by Jenny Hale
His phone went off and he opened up an email. Whatever it was caused him to change course, standing up and zipping his coat. “Hey, I have something to do for work. Mind if I step out for a while?”
“No problem.” She didn’t want to press him anyway if he wasn’t going to tell her whatever was going on. She had enough worries of her own.
“Thanks.” He took his keys from his coat pocket and headed down the steps, leaving Hannah there in a flash.
As his car pulled out of the drive, Hannah went back inside, wondering what all that was about.
“Where’s Liam?” Maura asked.
“He had to leave for something with work.” His quick exit was reminiscent of the rush of the career she’d been swept up in back in New York. She wouldn’t ever allow herself to get that caught up in work again. She went over to the table and picked up Gran’s journal and her new sweater. “I’m going to go take these to my room and have a look at them,” she said.
Maura smiled sympathetically at her daughter. “Sounds good,” she said.
Once she was settled in her room, Hannah opened the journal, interested to learn what Gran had wanted her to know.
Eleven
Hannah lay on her belly and gripped the journal Gran had given her. With a deep breath, she inhaled Gran’s unique scent of lilac and powder that saturated the room, and read the first lines of Gran’s familiar swooping script.
February 14, 1943
I wish I could send something to Charles for Valentine’s Day. I count the days until I can marry him…
Originally, she’d thought Gran was talking about her dad, whose name was Charles, but then she’d written that she’d wanted to marry him. Marry him? The only man Gran had ever married was Pop-pop, and his name had been Warren Langley Townshend. She looked back at the date of the entry: 1943. That was the year Gran had told them all she’d met Pop-pop, right?
So Gran had been in love with someone else right before meeting Pop-pop? And she’d named her child after him? Gran’s comment from earlier tonight came back to Hannah. She’d said the journal was “a collection of all the memories that came before I was your gran.” It was hard to imagine Gran being anyone other than the woman married to Warren, mother of Hannah’s father. Who was she before that? Hannah read on.
Curry’s drug store has chocolates in sampler boxes from twenty cents. It’s more than I should be paying for chocolate right now, with Daddy out of work, but I would if Charles were here, just to show him how much I love him. And I’d also tell him that I stopped into Buxton Floral Co. when I saw their sign that said they would wire flowers. They even assured me of prompt and dependable delivery anywhere. But “anywhere” didn’t include Tunisia. And while it seems silly to send a soldier flowers in the middle of the war, it certainly would brighten up that dirty tent he told me he was sleeping in. But it might also distract him and make him miss home… So instead, I’m spending my twenty cents on a Valentine’s supper for one at the town hall. It’ll be good to get out of the house for a while. Mama and Daddy aren’t going, but they told me to have fun. Fun. That’s not a word I use very much these days.
Hannah set the journal down, rolled onto her back, and hugged one of Gran’s pillows to her chest. While she didn’t like the idea of her eighteen-year-old grandmother not having any fun, Hannah could hear her cheerful disposition even in such a turbulent time. It was a delight to read how innocent she was back then. Just thinking of how Gran wanted to put flowers in a military tent in the middle of World War II made Hannah smile.
She considered what Gran had been going through back then. Hannah could relate to having rough times. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d done something that had made her laugh until she cried, like she had so many times when she was younger. She and Gran used to get to talking about something funny and end up doubled over, gasping for breath, the two of them giggling like schoolgirls. She promised herself right then that she’d do everything in her power to laugh with Gran like that again.
Liam still hadn’t come back from wherever he’d gone, and it was getting late in the evening. Hannah almost texted him, but she figured he was a grown man; he didn’t need her checking up on him. He had enough manners to come back at a decent hour, she was certain.
There was a knock on the doorframe. Hannah twisted around to greet her mother, who was standing in her bathrobe and slippers, holding her nightly glass of water that she’d always taken to bed.
“I was just checking on you,” Maura said. “You’ve been in here since dinner, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She came in and sat down on the bed. “I know how hard Gran’s situation must be for you. There’s no way to prepare for something like this.”
“It’s making me question everything.” Hannah pushed the journal to the side and sat up next to her mom. “I need to tell you about yesterday,” she said. She told her mother about what had happened with Miles.
“My goodness. That’s a lot to handle,” her mother said. “How are you holding up?”
“As good as I can be. I need to be strong for Gran,” Hannah told her.
Her mother sat, thoughtful, her hands wrapped around her glass of water. “I never got to meet Miles,” Maura said. She huffed out an expression of resentment.
Hannah ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m so sorry I didn’t bring him home.”
Maura frowned. “Doesn’t matter now.”
“It does matter that I never brought him to meet you. I’m sorry I stayed away so long. I should’ve been better.”
Maura smiled affectionately at her daughter. “We spend our lives trying to be better people than the ones we are now. That’s all we can do.”
“I missed you,” Hannah told her, basking in the wisdom only a mother could offer.
“Aw, honey, I missed you too.” Maura leaned over and kissed the top of her head like she had when Hannah was young. “I wish I could shield you from all the pain that life can bring,” her mother said, “and I know I can’t. But your dad and I are here whenever you need us.” She patted Hannah’s hand. “How are you really? Are you doing okay?”
“I feel like I spent so long and wasted so much precious time trying to make things work between Miles and me, and it was all for nothing,” she admitted. Tears welled up in her eyes unexpectedly.
Maura scooted closer to her. “It wasn’t for nothing,” she said gently. “All this is supposed to teach you something. Every step in life is a teaching moment—we just have to figure out what we were meant to learn from it.”
“Maybe it was teaching me not to waste my time,” Hannah said. She wiped her tear away.
Her mother nodded lovingly. “You could be right. You’ve had a setback, but now maybe it’s time to dial in to that inner drive you have.”
“Yeah…” Hannah said, considering what she even wanted. “I’m at a loss for what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Maybe it’s because the future is wide open. God’s giving you time to deal with what you’ve got on your plate right now before you start your next journey.”
“Maybe,” Hannah said, grateful for her mother’s insight. She always knew just what to say.
Maura eyed the journal. “Anything interesting in there?” she asked with a wink.
“Definitely,” Hannah replied, picking up the book and fanning the pages with her thumb.
Her mother wiggled her eyebrows. “Well, enjoy it. I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” She stood up and started toward the door.
“Good night,” Hannah told her, feeling a little lighter after their talk. As her mom left, she opened up Gran’s journal and began to read another entry, hoping to escape her thoughts for a while.
February 27, 1943
I can’t stop staring at the letter sitting at the top of my trash bin. I know that I’m being selfish to even contemplate feeling sorry for myself, but the tears come anyway. Maybe my emotion is displaced. Perhaps my tears fall for my love. Charles has
been on the front lines in Tunisia without word for weeks, and I have no idea if he’s all right. This war is definitely hitting us all hard, but our armed forces are taking the worst of it for us, for which I should be grateful. All I have to be anxious about is the acceptance letter to Saint Joseph College for Women in my trash can that will never be answered, and my awful boss James Williams on the assembly line at the metal company. But I’m safe and well, and I’m able to help provide for my family.
Wow, Hannah thought. She knew Gran had never gone to college, but what Gran hadn’t told her was that she’d given up a place to work on a factory assembly line during World War II to help her family. Hannah couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like to have the kind of pressure that Gran was under.
Just then, Liam’s headlights flashed through Hannah’s window, so she got off the bed and headed to the front door. When he started up the walk, Hannah opened it, standing in the doorway.
“Sorry that took me so long,” he said.
“No problem,” she returned. “Well, I think I’m going to head to bed. It’ll be so nice to sleep in a familiar bed tonight.”
Liam grinned. “No spiders.”
The memory of their kiss in the middle of the night floated into her mind. “Definitely no spiders.”
They shared a moment, both of them looking at one another, and she felt as though he had words on his lips just like she did. But instead, he offered her an uneasy smile. Hannah turned away from him and locked the door. They walked quietly down the hallway, neither of them saying anything more.
“Good night,” she finally said, as she left him at his bedroom and headed down to Gran’s room.
“Good night,” he returned from the hall.
Hannah closed the door to Gran’s room and flopped onto the bed, her mind whirring again with Liam’s presence. She squeezed her eyes shut to try to clear her mind. She’d just read one more entry to help her sleep…
March 3, 1943
I got a letter from Charles! I’m so excited I can hardly mind my manners! I went screaming through the house and scared Mama half to death. Here’s what Charles wrote:
We’re quite safe at the moment and I’m thinking of you, wondering if you’ve changed at all. Just wait until you see how different I am after being here, Faye. I’m skinnier now, and my hair is much shorter, but I love you just the same. I’ve told the other guys about you. With them around all the time, it’s a wonder I have time to miss you so much, but I do and I’m glad they distract me when they can. It keeps me from thinking of everything I’m missing back home in Kentucky. How about that school you wanted to go to for art? I’ll bet you’re already packed by now. Let me know all about it. I’m excited to hear about you and what you’re doing, and I can’t wait to come home to you.
What had happened between Gran and Charles? She scanned the entry again, the last sentence blurring in front of her tired eyes: I can’t wait to come home to you… She set the journal beside her and changed into her pajamas. Her thoughts still on Gran’s story, she clicked off the bedside lamp, crawled into bed, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t wait to visit Gran tomorrow so she could ask her about Charles.
Twelve
“Hey,” Liam said tentatively, as he met Hannah in the hallway the next morning. He was already dressed, hair combed, clean-shaven. There was caution in his approach.
“Good morning,” she said, crossing her arms over her pink heart-covered flannel pajama shirt. “Heading out so soon?” she asked. She took a step toward him, but he backed up, giving her pause.
“I’m all packed,” he said, the look in his eyes warning her of something. “My bags are in the car. Thank you for your hospitality last night. It was truly appreciated.”
“You’re leaving now?” she asked, not even trying to hide her confusion. “But your mother isn’t home yet, right?”
“Hannah…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to find the words for what he wanted to convey. “I can’t be what you need right now, and we have to stop before things go any further.”
“What?” Her mind was still clouded from sleep.
“I’m not… available,” he blurted.
She stared at him. Moments from their time together flashed through her mind as she tried to understand his abrupt change in mood. Then his mother’s voice—have you considered going to see someone?—rushed into her consciousness. As in counseling? Marriage counseling? Fear washed over her.
“Are you still married?” she asked before her mind could run too wild. Surely, he’d set her straight.
Not only did he not deny it, the hesitation and remorse on his face was enough to cause Hannah to stumble backwards. She leaned against the wall for support. After everything with Miles, Liam had moved in on her, letting her believe he cared, all the while knowing what she’d been through. How cruel could one person be?
Her face contorted with anger. She tried to keep her voice down so she wouldn’t wake up her parents, but she wanted to scream at him. How dare he lie to her?
This was not the boy she’d known. She stared into his eyes, questioning everything. An ache scratched at her insides, making her feel as if a cosmic force had just jumbled the puzzle pieces of her life and left them scattered on the floor.
“Hannah, I shouldn’t have… I’m so sorry.” He reached out to her, but she jerked away. “I needed to stop this before it got out of hand,” he said. “It already has…” He shook his head, wrestling with his thoughts.
“Yeah,” she said deadpan, her complete disgust with the situation making her unable to emote. “Just go.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said gently, but she ignored the pain on his face because he’d brought it all on himself.
When he walked out the front door, she didn’t even bother to watch him leave.
Hannah had put on clothes and brushed her teeth on autopilot, her mind in a fog. And now she sat at the kitchen table, crossing her arms over the new sweater she’d gotten for her birthday. While her mother made them a cup of coffee, she’d explained what had happened this morning with Liam, the disbelief of it still stinging.
A light knock at the back door in the kitchen stopped their conversation. Ethan stood on the other side of the glass, holding a box.
“Are those what I think they are?” Maura asked, getting up and opening the door. “Tell me you brought us freshly made cinnamon donuts,” she said.
“You know I don’t come over before noon empty handed,” Ethan said, setting the box on the table and opening it up, the buttery, sugary scent of fried dough wafting through the cold air around them and making Hannah’s tummy growl.
He plopped down in the chair next to Hannah. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, reaching in, and pinching a tiny donut between his fingers. He had on the mechanic’s uniform from his dad’s body shop: a dark-gray button-up with the logo on a patch over the right side of his chest. His father, Ardy Wright, had worn that uniform for as long as she could remember. It was strange to see Ethan in it.
“You working with your dad today?” Hannah asked.
“Every day,” he said.
Hannah nodded and reached for a donut. The only time she’d ever seen Ethan get heated was when he talked to his dad about the future. Ethan was artistic, his creative genes making him appear to be all over the place, his attention span jumping from one idea to another. He didn’t sit still well, and he was always buzzing around, so tedious mechanic work wasn’t his strong suit—but when he was painting, he was the stillest and most focused she’d ever seen him.
His dad would tell him, “You can’t raise a family throwing paint on walls, son. You need to have an honest profession where you put in a full day’s work, every day. Some kids would die to have a father who’s willing to just hand over his business…”
“The shop is your life, Dad,” Ethan would argue. “Not mine.”
Ethan took another donut from the box then slid it toward the middle of the table. “You goin’ to see your gran today?�
�� he asked Hannah.
Hannah nodded. “So explain to me exactly what’s wrong with Gran, Mama,” Hannah said with a deep breath, to steady herself for what her mother was going to tell her.
“Her heart isn’t working like it should,” her mother said, the sadness in her words causing her face to slacken, showing her age. Maura’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away, clearly trying to keep it together for Hannah’s benefit. She picked at her donut.
“By the time I got here, she was coughing terribly and had swelling in her legs.” Maura traced the rim of her coffee cup, faint lines forming around her lips as she pouted to keep in the emotion. “She was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. They’re monitoring her and running tests to see if they can do anything for her.”
Hannah covered her mouth as if that would keep the fear from escaping. “Oh my God,” she said through her fingers. Ethan put his arm around her shoulders protectively.
“We don’t know what the outcome of this will be, but she’s ninety-five, Hannah. I think it’s important to spend as much time with her as you can over the next few days. Read her journal if that’s what she wants you to do. She’d asked me about fifteen times if I’d found it. Get all your family questions answered. And show her how much you love her.”
Her mother had only taken that tone twice in Hannah’s life: once, when Hannah was eight and a tornado had ripped through their neighborhood, her mother had gathered Hannah, her father, and her childhood dog, and they’d hunkered down in the closet under the stairs as the house shook. The second time was when her father had had his heart attack. That phone call at nearly midnight was still fresh in Hannah’s mind.