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We made small talk during dinner but there was no mention of my birthday. Thankfully.
That is until Gram asked me to meet her out on the veranda. “I will make us some coffee. Then we’ll talk.”
There is no saying no to Gram ever. If that hasn’t already been made abundantly clear. I’ll do whatever she says, though. I’m just glad she’s talking to me again.
“Pigs would certainly enjoy this weather,” Gram says as she emerges from the house with two cups of coffee.
I hum and nod. “They’d have a use for all the mud.”
“Yes, indeed. The driveway is going to be dreadful for days now,” Gram grumbles.
She hands me my cup of coffee, black as black can be. I thank her and take a sip, letting the liquid warm my lips and tongue.
Gram taps my shoulder. “Move.”
I do so, although I’m a little surprised she wants the seat next to me rather than to sit on her own in one of the armchairs.
She settles beside me, head held high. Even when she’s as straight-backed as can be, she feels like she’s half my size. It’s no joke that people shrink as they get older. Gram, though, has always felt larger than life.
Staring out at the rain, Gram slowly sips her coffee.
The pounding raindrops overhead create a calming beat for me to latch onto while my brain starts to wonder what torture I’m in for.
“You’re heartbroken, Chase,” Gram says, not looking at me.
I frown. “About… about the inheritance? No, I’m –” I clear my throat, adjusting the collar of my shirt as it feels close to suffocating me. “I made my bed. I’m man enough to sleep in it.”
“Bless your heart, Chase. I’m not talking about the inheritance.” She looks over at me with a delicate smile. Her eyes are… soft. A rarity for her. “I’m talking about Jude.”
My chest tightens. “What makes you say that?”
Gram sighs. “I know that you and I haven’t seen much of each other recently.”
Haven’t seen much? More like haven’t seen any…
“But I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been struggling. Your father told me about how you’ve been working overtime at the firm.”
“Yes, well it’s my firm, I need to –”
“Eighty, ninety-hour weeks. That’s not good for you, Chase.”
I narrow my eyes. I’ve never been admonished for working too much. In fact, it’s always been a point of pride for, well, everybody, that I work my ass off. “Throwing myself into my work is helpful. Keeps me from –”
“Thinking. Keeps you from thinking. And that, my grandson –” She pats my hand. “Is never a good thing.”
I swallow. She’s right to some extent. I’m not thinking. I’m on autopilot, filling my life with the only thing I know my life to be about. Work. My caseload has gone up exponentially. I can barely sleep. Not because of how much work there is to be done but because sleep just doesn’t come.
If I am not working, I am consumed with thoughts of Jude. The disappointment on her face when I stopped the wedding short. The way she whispered, “You said you loved me.”
And how regretful I am.
“I owe you an apology, Chase.”
I’m not sure my ears are working correctly. I swear my Gram, the proudest person I know, just told me she owes me, her grandson who pretended to be engaged in order to claim an inheritance, an apology.
“I’ve never been good about letting people do what they want.”
That’s an understatement.
