Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Summer 1995
There were few things Joanna Griffin liked better than an open road, especially after leaving the congestion of the city. Gridlocked traffic, obnoxious car horns, and sickening exhaust fumes had no place in the stifling humidity of a hot summer day. It didn’t help that earlier, when she’d made her way from the veterinary clinic to her car, a teenager had bumped into her and knocked her fruit basket out of her arms. Mangoes, oranges, and plums flew everywhere, bouncing and rolling across the pavement. By the time Joanna finished picking everything up, she was drenched in sweat, and the kid hadn’t even glanced back to apologize, let alone give her a helping hand. What was the world coming to, when people forgot how to be polite? When they stopped caring about each other?
At least now she was free of stoplights and traffic jams, driving past sprawling green fields and forests on the way north, to her grandfather’s house. It was a special day—an anniversary of sorts—because one year ago, Joanna’s grandmother had passed away after a long and agonizing battle with thyroid cancer. Now her grandfather lived alone in the country house they’d shared for more than fifty years, and every time Joanna walked through the door and saw their large gilt-framed wedding portrait on the wall, her heart frayed a little at the seams.
The house was so quiet these days, like a church with only one person sitting alone, praying in the pews. The absence of aromas from the kitchen, which had always been her grandmother’s domain, made the house feel lonely and abandoned.
A few fat raindrops splattered against Joanna’s windshield, which wrenched her from her thoughts. Leaning over the steering wheel, she peered up at the sky. Angry thunderclouds loomed overhead, and within seconds, a raging downpour began. Joanna touched her foot lightly to the brake pedal and switched her wipers to full speed. They batted back and forth while she gripped the steering wheel and focused all her attention on the road ahead.
Joanna’s grandfather lived in a two-story, centuries-old stone house at the base of a small forested mountain. Out front, an ancient limestone wall with a wooden gate surrounded a well-tended English garden.
When at last she turned onto the gravel drive, the storm was still raging, as if it had singled her out on the highway and followed her like a stalker. Joanna pulled to a halt and shut off the engine, tipped her head back on the seat, and let out a breath of relief to have arrived without having skidded off the motorway.
A sudden, rapid knocking at her window caused her to jump.
It was Grandad peering in at her. He stood outside the car with a red polka-dot umbrella over his head.
She grabbed her purse and the fruit basket and opened the driver’s-side door. “Who ordered this weather?”
“I don’t know, but it’s perfect for the weekend, don’t you think? Couldn’t be more fitting.”
She nodded morosely in agreement and got out of the car. Together, under the umbrella, they dashed to the front door and swept into the foyer like a couple of autumn leaves on a swirling gust of wind. Joanna shut the door behind her and lowered the hood of her trench coat. A fire blazed in the hearth, and the kitchen smelled of cinnamon rolls.
“You’ve been baking,” she said with surprise before turning her eyes to the wedding portrait.
“I couldn’t help myself. It felt like the day needed a marker of some sort, and flowers seemed too easy.”
“Good choice.” Her grandmother’s mouthwatering cinnamon rolls were always just coming out of the oven whenever Joanna had come to visit, ever since she was a young girl.
Her grandad set the open umbrella on the plank floor to drip dry—something Nana would never have permitted, because she positively lived for domestic chores. She was always doing dishes, scrubbing counters and floors, organizing cupboards, or baking bread. As far as Joanna knew, keeping the house clean and orderly was her greatest passion.
“Let me take that for you,” her grandad said, reaching for the fruit basket in her arms. While Joanna removed her coat, he carried the basket to the kitchen and set it on the worktable. “How was your week?”
“Pretty good,” Joanna replied, changing from her shoes into her slippers, which she’d stuffed into her tote bag that morning. “We delivered a foal yesterday.”
“That must have been exciting.”
“It was,” she replied, joining him in the kitchen. “And it was extra special because that baby horse starts a sixth generation in the stables—in a direct line from a horse that was born at the end of the war, on VE Day. They named her Victoria, so this foal is kind of like royalty.”
“Amazing.” Her grandfather gave her shoulder a squeeze. Then he inspected the contents of the fruit basket.
“We’ll need to wash those,” she said. “They fell on the ground.”
He picked up a plum. “This one looks badly bruised, but I’m sure it’ll still taste great.”
“Forever the optimist,” she replied with a grin and turned to watch the rain streaming down the windowpane.
Her grandad clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Well, it’s past five o’clock. How about we brighten things up with an anniversary cocktail?”
Joanna spotted Nana’s sterling-silver drinks tray on the sideboard in the lounge, already set out with a bowl of fresh lemons and an ice bucket. “Gin and tonic, I presume?”
“Her favorite.”
Joanna sat forward on the sofa and raised her tumbler in the air. “To Nana. May we never forget her loving arms and her sweet cinnamon rolls.”
“Cheers to that.”
They clinked glasses and took the first sip.
“Delicious.” Joanna licked her lips, set her glass down on the coffee table, and leaned back against the sofa cushions. “I can’t believe it’s been a whole year, but sometimes it seems longer than that. It feels like forever since she stood in that kitchen.”
“Nana was sick for a long time,” he replied in agreement.
Joanna recalled the years of chemo and radiation therapy, remissions, and relapses. “The last few months were especially rough,” she said, “but this past week I’ve really tried to focus on what we should be grateful for. At least you and Nana got to spend your whole lives together. I hope someday I’ll be as lucky as you and find the great love of my life and grow old with that person. Even if it means saying goodbye at the end. If you think about it, it was a blessing that you were spared this kind of loss until now.”
He took a deep swig of his cocktail and set it down. “I haven’t always been lucky, Joanna. Life is never perfect.”
She realized her gaffe and covered her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m so sorry. Of course you’ve had losses. You lived through a war.”
“It’s not that,” he replied, meeting her gaze.
Joanna regarded him steadily. “Are you going to tell me or leave me guessing?”
He let out a heavy sigh, then reached for her hand and held on to it. “Sweetheart, you say you want to find the great love of your life, but sometimes I worry that you’re waiting for a lightning bolt to strike. Or that you’re too concerned with ... What do you call it? Red flags.”
She shook her head and raised a hand. “No, Grandad. First of all, in my defense, the last few guys I dated were total imbeciles. You’d think so too, if you’d met them. Other than that, I’ve been focused on my career. You know that. You’re the one who encouraged me and supported me through vet school.”
“I understand,” he replied, nodding, “and I’m proud of you. I always wanted you to pursue your passion, whatever it was. But when it comes to love, I sometimes worry that you have unreasonable expectations. Your grandmother and I were ...” He paused. “We had a good life together, but it wasn’t a fairy tale, especially in the beginning.”
Joanna drew back, bewildered. “What are you trying to say?”
He looked down at their hands, still clasped together. “I just want you to understand the reality surrounding our relationship. I’ve known my share of losses, and I’ve certainly made mistakes. Stupid ones.”
“With Nana?”
“No. With someone else.”
Joanna felt her eyes widen. “There was someone else? Someone before Nana?”
“Not exactly before . . .”
Joanna thought suddenly of her grandparents’ wedding portrait in the hall, hung prominently with a beautiful gilt frame, and felt her stomach churn, along with a need to look at it again with fresh eyes. To examine every detail of their wedding day—because what was he hinting at?
“Grandad ... Did you have an affair? Did Nana know?”
Appearing more frustrated than ashamed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was complicated.” Then he stood up and gestured toward Joanna’s empty glass. “Would you like another?”
“Definitely.” She handed her glass to him, then rested her arm along the back of the sofa and watched him move to the drinks tray, unscrew the cap from the gin bottle. “You can’t say something like that to me,” she said, “and leave me hanging. Who was the woman? What happened?”
He dropped a few ice cubes into both glasses and faced her. “How about we cook dinner?”
“Are you joking?”
“No,” he replied. “I’m hungry.”
She shook her head at him. “Only if you promise to tell me more.”
“I will.”
While he finished mixing their drinks, Joanna stood up and wondered how he’d managed to keep this part of his life secret all these years. No one had ever mentioned anything about an affair. She wondered if her own parents knew.
“What was the woman’s name?” she asked.
“Emma.”
“How did you meet her?”
He handed the fresh drink to Joanna and led the way into the kitchen. “My ship ran aground on an island off the coast of Nova Scotia, and she was part of the rescue brigade. It was 1946.”
Joanna’s lips parted. All her thoughts were in a jumble. “And you fell in love with this woman?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Very deeply.” For a moment, he stared at the window, as if he were gazing into the past. “We formed a connection that was ... I can’t really explain it, except that it was very deep over a short period of time. Not exactly love at first sight, but damn close. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
He switched on the oven, then went to the refrigerator and took out a marinated pork tenderloin. Joanna sat down at the table with her drink and waited eagerly to hear more.