By the time I realized I hadn’t heard from her in a conspicuously long time, I looked over, more than a little worried she had died on me. That first glance did nothing to reassure me, as her chin sagged to her chest, the muscles slack. It took a closer inspection to see her chest rising and falling as she slept.
Steadying my own breathing, I looked longingly at the car’s stereo system and wished again that we were in my car. Driving without music was a much more tedious task. But I was afraid searching the FM waves would startle her.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to resist the urge to click away from Google Maps and check my messages. I still hadn’t read the one from Brad.
We had plenty of gas and stopping would wake her.
I won’t reply, I said, justifying myself. Reading it isn’t much worse than checking the map.
It had been so much easier to avoid thinking about it when she was awake and talking.
I lasted another three miles before I remembered my AirPods. I dug them out of my purse, slipped one into my left ear, and whispered for Siri to read Brad’s message, glancing at my grandmother to make sure she stayed asleep.
I have a buyer interested in the condo, but I can’t sell it until you sign the property agreement. I won’t be petty and withhold the money until the divorce is final, but I am reminding you that it’s been six months and you can decide to not drag this out any time you want. The ball is in your court. Hope you’re well.
My chest felt tight with anger at the implication that I was being petty. I mean, okay, yes, I was being petty. I didn’t want to still be married to him. But that sense of self-righteous hurt was what was getting me out of bed every day. I wasn’t ready to let go of that.
I pulled the AirPod out of my ear and dropped it into my lap, wishing I hadn’t listened to the message.
Maybe I should get a puppy. A puppy would love me.
Something painful rose in my chest but not about Brad. About my grandfather. I hadn’t known he had been sick until the very end, when it was too late. He made everyone swear not to tell me.
I knew parents and grandparents weren’t supposed to have favorites, but I also knew they did sometimes. And I was Grandpa’s favorite. He loved all of us, of course. But I was the eldest, and Grandma once said she never saw that man fall in love the way he did when he first held me.
His whole countenance changed when I walked into the room. He lit up and wanted to know everything I had to say. He was the only one, in my whole life, who loved me like that. Brad should have. I thought he had. But apparently he didn’t. Because a love like that doesn’t evaporate into thin air.
And here I was, driving my grandma back to her hometown, probably to find this other guy, who was all she could talk about. What was I doing? Had she ever actually loved my grandfather? From what she had told me on the drive, it was obvious she thought Tony was the one for her, despite her insistence that she would never settle. Was that why my grandfather loved me so much? Because she wasn’t in love with him? She was so blasé about her mother not loving her father. Just threw it out there. Was this some curse in my family? Our inability to be with the right person, so we wind up with someone who doesn’t love us at all.
The car was too quiet. I was going to scream.
In desperation, I switched on the radio and tuned the dial. If it woke Grandma, so be it. I could ask if she loved Grandpa if she was awake. But I couldn’t sit there with my thoughts.
She gave a little half snore as I settled on a classic rock station that was cruelly playing music from when I was in middle school, and I let the familiar notes drown out the disloyal thoughts.
She woke the moment we crossed into Essex County, as if the land shook her gently and told her she was home. “Half an hour now,” she murmured, surprising me.
I glanced at my phone, which said twenty-nine minutes to our destination.
“I don’t think I’ve ever fallen asleep on the drive before.” She pulled down the visor and checked her reflection in the mirror. Then she lifted her purse onto her lap and rummaged in it for powder and lipstick.
“Are we seeing anyone?”
“You never know.”
“Is this trip about Tony? Is that why we’re going to Hereford?”
“Tony?” She looked at me in surprise. “Good heavens, no. Why would you think that?”
“He’s all you’ve talked about, the whole drive.”
“Is that all you heard?” I looked at her from the corner of my eye. She didn’t sound like she was being facetious, although it was hard to tell with her. “He’s part of the story, yes. But I haven’t seen Tony in . . . twenty years? Thirty? How old are you now?”