58. Alexandra
fifty-eight
Barbara and the older gentleman are sitting at the bay window overlooking the pastures, but you can tell from their expression that they’re not seeing them. They’re deep in thought. Barbara pats the man’s arm, and he wipes away a tear. I heard Justin say it was Uncle George, and that’s a relief.
I’m not prepared to meet my mom’s father yet.
Barbara stands and tilts her head, then takes tentative steps toward me, her arms outstretched. “Honey.” She’s not her usual self. Something’s wrong, and she doesn’t know how to tell me.
A rush of emotions surface. The memory of sensing your life is about to tilt on its axis, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Christopher’s arm wraps around my shoulders, and the tension eases away. Nothing can affect me when he’s with me. Feeling his physical presence, knowing he would sense my need for support, is all the strength I need.
“What—what are you doing here? Is there a problem at Red Barn already?” I glance at Uncle George, waiting for Barbara to introduce us formally.
I’ve heard about him. He’s Lynn’s uncle and was estranged from the family a long time ago. They recently reconnected.
“Uncle George,” Justin confirms, hugging the older man.
“Honey—” Barbara starts.
“Get us a couple stiff drinks, Justin, please,” Uncle George interrupts her kindly, “and let’s sit down, shall we?”
He has a soft voice, a gentle demeanor. I can see why the King family brought him into their fold so easily. No matter what happened in the past, he must be a good person to have around.
Moments later, we’re seated around the round table that fits in the bow window, and Justin has us fixed up with amber liquid in rocks glasses. All our eyes are fixed on his Uncle George, but he twitches this way and that.
“Come on, Uncle George, bottoms up,” Justin says. I jerk my head at him. Ironically enough for a bar owner, Justin is usually the last person to encourage any drinking. His eyes are fixed on George.
George, who needs liquid courage to say something. Something that involves us, since we’re seated together.
What is Barbara up to? Should I be worried?
“What’s going on?” Christopher groans under his breath to Justin. I’m nudged against him, that’s how I hear.
“No fucking idea,” Justin mutters back.
“Oh for Chrissakes!” Barbara says. She downs her bourbon and slams the empty glass down. “Uncle George is Jerry. Your grandfather,” she says to me. “There.”
My jaw slackens. Christopher’s arm tightens around my shoulders as he pushes the glass of bourbon my way.
George clears his throat. “Thank you for the nudge, Barbara.” His voice is still soft, a contrast to Barbara’s nervous outburst.
Her statement wasn’t exactly full of tact, definitely not a nudge, but at least it’s out.
George lifts his clear blue eyes to me, and quickly they mist over. “I am your mother’s father.” With a trembling hand, he pulls out a worn leather wallet from his back pocket, shifts through the compartments, and produces a plastic sleeve protecting the photo of a baby.
“Rita sent me this. And then, nothing.” His voice breaks, and Barbara reaches out to pat his forearm.
I turn the photo in my fingers. It’s a baby. It could be any baby. I know it’s my mother, but strangely, I don’t feel like this is my drama to contend with. It’s his, and I can help him get through this.
I hand him the photo back.
“She passed,” he says it as a statement of fact. A regret. Barbara twitches in her chair.
“A long time ago,” I say. I feel his guilt, his regrets, and they’re weighing him down. Where’s the fun man I heard in the background of phone conversations with Barbara?
Christopher’s hand traces soothing circles on my back. “You don’t have to do this now,” he says for my benefit, but loud enough that everyone can hear.
This, his support, his understanding, is all I need in life. Nothing can affect me with him in my life. “It’s fine,” I tell him.
I have everything I want and need.
A man who understands me. Friends. A real family, one forged in love.
George should have the same. And Barbara.
“We can’t fix the past, but we can design our future.” I raise my glass toward Jerry slash Uncle George slash Not Ready To Call Him Grandpa Yet.
“Holy fucking shit, Bambi! That was profound.” Kiara plops onto an empty seat and takes my glass from me. “Why the gloomy faces?” she asks, suddenly tuning into the atmosphere around the table. “You guys should try my whoopie pies!”
Justin jumps in. “Uncle George here, turns out to be Alex’s grandfather.”
“That’s cool,” Kiara says, unfazed. “So you guys are cousins. Nice. Now can we all put some smiles on our faces and have some fun like the big happy family we are?”
And just like that, the evening lightens up.