Next Man Up (Making the Score #2) - Tawdra Kandle Page 0,123
to face the hurts and the truth . . . and to see if there was a way to move on.
Pulling my keys from the ignition, I slid out of the car and went into the house through the back door. As I’d expected, Grammy was in the kitchen, kneading a lump of bread dough. She turned at the sound of the door, her eyes widening when she saw me.
“Zelly! My goodness, child, this is a surprise.” She hurried to the sink to rinse off her hands. “Are you all right? What are you doing here?”
I stepped into the comforting embrace of the woman who had raised me. “Can’t a girl just get homesick and come for dinner?”
“Always,” she replied without hesitation. “But this girl doesn’t usually do anything without making plans first. I can’t remember you ever just popping back here for a visit.” She eased back and frowned, cupping my chin with her worn hand. “What’s wrong, sugar pea?”
Tears spilled over my eyes. “I just need to talk with you, Grammy. Do you have a little time?”
“For you? All the time in the world.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit you down, and I’ll pour us some coffee.”
I watched my grandmother hustle around the old kitchen and waited until she was settled across from me, both us holding steaming mugs.
“Tell me what’s happening, Zelda.” Her gentle voice tore down the last of my barriers.
“Grammy.” I took a quick sip of the coffee. “Did I . . . was I a tremendous burden to you and Gramps? Was it hard, having to take care of me after you’d raised all your other kids? Was I a lot of trouble?”
Her eyes snapped with fire. “Zelda Maureen Porter, what on earth could give you that idea? Raising you, taking care of you, having you in our lives—that has always been a privilege.” She reached across to cover my hand with her own. “What brought this on, Zelly? Are you . . . is there a baby on the way?”
Through my tears, I shook my head, laughing. “It would have to be an immaculate conception, Grammy. No, I’m not pregnant. But I’ve realized something lately. It’s not your fault—it’s nothing you and Gramps ever did or said. Still, I have this sense that I have to be good enough to be loved. That I don’t deserve it. I remember when I was little and I understood about Lottie . . .” I swallowed. “I thought that what she’d done had somehow stained me. You didn’t expect me or want me. I must have been quite a surprise. And you didn’t have to keep me. But you did. I think I always had the sense that I had to work hard to be the best I could be, so that you never regretted that decision.”
“Zelda, nothing could be further from the truth.” Grammy folded her hands and spoke with unwavering conviction. “You were—and are—a blessing. We’ve always known that. And nothing you could have said or done or been would change our feelings.” She was quiet for a moment. “Lottie was always a challenging child, as you know. I often wondered if she was a test from God. We could never seem to do the right thing for her. We were at our wits’ ends. And then she ran away, and I felt so guilty because . . . I was worried, of course, but I was also relieved. That was a horrible thing to admit, but it was true.” She sighed. “When Lottie came home, it was because of you being on the way. And I thought to myself . . . this baby is our reward. We’ll love her the way Lottie would never let us love her.” Grammy sniffled. “And I thought we did.”
“You did.” I squeezed her fingers. “I think I just needed to hear it from you now. I’ve been having a rough time over the last six months or so.” I bit the corner of my lip. “I pushed Eli away. He loves me—he told me so, and he showed me in a million different ways—but I never told him how much I love him. I do, but I never said it. And then I let some stupid little disagreement blow up, because I was looking for a reason to force him away from me.”
“Hmmm.” Grammy tilted her head. “Is he with someone else now?”