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“I’ll get the water.” Julia moves disappears through the swinging door. Peder takes a seat in the chair beside me and stares hopefully, waiting for me to say something.
“How did he die?” I ask.
“He was hit by a car two years ago.” He looks at a picture on the wall, and my gaze follows his. The same boy from the yearbook smiles back at us in a framed photo. Peder’s eyes shine as he feels the loss again.
“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t that long ago.” I reach for his hand and grasp it in mine.
Peder’s gaze stays on the picture. “Thank you, dear. It was a shock. They never caught the person. I wish you could’ve met Ben. He was a good son.”
He pulls away, and his large hand covers his face. I don’t know what to do. Howlands aren’t openly affectionate, and though my mother loved me, she gave me jewelry, not hugs. I stand, and my hand trembles as I place my hand on his shoulder. Peder doesn’t tense up or look at me coldly. He lifts her chin and pats my hand instead.
Julia hurries back into the room with a glass of water. She pulls me into a smothering hug. “Oh, Charlotte, I’m so glad you came.”
Something lifts off me as I stand there in her arms. I never experienced failure before Monarch Academy. Success was something I took for granted, but I also took other things for granted like being in a home where people loved one another. It wasn’t something I wanted, only because I had never had it. I bawl like a freaking newborn in my grandmother’s arms. I hold my cheek against her velvety pullover and sniff the scent of roses that clings to it.
Peder takes the glass out of Julia’s hand before she can spill it and watches us with a lopsided grin. “She’s been talking about you for months and pestering Dr. Rawlins.”
“I wasn’t pestering her.” Julia wipes her eyes with her fingers. “I just wanted to meet my granddaughter. We didn’t know for certain you existed, but we suspected it. Your mother only told Ben the truth recently. I’m so sorry she passed away.”
“I miss her,” I whisper.
“He did too,” she replies. “Would you like to see a recent picture?”
I say yes immediately, and she leads me to his picture on the mantel. His blond hair is cut short, and his smile isn’t as wide as in his prom portrait. He looks like a nice man. My life would’ve been different if I had been raised in his home—secure, loving, and ordinary.
“Ha, this looks exactly like Charlotte.” Asher points to a framed photo of a young blonde in a white turtleneck sweater, sitting on a snow bank. The woman smiles at the camera, showing off that she’s cute.
“That’s Julia when she was eighteen years old,” answers Peder, laughing. “We met at the Walmart on River Road. She always undercharged me.”
Julia frowns. “I had trouble counting, and they fired me two weeks later. Your grandfather tracked me down at the Rockingham Drugstore, stocking shelves.”
Peder hands me a photo from the piano. “This is our wedding photo.”
I gasp at the gorgeous black and white photo of my grandparents dressed up for their wedding day. Peder wears a black suit with a black tie and a white hankie in his chest pocket. His arm is bent, and Julia holds it, wearing a short white wedding dress with embroidered bell sleeves. Her hair is teased high on her head, covered with daisies and a veil.
“I love it. You both look so sweet and young.” I hold the picture as if it were covered in diamonds. “And you still look at each other the same way.”
Peder steps closer but not too close. He still feels shy around me. “Charlotte, I love Julia, and it broke her heart when Ben died, but having you is like having a part of him.”
I start to tear up, and Julia wraps an arm over my shoulder. She presses her cheek to mine. “Let’s eat, and we’ll talk about all the things we missed.”
Past the swinging door is the dining room, and a homemade dinner is set on old-fashioned china placed on top of an ivory Battenberg lace tablecloth. I grin to myself at the cliché, but I’m delighted to see it. I never had wholesome, homemade things at Alva Park. We had gourmet meals served on plain bone china and picked at it with sterling silver. My stomach growls at the sight of mashed potatoes, mac ‘n’ cheese, and homemade biscuits I could eat for days. Nothing from GrubHub or that’s microwaved.
After dinner, we sit in the living room, and I’m overcome with sleep. Or maybe I’m drained from crying and carbs. I try to tag the feeling I’m having. I found a home with people I don’t have to impress so they’ll love me. As far as they’re concerned, I already belong, and they will always want me around. I wake up on the overstuffed couch with my head on Asher’s lap. Julia looks up from her crossword puzzle while Peder watches a Red Sox game on the TV.
“I’d like to show you something.” She puts down her puzzle book, and I follow her upstairs down a hallway to the last bedroom. “Your father moved out when he was twenty,” she says. “He had a good job as a bank teller. But he kept a few things here when he visited. He never married, and he was an only child.”
The contrast is jolting. His bedroom is almost bare compared to the living room. A basic bedroom set in dark oak and the walls painted nondescript beige. There are no pictures on the wall or on the bedside table. I walk over to the desk and look at a few books on a shelf—all classics that could be in anyone’s home.
Julia pulls out a drawer in the bedside table and takes out a man’s wallet. Thin brown leather folded in half. She opens it and hands me a picture of myself. My school portrait from the eleventh grade—the same year Mom was diagnosed with cancer. I guess she felt guilty. I wish she had told me the truth.
“He wasn’t sure if he should contact you,” says Julia. “I wanted him to at least introduce himself. He so wanted to meet you.”
A sharp pain taps against my forehead as I squeeze back tears. “You may regret meeting me. I had to do things…” I hesitate. “Shameful things to survive. Howland figured out I wasn’t his daughter after Mom died.”
Julia hugs me and makes soothing noises. “Don’t cry, dear. We’ve all had to do things we regret.” She pulls back and looks me in the eye. “I was young once and can tell you a few stories. Thank God there was no internet back then. Your father loved your mother, and I know she kicked herself daily for marrying that greedy man.” Julia stiffens. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. He did raise you.”
I shrug it off. “It’s okay. It’s no secret he was a jerk.”
