Chapter Thirteen #2
I followed him up the steps and when he opened the door and gestured for me to enter first, I strode inside with Dude at my heels.
I had promised myself I would wait to tell him but I couldn’t.
I genuinely thought I would explode if I didn’t tell him right then and there.
I turned to face him and said, “They were married.”
“Who? Wait. What? No way,” Simon said. He sounded shocked and his voice went up with each word. I felt as if I were getting a fleeting glimpse of teenage Simon.
“Hand to God.” I raised my right hand as if I were swearing an oath. “According to Monica, the photographer, it wasn’t a legally binding ceremony but rather one for just the two of them.”
Simon staggered past me and slumped onto the couch. I shut the front door while Dude rested his head on Simon’s knee.
“Gramps married? What the hell? When?”
I snapped on the side-table lamp, since we’d gotten our power back a few days ago.
“Apparently, they decided to do it right after your Gramps was diagnosed with kidney disease. Steph said the wedding album is in the blanket chest that her husband, Mike, made for the grandfathers, at the end of the bed in the guest room. Let’s go find it. ”
Simon leaned more heavily into the couch. Reluctance sharpened his features and a deep frown line appeared between his dark brows. I was not going to let him refuse.
I grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come on. You have to be curious.”
“No, I don’t.” He resisted. I dug in my heels and pulled harder. Dude, assuming this was a new game, jumped to his feet and barked at Simon.
“Even Dude thinks you should come and help me,” I said.
“You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“Nope, this album is about your grandfather, too,” I said.
I gave one more hearty pull and he rose to his feet, the sudden momentum almost sending me toppling, but he caught me around the waist and hauled me back.
I found my body pressed up against his and it was like leaning against a brick wall.
The man was all lean muscle and he smelled amazing, like the sun and sea with a hint of citrus.
He leaned down as he steadied me and his lips were right by my ear when he asked, “Are you all right?”
I swallowed as the feel of his breath against the shell of my ear made my brain fuzzy and I muttered something brilliant like “Uh-huh,” or maybe it was “You smell amazing,” or more likely I said nothing at all. I couldn’t be sure.
I stepped away from him to gather my wits and turned toward the stairs. “Come on. Don’t make Dude haul you upstairs by the scruff of your neck like he did with Frank, because he will.”
I grabbed my sneakers from where I’d dropped them and glanced back to see Simon give a side-eye to Dude. Correctly interpreting the look, Dude jumped up and licked Simon’s chin.
“Okay, fine, I’m coming.” Simon surrendered. He trudged up the stairs behind me, the sound of his footfalls heavy on the carpeted steps.
The freely flowing Chardonnay at the potluck had left me pleasantly fuddled and I knew this was the best headspace to be in to see the life Pops had created for himself, the life he had shut me out of.
A flicker of hurt tried to flare to life in my heart, but I snuffed it immediately.
This was not about me. This was about Pops.
The windows in the guest bedroom were still boarded up with plywood, awaiting the handyman Luke had recommended, but we’d cleared the room of broken glass and tree debris.
Still, I slipped on my sneakers before entering just in case.
I glanced at Simon to verify that he still wore his sneakers, too.
His were pristine as if they’d just been taken out of the box.
Again, I wondered if he ever had much time off from that so-called career of his.
I flicked on the overhead light and crossed to the pretty cedar chest at the foot of the bed. The lid lifted and stayed open, the hinges locking into place. Dude stuck his nose inside, giving it a sniff before allowing me to continue.
Simon crouched down beside me and I glanced at him and said, “Here goes.”
The scent of cedar was pungent and I noted the neatly folded woolen blankets, some of which I recognized from Pops’s house in Rhode Island.
Simon reached in and removed several of the blankets while I searched the interior. About halfway down, wrapped in a cotton sack was a big square that felt exactly like a photo album.
“I think I’ve got it.” I glanced at Simon in excitement.
I sat back on my heels and opened the cloth sack.
It was a white leather wedding album with a picture of Pops and Gramps in a circular silver frame in the center of the cover.
They wore white tuxedos and the smile on Pops’s face was one of such pure joy, it made my heart ache.
I cradled it to my chest as if by hugging it I was hugging Pops.
“Let’s look at it downstairs where there’s better light,” I said. I knew I was going to scrutinize this album like a detective on a true crime show.
“All right.” Simon led the way.
I was relieved to have him with me. Coward that I was, I wanted company in this big reveal about Pops’s life so that I wasn’t alone in feeling left out of the event. Of course, that was assuming that Simon felt the same way.
Dude jumped up on the couch as if he was enjoying this game. I nudged him over with my hip so that Simon and I could share the album. Simon switched on every lamp in the room, giving us a much better source of light.
“Are you ready, O’Malley?” I asked as Simon sat beside me.
He blew out a long bracing breath. “Yeah, I’m good. Hit me, Spencer.”
“Tempting offer,” I teased.
His mouth lifted slightly in one corner.
I wondered if he ever smiled any bigger than that.
His was a charming closed-lip smile. It was shy and self-conscious, as if smiling was something that he did so rarely that he wasn’t comfortable doing it.
That thought made me sad and I wondered what had happened in his life to make him so guarded.
Simon shifted on his seat as Dude pushed him toward me with his back legs as my darling dog eased into a full-body sprawl with his belly in the air and his head hanging over the side.
A soft snore escaped him, and I assumed he was exhausted from carousing with Frank and herding children all evening.
I tapped my fingers on the cover just below the framed photo, overly aware of Simon’s proximity and the warmth of his skin where his forearm pressed against mine.
“What’s the holdup, Spencer?” he asked. “I thought you were eager to see all the pics of the wedding.”
“I am.” I cringed. “But I can’t decide if this is an invasion of their privacy or something they wanted us to see.”
“Why not both?” Simon asked. “Gramps was a very circumspect man and given that he never mentioned any of this to me, I can’t imagine he wanted to share the details of a relationship that was obviously a private affair to him.”
“But Pops wasn’t a private man, and although he was very cautious to keep his personal life and his professional one separate, he never withheld anything about what he was thinking or feeling from me. At least, I’d always thought he didn’t.”
“Maybe it’s more about timing.” Simon gestured to the album. “They left us, you and me, this cottage and the belongings within it. It seems to me they wanted us to know about this place and their relationship—I’m starting to think you’re right about that—but not until after they were gone.”
I pondered that for a moment.
“That makes sense,” I said. “Otherwise, Pops would have gotten rid of everything before he left it to me…er…us.” I met his gaze for a solid beat before I moved the album so that it rested between us.
I watched Simon take in the framed photo on the cover. He frowned and his jaw clenched. I wondered if the sight of our grandfathers upset him. But his voice was low and gruff with emotion when he said, “They look so happy.”
I flipped the cover. The opening shots were of our grandfathers standing on their dock under a portcullis loaded with flowers—the colors were neutral with toffee roses, chamomile, and blush butterfly ranunculus.
They were facing each other, the sun glinting on their white and silver hair as they grinned at each other with a love that hummed right out of the photo, encompassing us where we sat.
I would have thought I was just being fanciful, but Simon whispered, “Damn.” And I knew it wasn’t just me.
I flipped through the pages, taking in the beauty of the day.
The overgrown lawn that Dude loved to roll in was perfectly manicured and set with white linen–covered tables and centerpieces made of colorful bursts of wildflowers.
Our neighbors—Bebe, Luke, the Pomeroys, the Fisks, Davis and Monica, and Stephanie and Mike—filled the shots.
There was so much joy in the pictures, I felt a sharp stab in my chest, but it wasn’t a joyous feeling.
More pictures of the groom and groom, pouring mason jars of sand into one large jar, strolling hand in hand along the beach barefoot and with their dress pants rolled up to their knees as the surf washed over their toes, and slow dancing as they gazed into each other’s eyes in front of a three-piece band.
At the final picture, a romantic shot from behind of our grandfathers sitting on the beach looking out at the waves with their heads pressed together and arms around each other’s backs, I slammed the cover of the album shut.
It was just too much. I discovered I was pissed.
“You okay, Spencer?” Simon stared at me with his eyebrows raised.
“Nope.” I tossed the album onto the coffee table and crossed my arms over my chest. “Not even a little.”
“I get it.” He patted my knee. “You’re mad because they didn’t ask you to be the flower girl.”
I turned and glared at him. I was certain my nostrils were flaring.