The door swung open and a woman Piper estimated to be in her late sixties leapt back, a hand flying to her throat. “Oh God, I thought you were my hairdresser, Barbara.”
“Oh! Sorry!” Piper’s cheeks burned. “I wondered why you buzzed me up so fast. You are Opal, right?”
“Yes. And I’m not buying anything.”
“No, I’m not selling anything. I’m Piper. Bellinger.” She put out her hand for a shake. “Mick told me I should come see you. I’m . . . Henry Cross’s daughter?”
A different kind of tension gripped Opal’s shoulders. “Oh my Lord,” she breathed.
Something charged the air, causing the hair on the back of Piper’s neck to stand up. “Did you . . . know me when I was a baby, or . . . ?”
“Yes. Yes. I did.” Opal pressed a hand to her mouth, dropped it. “I’m Opal Cross. I’m your grandmother.”
* * *
I’m your grandmother.
Those words sounded like they were meant for someone else.
People who got ugly knitted sweaters on Christmas morning or fell asleep in the back of a station wagon after a road trip to Bakersfield. Her mother’s parents were living in Utah and communicated through sporadic phone calls, but Henry’s . . . well, she’d stopped wondering about any extended family on her biological father’s side so long ago, the possibility had faded into nothing.
But the woman hadn’t. She was standing right there in front of Piper, looking as if she’d seen a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” Piper whispered finally, after an extended silence. “Mick told me to come here. He assumed I knew who you were. But I . . . I’m so sorry to say I didn’t.”
Opal gathered herself and nodded. “That isn’t too surprising. Your mother and I didn’t end on the best terms, I’m afraid.” She ran her eyes over Piper once more, shaking her head slightly and seeming at a loss for words. “Please come in. I . . . Barbara should be here for coffee soon, so I’ve got the table set up.”
“Thank you.” Piper walked into the apartment in a daze, her fingers twisting in the hem of her running shirt. She was meeting her long-lost grandmother in sweaty running clothes.
Classic.
“Well, I barely know where to start,” Opal said, joining Piper in the small room just off the kitchen. “Sit down, please. Coffee?”
It was kind of disconcerting the way this woman looked at her as if she’d returned from the dead. It felt a little like she had. As if she’d walked into a play that was already in progress, and everyone knew the plot except her. “No, thank you.” Piper gestured to the sliding glass door leading to a small balcony. “B-beautiful view.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Opal settled into her chair, picking up a half-finished mug of coffee. Setting it back down. “Originally, I wanted an apartment facing the harbor so I could feel close to Henry. But all these years later, it just seems like a sad reminder.” She winced. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so casual about it all. It helps me to be blunt.”
“It’s fine. You can be blunt,” Piper assured her, even though she felt a little jarred. Not only by the sudden appearance of a grandmother, but by the way she spoke of Henry like he’d only passed yesterday, instead of twenty-four years ago. “I don’t remember a lot about my father. Just small things. And I haven’t been told much.”
“Yes,” Opal said, leaning back in her chair with a tightened jaw. “Your mother was determined to leave it all behind. Some of us find that harder to do.” A beat passed. “I’d been a single mother since Henry was a little boy. His father was . . . well, a casual relationship that neither of us had a mind to pursue. Your father was all I had, besides my friends.” She blew out a breath, visibly gathering herself. “What are you doing back in Westport?”
“My sister and I . . .” Piper trailed off before she could get to the part about confetti cannons and police helicopters. Apparently the need to make a good impression on one’s grandmother was strong, even when meeting her as a fully grown adult. “We’re just taking a vacation.” For some reason, she added, “And doing a little digging into our roots while we’re here.”
Opal warmed, even appearing relieved. “It makes me very happy to hear that.”
Piper shifted in her chair. Did she want her father to become a more . . . substantial presence in her life? A serious part of Piper didn’t want sentimental attachment to Westport. It scared her to have this whole new aspect of her world, her existence opened up. What was she supposed to do with it?
She’d felt so little at the brass statue—what if the same happened now? What if her detachment from the past extended to Opal and she disappointed the woman? She had clearly been through enough already without Piper adding to it.