Look, I’m not trying to—to—do anything wrong. I’m just here to visit you.” She looked around desperately. “Is there anybody else here?” The thought that her mother might actually be here darted into her head quick as a hummingbird.
Otto shook his head, still staring at her as though thunderstruck.
“Do you want to go inside? Or at least sit on the porch?” Jilly asked. She didn’t think it was exactly good manners to invite herself into somebody else’s house. She hung onto his arm as he made his way across the lawn and then sank down on a droopy porch step.
“Can I get you anything?” She wondered if he took medicine, if he carried one of those tiny dark glass vials of white pills for his heart. That would be her luck, to have him drop dead of a heart attack right before her eyes.
Otto shook his head. He closed his eyes for a minute and then opened them and stared directly at her. “Maybe you ought to tell me why you’re here.”
Jilly bit her bottom lip and returned his stare before she sat down on the grass at the foot of the steps. How to begin? she wondered. She might as well tell him the plain facts and see what he had to say.
“Yesterday you called me Jane Sandra,” she began. She saw him give a visible start at the name and went on doggedly. “And when I saw you, and when you called me—that name—and I saw how tall you were, like me, I thought to myself that you might be—” She quit talking. The whole thing sounded incredibly stupid now that she was trying to explain. She wrapped her hands around her legs and rested her chin on her knees.
“Go on,” Otto said. His face had gone a chalky gray-white color, his lips barely a discernible shade darker.
“I thought you might be my grandfather,” Jilly said simply. She raised her head as she looked at him and the breeze pushed her hair back, the scent of sun-warmed grass filling her nostrils. She wished she could make time stop, this time before Otto answered, and live here in this space where right now in this one brief glorious moment she felt alive with possibilities, felt as though things could happen that might change her life forever.
Because once Otto answered, there was no going back.
She breathed in deeply through her nose and the moment crystallized then shattered.
Tears ran down Otto’s cheeks, glided into the crevices beside his eyes, slipped down the age-wrinkles of his cheeks, and turned his eyes a brilliant shiny blue.
“Oh, hey . . .” she whispered, her throat painful and tight. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’ll go now. I’m sorry,” she stammered. She scrambled to her feet, truly regretful she hurt this old man whose white hair floated like attached clouds around his head.
Otto cleared his throat. “No! Don’t go.” He reached into his back pocket and dug out a ragged bleached-blue bandana. He blew his nose, honking loudly. “Janey hasn’t been here in years. Why would she send—” He stared at her. “I never thought she’d—” He blew again into a clean place on the bandana, as though simply the thought of Jane Sandra could bring on waves of tears. He squeezed his eyes shut and cleared his throat before he looked at her again and said, “I’ve been out here alone for so long, I’d forgotten what it was like—” He smiled down at her. “Since Jane Sandra and her mother left, I’d forgotten what it was supposed to be like to have family. Maybe Janey thought that, too. Maybe that’s why she sent you.”
Jilly’s breath hitched in, a painful burst of pure oxygen that left her feeling lightheaded. He thought Jane Sandra sent her out here. He thought she knew him. She had to tell him the truth. “She—I—”
“I’m glad you’ve come here, Jilly.” Otto stood up and tucked his bandana into his back pocket. “Maybe we can get to know each other. Maybe things can be fixed.” But he seemed uncertain. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, and she could see his fists, his knuckles hard ridges under the cloth. “You’ll stay for a nice visit, won’t you?”
*
The morning went by quickly; Otto gave her the grand tour, as he called it, showing her the dilapidated barn, so run-down its sides were collapsed in like a house of cards. Inside was an old tractor, half-painted a brilliant red.
“I must’ve been painting that!” Otto exclaimed.
He looked so astounded Jilly thought he might strike his forehead in amazement.
“There’s a bunch of paint over there,” she said. About twenty gallon cans of paint, all with various colors drip-dried around their edges, were stacked in one corner.
She wondered if Otto suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, what she sincerely thought was called ‘Old-Timer’s disease’ when she was younger. Maybe that’s what Ned meant when he said folks thought Otto was crazy. He certainly did have a problem remembering things, but she didn’t see any other signs of the problem. Weren’t old folks with Alzheimer’s supposed to do crazy things like pee in the corner of their bedrooms and put the cat in the refrigerator?
“I’ll come back later this afternoon to work on that,” Otto muttered as he reached out and patted the front of the tractor. He walked out of the barn and Jilly followed him. Together they walked into the field behind the barn. The land stretched out and seemed to roll on for acres, and they followed a trampled path in the green meadow that led to a neglected apple orchard.
“This is all yours?” Jilly asked, lifting one hand up to shield her eyes as she gazed out toward the house and barn in the distance.
“I still have a hundred acres, give or take a few,” Otto told her. “The land’s not being used now. You can see that. But back then the whole place was a working farm.”
Jilly peered over at him. Back when? she wanted to ask, but Otto was wrapped up in his own thoughts. She knew he was probably referring to the time when Jane Sandra lived here with him—when his wife was here, too.
Guilt sucked at her stomach. She was going straight to hell for the lies she was making up.
She ought to tell him; she knew she should.
But this was so nice, this being together.
And he might be her grandfather for real. And if he wasn’t, well, she wasn’t really hurting anyone, was she? It wasn’t as if she deliberately told a lie to trick him into giving her something.
She reached up and picked an apple from a nearby tree, examining it for worm holes before she took a bite. The skin was green, the apple bitter but juicy. The flavor mixed in with the taste of the lie she was holding on the back of her tongue.
But she couldn’t bring herself to confess. Not now.
Later.
Later today….
Or tomorrow. She would tell him everything tomorrow.
Otto laughed when she screwed up her face at the taste. “They sweeten up as the summer wears on.”
“What do you do with all of them?” she asked, waving her hand at the apples that weighted the boughs.
He paused as though she asked him something hard, something confusing, but he only said, “I used to make applesauce, and apple cider, and apple pie, and dried apples, but I don’t—I haven’t—but not so much anymore. Nowadays I think the deer come and feast.”
Jilly liked the thought of wild deer coming to feed on the apples. “Do you see a lot of deer?” She hoped so; she wanted to see one for herself.
“Since you’re staying a few days, you’ll learn the lay of the land. There’s more to see. There’s bee hutches further out in the left field.” He paused. “Stay out of the right field, though. There’s nothing out there.”
Jilly nodded. “Otto?”
“Yep,” he said, as if she were asking if that was his name.
She half-smiled. “No. I mean -- I wanted to ask you a question.”
He turned to face her, his eyes and face unreadable.
“It’s about – ah—Jane Sandra …
Otto pursed his lips together. “It’s nice you’ve come to visit, but I’m surprised she let you since she hasn’t been back here for years.”
“How long?” Jilly asked, ignoring the sick feeling that crept into her belly. She knew she should tell him now, knew she was being dishonorable.
“She didn’t tell you?” Otto thought for a minute. “It’s been nigh on twenty years. I haven’t seen her, and I haven’t heard from her.” He took off walking toward the house. “And it’s probably for the best.” His stride was long and loose and he called back over his shoulder, “You want some lunch, you come with me.”
Jilly hesitated. She stared at his broad back.
Questions could wait until later, she decided, and she ran to catch up with him.
Otto led the way into the house.
Jilly followed him, bouncing dangerously on the two front steps that threatened to give way entirely beneath her weight.
“Careful there,” Otto said. He gave the screen door a yank and it popped open. “You ever have cornbread and fresh honey?”
Jilly had time to notice a broken porch swing lying at the far end of the deck with chunks of wood stacked within its arms before she followed him inside and then stopped dead.
She stood in the kitchen and gawked. This had to be the darkest, dingiest kitchen she’d ever been in. There wasn’t a speck of color anywhere. Even the curtains were a faded shade of beige that blended perfectly into the faded beige of the walls. The color, or lack of color, did not come from dirt. It was more like every bit of cheer had been bleached out of the house, as if years had passed and no one had ever taken up a paintbrush or replaced sun-stained curtains.
Nigh on twenty years, Jilly thought. She peeked around and noticed the same non-color in the living room. Even the furniture was the shade and texture of nothing at all. Why had Mrs. Beckinhide left with Jane Sandra all those years ago?
Jilly didn’t dare ask. She didn’t want to see those tears come rushing into Otto’s sky-blue eyes.
Otto rummaged around in the pot-bellied refrigerator, poked his head out, and cracked two eggs into a mixing bowl he had sitting on the counter. He added a splash of milk. He busily mixed everything together with a fork.
“Cornbread,” he told her. “We’ll have some with butter and honey. And cold milk. There isn’t anything better.”
“Okay,” Jilly said. “Can I help?”
“Nothing to it,” Otto said, pouring the batter into a cast iron skillet sitting on the stove top. He popped the whole thing into the oven.
“We just have to let it bake about twenty minutes,” he told her. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me how you came to be here.”
Jilly sat down at the kitchen table. She didn’t want to tell him she wasn’t certain he was her grandfather. Not now.
Not now.
Not yet.
The two sets of words tapped into her brain with the same beat as her heart.
What she needed to do was buy some time, enough time to figure out if he really was her grandfather.
“I came out here to visit you,” she said, which wasn’t a lie—not in the strictest sense of the word, “because I wanted to get to know my family.”
Otto nodded. “That’s a good thing. Family can be a way to save yourself sometimes.” His eyes darkened momentarily. “Or they can be the death of everything you ever wanted.”
Jilly blinked. “I’m not sure. . . .”
“No, I don’t imagine you know what I mean, and I hope you never do.” Otto pinched his lips together briefly before he asked in a stern voice, “You didn’t run away from Jane Sandra, did you?”
Jilly felt her eyes widening, helpless to stop the feigned look of innocence.
Otto reached over and patted her hand. “I’m only asking because you seem to be—well—a bit skittish. Worried-like.” He cleared his throat and pulled his hand away. “I wouldn’t turn you away, in any case. But it’s best I know where things stand.”
“I didn’t run away from Jane Sandra,” she told him.
The true statement felt like a lie against her tongue, but Otto simply nodded.
“After all these years . . .” He trailed off and his eyes glazed as though he was looking at a movie screen that played the past. With a visible effort, he returned his attention to her. “I can’t help but hope this is our fresh start, Jilly. A fresh start for our family. And it will be so good to see Janey again—”
“She’s coming?” Jilly gasped.
“When she comes to pick you up,” Otto said reasonably. “Until then, let’s leave the past in the past. That will be soon enough to dredge up old hurts.”
He stood up. “Why don’t you get a couple glasses out of that cupboard, and I’ll mix up some honey-butter for our cornbread?”
Jilly jumped up to get the glasses. Obviously, he wasn’t too keen on talking about the past. He had his own secrets haunting him.
Chapter IV.
Jilly woke up the next morning and immediately smiled. She heard Otto tinkering in the kitchen downstairs and could smell the scent of bacon wafting into her room. Otto had let her pick out a room upstairs last night, wished her goodnight, and went to bed as the sun was setting. She’d been so tired, she’d done the same, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She felt totally refreshed now; morning brought confirmation of her accomplishment. She’d done it. She’d found, if not her mother, at least a relative—and Otto had to be her grandfather, didn’t he? He never would have invited her to stay otherwise.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Today she’d get Otto to talk about Jane Sandra, and somehow she’d find out if he knew where Jane Sandra was now, without letting him know she hadn’t a clue herself. Then she’d find out why Jane Sandra hadn’t been back here to see Otto in almost twenty years—probably more like sixteen years, Jilly thought. And in doing so, she’d prove for certain Otto really was her grandfather.
Jilly truly hoped he was because, even now, after one short day together, she felt different. She felt like she belonged—to a family and to a place—for the first time in her life. She honestly liked Otto, even though there were times when he reminded her of the walking wounded. Her heart had lifted every time she caught him smiling at her yesterday, as though the two of them shared something good and true. She stood up, gave an enormous slant-eyed grin at her reflection in the murky mirror above the dresser, and got dressed. Maybe Otto and she could finish painting the tractor today. Maybe he’d even teach her to drive it.
Driving a tractor, even a 1947 International Super-C classic, as Otto had informed her, sounded like fun. And afterwards, maybe she could start to wash the windows in the house. She’d learned to keep house pretty well what with her job with the Kendrews and all the different foster families she’d lived with. In fact, housecleaning chores seemed to be the staple assignment for foster kids, or at least it was with her. Every place she’d ever lived at, and there had been over a dozen, had assigned her cleaning duties. She didn’t especially like doing dishes or vacuuming, or dusting, or washing windows, but this was different: she’d never been related to somebody whose windows she’d washed before! She wandered down the stairs, idly wondering if Otto had a radio somewhere, and walked into the kitchen. Work always went better with music.
Otto was standing with his back to her, putting his plate into the sink. He turned back toward the table, toward her, and Jilly smiled in anticipation.
“Yaaahhhh,” Otto screamed when he looked at her.
Jilly jumped in fright. “What?” She darted forward, her feet skidding noisily on the cracked linoleum floor. “Is there something on me? Is it a bug?” She shuddered and brushed at her arms. “A spider?” She hated spiders! Creepy, long-legged—
“Wh
o the hell are you?” Otto asked, clutching his chest.
Jilly froze. “What do you mean? It’s me. Jilly,” she told him. She stopped swatting at imaginary bugs.
Otto looked at her suspiciously. “Jilly?” He reached forward and placed both hands on the back of the kitchen chair. “Jilly who?”
“Are you kidding around?” Jilly asked hopefully. Let him say he was joking, she prayed. Just this once, God, let something go the way she wished.
Otto didn’t say a word.
“Oh my God!” She dropped into the nearest kitchen chair. “You don’t remember me?” That was impossible, wasn’t it? She stared over at Otto who had followed her lead and sat down. His hands jittered on the tabletop.
He shook his head, and his cloud-hair swayed around his ears. “Who are you?” he asked again.
“I’m Jilly Sanders,” she said, her voice weary. She didn’t know if she could explain anew about the grandfather thing. What if he cried again? What if he denied everything and she was left once again without a place to go?
He nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
“I came to visit yesterday, and you asked me to stay for a while, to visit.” She raised her eyebrows. “Remember?” Even she could detect the note of desperation in her voice.
His face remained neutral. At least he wasn’t screaming in denial, Jilly thought. She couldn’t leave him hanging, though. No matter what it cost, she had to tell him the rest.
“We thought—” She swallowed. “I thought you were my grandfather.”
Otto’s eyes widened and his lips moved as though he were trying to say something. “Jane Sandra?” he whispered, his face the color of a sudden dusk.
Jilly nodded miserably. This was her just punishment: having to live through her deception once again.
“Well . . .” Otto looked around the kitchen, avoiding her eyes temporarily, then faced her abruptly. Two high spots of color rode across his cheekbones. “Well, all right then. Do you call me Grandpa?”
I Love You, Jilly Sanders Page 3