CHAPTER 59
“How long were you and my grandmother friends for?” Mike asked Mrs. Devereux.
“About as long as I can remember,” she replied. “We used to play together as children and teenagers—our parents were long-time friends—and then we got very close again a little later in life, just after she got married.”
I could see Mike’s mind ticking away, as if he’d heard something in that statement that I hadn’t.
“So, you were friends when you were kids and teenagers, and then only after she got married. What about just before she got married? Say, around age twenty, twenty-one? Were you not friends then?”
Damn!He’d asked the right question, because Mrs. Devereux looked like she was squirming.
“Well, I guess you change in your early twenties, and then . . . I guess, after marriage, our interests sort of aligned again, you could say.” Her voice sounded shaky.
“So, what interests of hers didn’t align with yours when you were both in your early twenties?” he asked.
God, he was good. If I were arealcriminal, I’d be scared of him.
She looked at us for the longest time, from me to Mike and then back again, as if she was trying to decide whether to tell us something or not. She exhaled slowly and then spoke again. “How much do you know about your grandmother’s life?” she asked quietly, not making eye contact this time, but looking away, as if ashamed of something.
“We know enough to know she was in love with someone that ‘she shouldn’t have been in love with.’ ” He used air quotes—usually, not my favorite things—but, with his tone, his stance, the way he was using them all firmly and sarcastically . . . God, he was hot.
Mrs. Devereux cleared her throat and looked around the library, as if this was a great secret. “She was,” she said softly.
“And you didn’t approve?” Mike asked. God, that was a loaded question, and I doubted the answer to it was going to be good.
I leaned in a little and waited for her response; it took her a long time to talk again.
“I’m ashamed to admit it, now, but, at the time . . .” She paused, rubbed her finger and thumb together nervously, her eyes flicking from side to side. “I . . . I didn’t approve of her relationship. But, back then, you must understand, it was a totally different world, a totally different country—and it was the law. There is no good excuse, I guess, but we were taught to believe certain things, back then—terrible things, which today Idon’tbelieve in. But I suppose I was influenced by other people’s feelings and ideas. I was young. But, when I was older and made up my own mind . . . Well, it was too late then, I guess.” She sighed loudly and looked somewhat defeated as she tapped her fingers on the counter, as if she didn’t know what to do with her nervous hands. “It’s something I still deeply regret.” Her shoulders slumped, as if a lifetime of guilt and shame and remorse were pushing down on them. “I wasn’t very supportive of her when she needed me the most, and I regret that.”
I reached out and grabbed the old lady’s hand; I could see the tears welling up in her eyes now.
She shook her head. “Thinking back, now, on how things used to be in this country, thinking back to how we all let it happen, when we should have known better, I feel quite sick about it.”
“We all do,” I said. “It was unforgivable. It left such deep scars and I don’t think those wounds have healed yet. I don’t know that they ever really will. Perhaps some injuries are too severe to recover from fully.”
“Did she ever talk to you about her relationship?” Mike asked.
She shook her head. “No. I never even saw him,” she said.
At that, a thought entered my head. “Come,” I said to her.
“Where?” she asked.
“Can you come outside for one minute? I’m sure the amorous ladies can take care of themselves for a moment. I’d like you to meet him,” I said to her, moving towards the door.
“He’s . . . he’s . . .” she stuttered, holding the picture in her hands. We were all standing in the parking lot, looking at it. The moment was so hard to describe, emotionally. “He’s very handsome,” Mrs. Devereux finally managed.
“He is,” I said.
“He looks happy.” She stroked the canvas.
“I think they were very happy together,” Mike said, towering behind us, looking over our shoulders. “For a short while, anyway.”
She turned and looked at us. “That’s more than most people can say.”
“Is there anything you can tell us about the relationship? We’re trying to learn as much as possible about it.”
Mrs. Devereux became very quiet and thoughtful for a moment. She looked like she was reliving a bad memory.
