Chapter 5
Albany
Ten minutes.
Eleven minutes.
As the sun hung low in the sky, daylight lingered while time moved fast. Extended sunshine was the best part of June.
Long days made dark nights seem less haunting, less lonely.
Everything felt clean, almost perfect right around mid-month.
The breeze, the smell, the city. The anticipation of summer had always made life better.
Until it didn’t. Until warmth became entangled and associated with crushing heartbreak.
Twelve minutes.
I was born on the twenty-third of the month.
A true Cancer according to my grandmother.
Unlike anyone I’ve known, Grandma read her horoscope daily.
She studied birth charts and often talked about sun, moon, and rising signs.
She knew who was compatible based on their birth date.
As for her, Aquarius men and women need not apply for any sort of companionship.
Growing up, I loved that she wasn’t a stereotypical grandmother.
While she was into astrology, she still loved the Lord.
But she wasn’t preachy. Definitely preferred the quick, early morning church service as opposed to the longer afternoon service.
Bible study? Nah. Choir rehearsal? The only person who ever heard her sing aloud was herself.
Tithes and offerings? Every single week.
Ten percent. Plus extra for the building fund and the mission department.
But don’t get on her bad side, because she could cuss as good as a sailor and had no problem telling anyone off if they crossed her.
I loved her. I wanted her to be okay. Because she’d always made sure I was good. So …
Fifteen minutes.
I stared at the massive house in front of me.
I still couldn’t bring myself to get out of my car and walk into the house.
Not because I had bad memories there. On the contrary, this place had been my safe space for so long.
It was the only place where I ever felt at home.
Still, I hesitated to go inside, choosing to park at the end of the circular driveway, closer to the mailbox than the front door. Because that text …
Over the years, Grandma had become surprisingly good with tech.
Considering she’d once vowed to never even text because she preferred a phone call or a visit.
Then, she’d promised to not fall into “that social media shit” that the “young, lazy people” were doing.
Imagine my surprise when I received a friend request on all the platforms. And she wasn’t just a casual lurker, she excelled at content.
Thoughtful posts. Fun videos. She’d even done several dancing challenges with her poker friends.
Crazy work, but if it made her happy, I loved it.
Seventeen minutes.
Sucking in a deep breath, I stared at the message again. Two words. Simple, but loaded with uncertainty, so many questions, and a little sadness.
I read it again. Then again.
After years of separation, the man my grandmother had married, raised a family with, then divorced, was dead. I’d never heard her say a kind word about him, but my heart hurt for what I imagined she was going through. Grief.
With a heavy sigh, I hopped out of my car and took the long walk up the driveway.
Scanning the area, my gaze fixated on the small carriage house near the far end of the property, my old private den.
Grandma had given me the keys when she’d brought me to live with her, instructing me to use it how I pleased since she no longer had live-in staff.
I still remembered when we toured the small space. Her words echoed in my head.
Every woman needs a personal, quiet space. Invite required.
Grandma meant it. She’d never interrupted me there, didn’t even give me an opinion on how to decorate. She’d simply given me a budget, told me who to call on to do any changes to the structure, and let me do what I wanted.
That space held so many memories. It was a top-secret teenage girl plot inlet, a book club sanctuary, a vision board haven, a silent oasis. It was my port in a storm. I’d retreat there when I was angry, sad, happy, or confused. And …
My mind drifted to the night Wes and I made love for the first and only time, the night he left me there. It was the moment my safe house ceased to be my happy place. It held the tattered remains of a broken heart. Because every time I walked in the door, I saw him. I felt him. I smelled him.
A long time ago, someone asked if it was even possible to love someone so much at such a young age. I never acknowledged the innocent question, but I knew the answer. Yes. I loved Wes in a pure, very authentic way.
My phone buzzed, bringing my attention back to the reason I’d shown up at Grandma’s house unannounced.
Well, not exactly. Because I’d responded to her message and told her I was coming by.
Then I’d ignored her response telling me to stay home and came anyway.
After all, I was her granddaughter. She never let anyone tell her what to do, so I wasn’t going to let her steer me away from supporting her.
With a heavy sigh, I finally entered the quiet house.
Nothing much had changed. Except everything.
I smiled to myself as I smoothed my hand over the new dark wood table near the front door.
Grandma used to always tell me she had no time for decorating.
Yet, every year she seemed to transform the house while simultaneously insisting she didn’t do anything different.
One thing never changed, though. Lavender. I inhaled, taking in the comforting smell, her favorite scent. I’d grown to love it, too. Even miles away, spraying a room with her favorite air freshener made me feel closer to her.
I walked through the kitchen, noting the lack of food on the stove. No dishes in the sink. Not even an empty glass on the counter. Peering upstairs, I wondered what she was doing. Is she even home?
It wasn’t like her to stay out past seven o’clock, unless it was poker night.
And Grandma watched game shows every day.
It was her thing. The Price Is Right in the morning.
Then Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy! at night.
Typically, she would be shouting answers at the television and cursing the contestants out for giving wrong answers.
But there was nothing. No clapping from the studio audience. No sound effects.
As I ascended the stairs, I braced myself for what I might find.
The last thing I needed was another tragedy.
Once I reached the landing on the second floor, I frowned.
The dimly lit hallway felt too still. Almost eerie.
It was an old house, so there was always a creak here or a clank there. But I didn’t hear anything.
The sliver of light under her bedroom door was the only indication she was actually home because Grandma didn’t believe in leaving a light on in a room not occupied. Stopping in front of her door, I pressed my ear against the heavy wood.
Rustling?
Is that a hiss?
No, it was a moan. A knot formed in my stomach, but I didn’t have time to wallow in dread or uncertainty. I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and barged into the room.
“Oh my God!”
“What the …?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I yelled, “Damn it, Grandma.” I turned around and covered my eyes and tried to forget what I’d just seen. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“What are you doing here?” Grandma screeched.
“Checking on you.” I rested my head against the wall and took a deep breath. “I thought you were sad.”
Behind me, I heard more movements. A swoosh.
A zipper. Footsteps toward the en suite bathroom.
Then finally a door shutting. I counted to twenty.
I had been totally prepared to see her atop the bed, still, and maybe in need of medical help.
But what I didn’t expect to see was Naked Grandma with her legs up in the air while some strange man sexed her up.
During Jeopardy! Which was on mute, by the way.
“Pooh.”
I jumped, startled that she’d somehow inched closer to me without me realizing it. “Grandma!” I yelped.
She tapped my shoulder lightly. “Can you turn around so I can talk to you?”
Slowly, I did as I was told. “What?”
I felt her hand on mine before she tugged it from my face where it had been covering my eyes. “Open your eyes.”
“Are you dressed?”
“I am.”
Seconds later, I cracked an eye open. She wore an oversized robe, nothing familiar. Must’ve been his. Letting out a heavy sigh, I said, “You sent a death text. That’s why I’m here.”
“I told you I was okay.” She pointed a finger at me. “And I told your li’l behind not to come.”
“Grandpa died,” I argued. “I thought you were sad. I thought—”
“Pooh, I told you I don’t care about that man.” When I gaped at her, she laughed. “Now you know I’ve never been nice when it comes to him. His death changes nothing.”
I blinked. “I wasn’t sure if you had some sort of epiphany. You were married to him for years. I wanted to …” I didn’t bother finishing the sentence because I knew better. And I knew my grandmother. She was dead serious. “I overreacted. I should’ve listened to you.”
Her shoulders fell. “Come on.” She grabbed my hand, leading me over to the small love seat near the window. Gesturing toward the couch, she told me to take a seat. She joined me. “There are some things I probably should tell you.”
The bathroom door opened, and the older gentleman emerged—fully clothed. Thank God. He grinned. “Hello.”
I glanced at Grandma out of the corner of my eyes, noticing the way she lit up when she looked at the man. “Hi, baby,” she said softly.
Baby?
He inched closer to us and held out his hand to me. “Hi, young lady. I’m Ace.”
I stared at his outstretched hand. Eventually, I shook it. “I’m—”
“Pooh,” he interrupted with a chuckle.
“Albany,” I corrected.
He nodded. “Of course. I’ve heard all about you.”