Stages of Grace - By Carey Heywood Page 0,26

would my mom keep this from me? The letter includes Kate Smith's telephone number. I cannot imagine calling her. What would I say? It's all too much to process. Thinking of it just makes me think of my mother and how desperately I wish she was still here. My mind is a jumble of conflicting emotions and questions all coming back to: why hadn’t my mother ever told me that my grandmother was still alive? Were there other secrets she had kept from me?

Growing up, I always envied my classmates with grandparents. My dad's parents had died before I was born, and from what my mother told me, I was a toddler when her parents had passed away. I never questioned it. Why should I? It is so surreal to be accepting the fact that all that time it had been a lie. I could have had a relationship with my grandmother. Why had my mother kept that from me? What had happened to make her lie to me?

Jon brings a plate of food over to me. I look up surprised, blushing when I admit I'm not hungry anymore. Jon doesn’t seem upset. He just puts it in the microwave for me in case I change my mind later on. I just cannot decide what to do. Call my grandmother or… I can’t imagine not calling her. I just don't know if I can handle calling her today. This is just all so sudden. I rise quickly, thinking of something. Rushing past where Jon sits eating his dinner, I crouch down to look at the bottom shelf of our bookcase where we had stored my parents’ old photo albums. Not sure which one I am thinking of, I pull three out and bring them back over to the table.

Combing through them, I find what I’m looking for: a faded Polaroid of my mother standing stiffly next my grandmother, on the front porch of a house I don’t recognize. It’s the only picture of Kate Smith I’ve ever seen. My mother looks to be about fifteen years old. I try to remember where my mother had grown up, somewhere on the East coast, maybe Pennsylvania. I look closely at the woman who is my grandmother. In the picture, she has Mary Tyler Moore hair and is wearing a simple dress with a large floral pattern on it. Her arms rest on the shoulders of my mother, and they both seem uncomfortable, my mother wearing her fake smile.

Jon walks over to look at the picture. "Are you going to call her?"

"I guess. I just don’t know what to say. Do I tell her I thought she was dead?"

"She might already assume that. It’s not like you tried to find her for the funeral."

Jon makes a good point. For the first time since my mother's death, I feel almost angry at her. I always thought we were so close. Why had she kept this from me?

"I'm calling her." I get up to get my phone out of my purse.

"Do you want me to stay in here?"

"Sure," I reply as I type the number into my phone and hit the call button.

I chew on the edge of my left index finger. There is a small tear in my nail that I meant to file down. My heart pounds with the first two rings. By the third ring, when there is still no answer, I calm down. Then someone answers.

"Hello?"

I take a deep breath "Hello. Is Kate Smith there?"

"Speaking. Who is this?"

"Grace Abbott."

"Who?"

"Um, Grace Abbott," I say louder and grimace at Jon.

"Grace?"

"Yes, I am Grace." I say.

"I want you to come to Florida."

"Excuse me?" I look up at Jon, shocked.

"I'm an old lady, and I want to meet you. I'll pay for the ticket."

"I have a job," I argue.

"Do they give vacations?" she questions.

"Yes, of course." I sink into my chair.

"It's settled then. When can you come?"

This is probably the oddest conversation I have ever had. Did she just say it was settled? Of course I want to meet her. I do. I just don’t know if now is the right time, but she says she is old. Could this be my only opportunity?

"I don’t know. I'd have to talk to my boss."

"Let me know when you do."

"Okay."

"Okay. Bye now."

"Um, bye?" I look down at my phone to see my grandmother has hung up.

I look over at Jon. "I just talked to my grandmother."

"And?"

"She wants to fly me to Florida to meet her."

His eyes widen.