Why was my working for Kenneth such an important topic? What did they expect me to tell them?
"There's not much more to say about it, Grandma Olivia. I enjoy watching Kenneth work. He lives in an interesting place, so close to the sea, to nature. I enjoy my walks along--"
"When he talked to you about the past," she interrupted, not satisfied with my response, "he didn't mention anything about his father?" When I didn't respond immediately, she stopped and looked at me. "Well?"
"He doesn't like talking about his father very much," I offered, but I saw that wasn't enough. She grimaced as if she had bitten into a sour apple, and then turned to step into the gazebo. I followed her inside and sat across from her on a pristine white garden bench.
"What did you want to talk about?" I finally asked. Surely my summer job wasn't the topic; it was obvious by now that I had been brought here for some sort of cross-examination.
"I think you're a lot smarter than your mother was at your age," she began. "Your mother's interests were quite simple to begin with, and her curiosity about anything more than boys was limited."
"I don't think it's fair to talk about her this way. She's not alive. She can't dispute anything," I countered. Standing up to her brought tears to sting my eyes. I took a deep breath and then looked away.
"Nonsense. If we couldn't talk about anyone who was dead, a great many mistakes would be made. It would also be a mistake for you not to tell me what, if anything, Kenneth Childs said about his father?'
I turned back to her.
"Why is that so important to you?" I asked. "Don't you dare ask me questions in response to questions I ask you," she admonished.
"All I know is that they don't talk much to each other, but I don't know why."
She raised her eyebrows.
"He didn't say?" she asked cautiously.
"No, not really."
"What's that mean, not really? Either he did or he didn't," she said, leaning impatiently forward in her seat.
"He didn't," I replied, the tears welling again in my eyes.
"I see," she said, continuing to scrutinize me. I felt as if I were sitting under a bright light in a police station.
"Is this why you invited me to luncheon, to interrogate me about what Kenneth said about his own father?" I demanded to know, despite her strict warning about questioning her.
"Don't be impudent," she snapped.
"I think it's pretty sad if the only way the judge can find out about his own son is through someone spying on him," I added.
"Don't you dare say anything like that to the judge," she chastised. "No one said anything about you spying on anyone," she added, but I glared back at her.
"You could have invited Kenneth to this luncheon," I suggested, "and asked him the same questions."
She glared at me and shook her head.
"Obviously, my son did not impart any
of the good manners to you that I taught him, or if he did, your mother ruined them," she said.
"How can you still hate her even though she's dead?" I asked. Finally, I had said something that made her turn away. She gazed toward the ocean, a blank look coming over her face.
"I don't hate her. I disapproved of her and I actually ended up feeling sorry for her, pitying her and Chester. To permit himself to believe such a terrible thing about his own father, just to have her as his wife. To think that my husband would seduce a young girl and embarrass me." She shook her head. "Well, that's all over now. Terrible words and ideas are like the tide. Once they go out, you can never pull them back. You can't unring a bell." She sighed. "So there's no point in discussing it now."
"Yes there is," I said boldly.
She turned to me. If her eyes were daggers, I'd have a hundred holes in me, I thought.
"What did you say?"