Free A Keeper's Truth by Dee Willson Page A

shared a townhouse with some buddies. Why on earth
would he want to marry me?
    “Meyer
never wanted to fix me, or change me, or make me into something I wasn’t,
something I’m not. He didn’t want to—”
    “Exactly,”
she says, shifting closer to where I’ve joined her on the bed. “Meyer had no
doubt you were the one, that you’d be a loving wife and good mother. He saw a
spark in you, different than the one I saw, and refused to listen to a single
point I made. That boy had faith in you from minute one.” She rests a hand on
mine. “Now you need to believe the same.”
    Grams
holds up a pair of baggy jeans that read hip to be across the butt. “How
old is this stuff?” she says. “Christ, child, set foot in a mall once in a
while.”
    I snatch
the jeans, laughing, grateful for the distraction. “I shop . . .
sometimes.”
    That’s a
lie. I’d rather walk on fire than go to a mall. My mother always had nice
clothes when I was little, when we lived in Ottawa, in the attic apartment of a
three story brownstone she dubbed “the Ritz.” By the time I was six, I resented
the silk pantsuit with gold belt, the red dress with the plunging neckline, the
rhinestone stilettos. Friend’s gave her these things, of course, we didn’t have
the money to buy shit with logos, but I never understood why they couldn’t just
buy us something we really needed. Like heat.
    Grams
laughs then shakes her head, sighing. She stands and pulls me into a hug.
    “I know
you think you have to go it alone,” she says. “And there was a time I thought
the same, when I thought I’d lost Tom. I felt nothing but despair and had no
doubt I’d live out the remainder of my life alone.”
    When Meyer
was nine, Gramps fell from a ninth-story balcony rescuing a woman from a
burning apartment building. His fire chief gave the family his condolences. The
doctors didn’t think Gramps would make it past sunrise.
    “I know
better now. Tom survived—thank our lucky stars—but had he died in
that hospital, I’d have gone on. I’d have found love, or a companion to share
my life with. Because that’s what people do, that’s how we survive. We give
love and thrive when it’s returned. This is what life is all about, my love.”
    I hold
Grams tight. She’s warm, soft, and smells like grapes.
    “Grams, I
married an amazing man.”
    She stands
back, holding me at arm’s length. “Yep, you did. And yes, he was a good boy, a
wonderful husband and father. Now what? Meyer is no longer here and you are.”
    I fiddle
with my wedding ring.
    “You are
young. You have needs, to be held and loved and touched.”
    “Grams,
Katherine.”
    “Well,
it’s natural to—”
    “Seriously,
Grams—”
    “Fine, but
answer one question. Have you had a date with BOB?”
    “Grams!”
I’m mortified.
    Grams
shrugs, waiting for an answer. I throw the jeans at her and we double over
laughing, tears streaming from our eyes.
    The
doorbell rings, saving me from hell.

 
 
    “Who could
it be on this dreary afternoon?” says Grams,
following me down the stairs toward the front door. “Maybe it’s a gentleman
caller.” She dances behind me with a Cheshire grin.
    I roll my
eyes. The woman is relentless.
    The front
door opens to reveal a huge umbrella sheltering black jeans, a thick dark-gray
wool coat, and the finest scarf I’ve ever seen on a man. The scarf is all my
favorite shades of fall: burnt orange, red, gold, and deep mustard yellow
entwined in three-dimensional thick cotton. My fingers tingle, wanting to
touch.
    “Bryce,” I
say, tearing my eyes from the scarf.
    Grams
looks like she was expecting someone else. Thomas maybe?
    Bryce’s
smile is somewhat strained. “I came to apologize,” he says.
    “What did
you do that you need to apologize for?” Grams says, giving Bryce the evil eye.
    I move
past Grams and open the door wider, welcoming Bryce inside. “Come in out of the
rain.” I say, only slightly embarrassed by my pit