Chapter Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
“So,” I say to Grand as soon as we’re inside her town house with the front door locked behind us. “You need to tell me where The Madonna is. And you need to do it right now.”
“But—”
“No, no buts. Clearly, it’s hidden somewhere that no one, including me, could figure out.”
“I was just trying to protect you.”
“Well, I think that ship has sailed. Is it here in Florida? Or at your place in Atlanta? Or in some kind of safe-deposit box? Does it even exist at all?”
Grand sighs. Her shoulders sag. For a moment I almost feel guilty for pressing her on this after all she’s just been through. But not knowing where The Madonna was hidden proved to be just as dangerous as knowing, maybe even more so.
“Seriously, Grand. You know the media is already all over this. There’s no way Mom isn’t aware of what happened. If you don’t tell me right now, I’m going to call her and ask her to fly down immediately to deal with you herself.”
This time her sigh is far more heartfelt.
“I mean it, Grand. No amount of sighing is going to stop me from telling her how much we need her. In fact, I think we should call her right this minute to find out how quickly she can get on a flight down.” I pick up my cell phone to prove that I’m serious.
“No. There’s no need for that. And I don’t need to tell you when I can show you.” She motions me to follow her up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she leads me to her dresser. Carefully she pulls open the middle drawer, which is filled with bras and what can only be called “granny panties.”
“But this is your underwear drawer.”
“Exactly.” She pulls out her underclothes and sets them on top of the dresser. “I figured even thieves would be reluctant to handle an old woman’s underclothes. Then she reaches into the empty drawer, removes what turns out to be a false bottom, and pulls out a rolled-up canvas, which she places face up on the bedspread, securing the corners with bed pillows.
When I look down into The Madonna ’s face, my grandmother’s eyes, young and mischievous, stare up at me. A soft smile tugs at her lips. Anyone who knew my grandmother at this age would have recognized her. In the bottom-right corner, where she always signed her work, Phillip Drake’s signature is painted over a patch of dark paint.
· · ·
Five days later, Grand’s town house has begun to feel less like a haven and more like a prison.
For the first few days after Grand revealed her Madonna to me, we were content to lie around, protected from the horde of reporters by off-duty friends of Luke’s.
“I don’t think I’m winning any neighbor of the month awards,” Grand observes as she peers out the kitchen window to her driveway, where reporters continue to jostle for position.
“I don’t know, I think your neighbors have been pretty understanding, considering what’s been going on out there.”
“True,” she concedes.
“And after her initial freak-out, Mom’s done a lot better than I expected.”
“Also true,” Grand agrees. “I was afraid she was going to insist on coming down.”
I keep waiting for Grand to break down or wake up in the night screaming, but while she’s tired and a little more tentative than usual, I’m the one who can’t seem to let go of what happened. Or the guilt I feel for allowing it to happen at all.
“I don’t get it, Grand. How can you be so calm? You must have been scared to death when they snatched you.”
“It was definitely frightening, sweetheart,” she admits. “But it isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I was betrayed by the man who claimed to love me. Then I lost the man I shared my life with and loved completely.” She smiles. “People threatening my life? Scary. But I’ve lived a long and mostly wonderful life. I’ve done the things I wanted to. Fulfilled pretty much every one of my dreams. While I’m hugely relieved that we both made it out of there in one piece, I’m not afraid of dying. I’d rather go out when I’m still me than linger until I’m someone no one, including me, recognizes.”
“How on earth did you get so wise?” I throw my arms around her and sob uncontrollably as the full reality of what could have happened to both of us grabs hold of me yet again.
“Shhh…it’s all right.” Grand holds me until I finally sniff to a stop.
“I’m not ‘wise,’ sweetheart. I’ve just been around for a really, really long time. And I’ve learned to keep an open mind. And to appreciate how lucky I am to have family and friends who love me.”
I sleep through the night for the first time since Grand was abducted, and I wake up refreshed. When I glance out the bedroom window, there are fewer reporters, which makes me believe that sometime soon Grand and I will be able to leave the house without an audience. We’re lounging in the living room with our coffee when Stan, the policeman currently out front, calls me on my cell phone. “Someone named Kyra is here to see you,” he says quietly. “She says she’s a friend of yours.”
“ She is. Please send her in. But don’t say her name out loud again.”
“Are you sure?” He lowers his voice even further. “I’m pretty sure she’s wearing a disguise. And, um, she’s been handing out sunflowers to everyone in the crowd.”
I smile, eager to see what kind of disguise Kyra’s got going this time. “Then that’s definitely Kyra. Please let her in.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Moments later a pregnant flower child steps off the stairs and into the living room. A large straw hat shadows her face while long blond hair falls almost to her waist. She’s wearing a gauzy off-the-shoulder top, long flowing skirt, and Birkenstock sandals. Her hands are clasped around a bunch of sunflowers, and she has a shit-eating grin on her face, which even without makeup is beautiful.
As the mother of megastar Daniel Deranian’s “love child,” Kyra has received more than anyone’s fair share of attention, much of it negative. Like Daniel, who has often shown up in disguise to see his son without alerting the media, Kyra has learned that sometimes, in order to fly under the radar, it’s best to become someone less paparazzi-worthy.
“Wow!” I say. “If I didn’t know you, I wouldn’t have known you.”
“That’s good. I didn’t want to give the vultures out there anything else to pounce on,” she says as she removes the hat.
“That’s very thoughtful of you. But I kind of wish you’d come as a sumo wrestler or the Jolly Green Giant so you could mow down at least a few of them on your way in.”
“I hear you.” She gives Grand and me big hugs and a sunflower. Then she kicks off the Birkenstocks, turns her back to reach under her skirt to remove the pillow stuffed under it, and drops into a chair. “I’m beyond thrilled to see you both alive. Now tell me all about your ‘adventure.’?”
“Oh, I don’t know if Grand wants—” I begin.
“It’s all right,” Grand interrupts. “Sometimes it’s better to talk about it than to keep it in.”
Once again, I’m shocked that my grandmother has it so “together.” I only hope some of her philosophy of life rubs off on me. Surely there must be a chance, given that we share the same DNA.
“All right, then,” I say. “CliffsNotes: These people who wanted a painting of Grand’s took her hostage and demanded that I bring them the painting. They said that if I didn’t bring the painting, they were going to kill her.”
Kyra’s eyes grow big.
“Only I couldn’t find the painting they wanted, so I went in with a blank rolled-up canvas and hoped that I could hand it over and bluff our way out of there before they discovered it wasn’t the painting they wanted.”
“And you were able to do that? Bluff your way out?” Kyra asks.
“Not exactly,” I admit.
“So why did they let you go?”
“They didn’t,” Grand replies. “But Sydney managed to smuggle in a pistol in her boot, and quick as a flash, she wounded and disarmed the kidnappers before they could even unroll it.”
“Holy shit! No wonder the media is after you.”
“Yeah. We’ve been trapped in here ever since. But I have to admit that shooting our way out of there was really empowering. I discovered that I’d learned a lot more from playing Cassie all those years than I realized.”
“Interesting.” Kyra smiles.
“Yeah.” I smile back. “Now, tell us what’s going on in your world. It would be a lovely break from ours at the moment.”
“Well, let’s see. Troy and I are editing the video of the Y’s grand opening. We’re going to work it into an episode of Do Over .”
“Cool!”
“And Dustin?” Grand asks. “How’s he doing?”
“Good.” Kyra smiles. “Despite all the unwanted attention he still gets, he’s pretty down to earth.”
“Thanks to you and Maddie.”
“Troy’s great with him, too, and so is my dad. Daniel does his best to see him when he can and runs interference when Tonja Kay aims her broomstick in our direction. Dustin has a lot of people who love him.”
We chat for a while, which feels wonderfully normal. I can see that her visit has perked up Grand, too.
Kyra’s tying her pillow baby back in place and plopping her hat back on her head when the guard out front calls up to let us know that Myra is here.
The first time she showed up, one of the guards frisked her, which Myra thoroughly enjoyed.
“Please send her up.”
“Will do.”
Myra huffs up the stairs and I get up to take the pot of soup she’s carrying.
“Want to stay for soup?” I ask Kyra once I’ve set the pot on the stove as directed.
“I’d love to, but I’ve got to get back.” There are hugs all around then Kyra hands Myra a sunflower on her way out. “See you all later.”
Myra checks on the soup then takes a seat next to Grand. “You’ve both been missed at the bookstore. Everyone’s been asking when story time will resume, several children are signed up for acting classes, and the list of people eager for art classes is growing. So whenever you feel up to it, just let me know and I’ll get things scheduled.”
“I’d love to get back to the store, but I’d just like to wait a bit longer until we don’t have to worry about the press anymore,” I reply.
“I totally understand. No pressure at all.” Myra hesitates. “I haven’t seen Brian around for a while. Have you?”
Grand and I exchange glances.
“No,” Grand says. “I haven’t. I think he might be out of town on business.”
“Oh, I see,” Myra replies though it’s clear she doesn’t. “Well, I’ll let you be for now. I look forward to having you both back at the store whenever you’re ready.”
Slowly, other stories make the news. Tragedies more tragic, if less titillating, take place and the crowd in front of Grand’s becomes a handful, then one or two. A week after we brought Grand home, there’s no one outside who doesn’t belong there. Life slowly returns to “normal.”
I’ve always thrived on attention but apparently too much of even a great thing is not so great.
If you don’t count the number of people who suddenly start showing up at the bookstore and Harley’s just to get a look at us.