“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
I knit my eyebrows together. “What are you talking about, then?”Because I sure as hell don’t understand.
“In thePeoplemagazine,” Mrs. Blanchard says, “you talked about one of the things you cherish the most––”
“The frame that contains a patch of a baby blanket that belonged to my dad,” I say.
The couple exchange a silent conversation before Mrs. Blanchard focuses in on me again. “Do you know how your father got that blanket?”
“I remember asking Dad about it. He told me the adoption agent who was working with his adopted parents handed them a healthy newborn baby boy and a blanket from his birth mother. His adopted mom had been trying to conceive for a long time and couldn’t believe God finally answered her prayers. To honor the gift Dad’s momma gave him, his adopted mom framed the part of the blanket with the crocheted letters L + W’s. She figured using the blanket would end up in it being soiled over time, or worse, lost. Framing the sentimental part of it would ensure it became a treasured gift Dad would have for life. When my parents died Ma—Mrs. McClad—made sure I inherited it.” My gaze slides to Mr. Blanchard. I’m a little pissed off by his comment about Ma. “She even had it reframed because the matting was yellowing.”
“What a wonderful idea about framing a part of the blanket as a keepsake,” Mrs. Blanchard says.
“Real smart,” I say. “Presumably, L + W are Dad’s parents’ initials.”
“They are,” she says.
I sit straight in my chair. “Did you know them?”
“You could say that…”
I can’t believe my ears. Hope burgeons in my chest, along with a sense of astoundment. “You knew my grandparents, Mrs. Blanchard?”
She offers a warm smile. “Iknowthem well.”
My mind is blown. “God Almighty.” The words drop from my lips. I run a hand through my hair in an effort to regain my composure. “I’d like to meet them— If that’s okay with them.” This stranger has the power to reunite me with Dad’s parents—What if meeting me brings back too many painful memories?“Maybe they wouldn’t be?—”
“You’ve already met them.”
I scrunch my nose.
“L stands for Loretta,” she says. “W stands for Warren. Translation, Loretta + Warren’s.”
Realization hits me.
My eyes widen in shock.
I grip my chest, my heart drumming in rapid thumps, and every inch of my body is covered in goosebumps as my whole world topsy-turvies at her words.
Dear God. Hell just froze over.
“I gave birth to your father, Rhett,” she says. “L + W’s was my silent love note toourson.”
The second time around doesn’t soften the blow. “You–– You’re–– We’re––” My brain rattles inside my head, so many questions bouncing around.
Mrs. Blanchard nods. “Yes, Rhett, I’m your grandma and this handsome man by my side is your grandpa. We’re family.” She manages to make sense of my jumbled thoughts.
My pulse trips over itself at her confirmation.
I have family in this world—flesh and blood.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I bite the inside of my cheek to avoid crying.
“My maid was my partner in crime forOperation Baby Blanket,” Mrs. Blanchard says.
Holy Jesus, Mrs. Blanchard is Grandma. My grandma.
“We were so wealthy, I had my own personal maid, and thankfully, she was fiercely loyal.” She laughs a little. “I gave her money and sent her on a mission. She bought a bunch of yarn options for me to choose from for my masterpiece. Icrocheted the letters and the plus sign in a light-blue yarn I selected to sit nicely against the forest-green yarn––blue like my eyes. Green like Warren’s.”
