I knew how hard it was to admit something like that. I had some ‘hitters’ when I was in foster care. There’s always a part inside a kid that blames themselves for whatever shit rains down. But hearing it from this big ox was like reliving a horrible nightmare. I reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze.
He took it as a cue to continue. “Things went on like that, or worse, for donkey’s years. Just me and my brother for each other. Close we were. Twins, ya know. Fraternal. When we was thirteen, everything changed. I got caught stealing food at a farmer’s market. The stall owner’s effin’ and blindin’, cuffing me about. Out of nowhere, Edna butted in. Didn’t know me from Adam, but she’s saying she sent me to shop for her. She’s waving pound notes about, for payment. That shut the feller’s gob all right.” Orin smiled at the memory. “Then she pulls me aside, why’s it I had to steal food, and all? I kinda broke down a bit, telling her true. By the time I finished, she pulled me into a hug and said she’s got the means and whatnot to get me out of there. She took me back to our kip and starts twistin’ hay on me Da. If he raised a peep, she’ll have the peelers on his arse. Meanwhile, I grab me brother, and just like that, Edna whisks us off to that grand fine house of hers.”
A grand fine house?Just how grand are we talking?
“Your grandmother taught us both to be proper gentlemen,” he went on. ”Even when we made ‘questionable choices’, and no shortage of those. But, she was there for us. Be it comforting, or dishing up a proper punishment, but always in the right proportion, yeah? Special woman she was… and I’ll always miss her.”
A choked-up noise broke loose, and as hard as I tried to hold it back, I got a little weepy. “I’m sorry,” I said, snorting back a sob. “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you.” But the real shitty part was: yes I could. “You didn’t have to relive all that for me.”
“Ah, stop the apologizing. Edna never put up with whinging. “Move on,” she’d say, “and resolve to be better people for it.”"
If only she’d said it to me, I thought. “I don’t know what’s worse... not knowing your family, or having one that’s a total shit show. All I’ve heard about my parents is they died when I was three. No one ever told me I even had a grandmother.” I paused. This was hard, but I had to ask. “Did she ever mention me? Or my mother?”
“Well... er...” Orin didn’t want to say it. “Not… directly, anyway. But I always had a feeling she was looking for something in the future. Maybe that something was you?”
“Hmm. Thanks for that. But it’s kind of ridiculous to bullshit me,” I grumbled. “I mean, why wouldn’t she mention me? If she cared. Hell, she knew enough to write me into her will...”
“Well... shows you meant something to her.”
“Does it?” I thought to myself, she sounded wonderful, but… “She could have come to get me,” I blurted. “If she knew that much, why wouldn’t she?” Shaking my head, “I just don’t get it. I don’t do cryptic bullshit well.” Never mind that cryptic bullshit had a tendency to follow me everywhere I went.
“Keira, I… The Edna I knew? She’d have a damn good reason.”
Really? What could that reason have been? I stared out at the countryside, fuming silently. I wished I could remember my parents. Perhaps it was a mercy I couldn’t. For all I knew I could have been born into a hippy commune, or a cult of religious fanatics, or satanists. Maybe my family history was better left a mystery.
…But that never stopped me from wondering.
◆◆◆
Slowly, the building density increased, and I got the feeling we’d made it to the town. Breaking the silence, I asked “What’s this place called again?”
“Westhaven,” Orin replied. Simple enough.
I was pleased at the town’s vibe – it looked like a good mix of homes and local businesses. Nothing chain store or cookie cutter about it. Every building on the main street was unique, blending this and that from times before. No sprawl, not clutter. A place where one could relax, or even cut loose, depending on the mood. Still, there was heavy business to be done, and I didn’t give myself any hope that I’d be doing much relaxing.
A couple miles after we’d passed through the town, Orin pulled off into a long driveway. It was overgrown with branches and bushes in need of a good trim. I tried to catch a glimpse of the house, but large oaks loomed on either side of the road, bumpy from roots pushing through. When we finally made it out of the tangle, I saw open fields of brilliant greens and scattered wildflowers that went on farther than my eyes could see. We crested a small rise.
Finally, I saw our destination. My grandmother’s house.
Woah doggies...
After the mess of the tangled forest, I was stunned at how manicured and well-kept the grounds were. The grand sweep of the gravel driveway formed a wide oval in front of the house, with an intricately carved stone fountain in the center. As I got out of the truck, I could hardly take in all the details of the gigantic house. I was expecting something more ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ Even something that had maybe seen better days or whatever... But this?
No… not this.
A towering eighteenth-century Georgian manor whose faded red brick wore its age well. It was at least three stories high, judging from the windows, which were sprawled expansively from side to side. An overhanging portico above the front door was supported by two white doric columns. The roof was a weathered gray slate, with four great chimneys poking from
