Who has heard a heck of a lot worse over the years. She raised two boys of her own and then she raised us, the next generation of beast- I mean boys- so she knows. She knows everything. She’s seen and heard it all. But still.
“I wasn’t- that wasn’t what…”
“You agreed to a one night and you agreed not to exchange names?” Grandma asks. “How did it work, you know, with your masks on?”
“We didn’t keep our masks on!” I seethe. “Good god, I am not going to get into the details! The point is, it was dark, okay? It was dark, and yes, we were both adults at the point in our lives where we didn’t need, nor want, anything more than one night of connection. We agreed to leave it at that. She was burned a few times lately, so she said. She was tired of dating. I don’t have time for it-”
“Between the plant conferences and cacti humping- I mean loving…”
“Wesley, I think you should set the table,” Grandma says in her deceptively polite tone. What she really means is that she might chase him around the kitchen with her flipper, asking where his manners have gone, and telling him that he’s not too old for a good old fashioned flickin’ even though she’s never handed out one of those in her life.
Wes ambles off, muttering something under his breath. He takes out plates and gets knives and forks ready. The big dining table is technically still in the impressive, state of the art kitchen, since it’s one big open room, but still. He has to walk at least twenty feet away from me and that’s enough space that I feel like I can breathe.
I sigh as I produce the earring out of my pocket. I pass it over to Grandma, who takes it and studies it with keen interest. “She was wearing these. She left one at my house. They look expensive and old, like they might be a family heirloom or something. I wanted to return it to her. That’s all.”
Grandma nods, but it’s kind of a strange nod, where her head bobs up and down at irregular intervals. She passes back the earring calmly, with an eerie kind of silence, and goes over to the stove to flip the pancakes out onto the plate she has waiting. She pours another batch in while I do my best to prepare my stomach for the upcoming pancake punishment.
“I’ve seen those earrings before.”
“I figured you would know who they belonged to since you helped organize the ball and most of the contributors and other people organizing are your friends.”
“If by friends you mean a bunch of biddies who wanted to have a blast and support a good cause, then yes,” Grandma chirps at me then breaks into a big grandmotherly grin.
Grandma is one of those women who was and still is beautiful at any age. She’s slight with small bones. Tiny, at just past five feet. Her white hair is generally down, shiny and combed out, past her shoulders. She always wears blue, never any other color. I have no idea why. Maybe she just likes it. Today she’s wearing a blue flowy dress with a belt around her slim waist. She has blue flats on with little blue flowers and a blue scarf tied into her hair. She’s the vision of beauty and when her eyes twinkle at me with a mischievous glint, I know that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and I’m not talking about her lead breakfast in the pan there.
“Those earrings are special. I saw them the day Helen Cromwell got them ready for her granddaughter. They were a gift. A very unique gift. I’d say that you’re right. You should give it back to her. Leandra’s probably sick with worry.”
Just like that. Her name. Her real name. It floats off Grandma’s tongue like honey and swirls through the room, sweet and bright, lush and tantalizing. My body feels heavy with it, my chest and stomach tighten. It’s like I’ve eaten a stack of pancakes already, except this pain is more of a good one.
“She could have come to the house and collected it. She knows where I live, even if we didn’t exchange names. She still left from there, and no, I didn’t blindfold her.”
“She probably didn’t know where she lost it. And if you agreed to a single night, she likely didn’t want to show up and pester you. She probably thought it would look desperate and she’s a strong woman with her own business. A nice girl with one heck of a family.”
I know the name Cromwell, but I don’t know anything about them other than that Helen Cromwell is one of my grandma’s friends and I think she’s very rich and has made a killing in printing or magazines or newspapers or something.