I popped the lid off the small Tupperware container and set it down beside me, trying to keep my expression neutral.
“What fresh torment is this?” he snarled and stared daggers at both me and Sharon.
Paisley skipped over and stuck her snout in the mush Sharon had prepared for Octo-Cat. It appeared to be canned cat food slathered on a special type of cracker.
“Seafood medley on my own special snack biscuit recipe. Chessy loves it.”
“Chessy doesn’t have a choice, but I do.” Octo-Cat lunged at Sharon, causing her to drop the lobster roll she’d just narrowly saved from him before.
He grabbed it between those sharp, greedy teeth of his and took off running. Paisley used that opportunity to gulp down the specialty cat sandwich. Charles laughed, while Sharon looked like she was going to cry.
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “I’m much more of a bisque girl myself. I can’t wait to try yours.”
And with that, her eyes grew bright again. She talked me and Charles through the process of developing her new recipe as she ladled out a serving for each of us.
I listened to every single word, taking slow, contemplative spoonfuls into my mouth. The soup was rich and creamy, filling my stomach perfectly without the help of an added course.
I was grateful for the hot meal but had a hard time following the conversation when there was only one topic I wanted to discuss with Sharon.
When she finally paused to take a bite of her own meal, I saw my chance to get us back to the reason we’d all gathered there that night.
“So about my grandmother…” I started, then bit my lip and waited.
7
Sharon cleared her throat as she wrapped up her uneaten lobster roll and placed it back into the picnic basket.“Oh, sorry. Did you want this?” she offered with an uncharacteristic flush on her cheeks.
“Is it really that bad?” I choked out. Suddenly my chest felt heavy with the weight of an unknown shame. I’d asked for Sharon’s help because I was bursting with curiosity—not because I actually expected her to find something terrible about my missing family member.
Charles scooted along the dock until our hips were touching and then wrapped an arm around my shoulders.“I’m sure it’s nothing too big,” he reassured me.
Sharon cleared her throat again.“Wellllll.” She twisted her hands in her lap and refused to meet my eye, instead gazing out across the lake as the gentle ripples reflected the sunlight.
“Please just tell me,” I begged. My stomach threatened to give up the bisque that I’d just filled it with. “I need to know,” I added softly. “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”
Sharon nodded; a tuft of her short blonde hair caught the breeze and flickered distractingly.“It took me a while to find out much of anything. She’s changed her name, you see.”
“Oh, so she remarried?” Charles asked brightly, drumming his fingers against my upper arm. “I mean, that’s probably to be expected seeing as it’s been about sixty years.”
“Her first name,” Sharon corrected.
At the same time, I said,“She and my grand-dad were never married. He was a McAllister. She was a Jones.”
“She still is a Jones,” Sharon murmured. “She was born Marilyn. Then went by Mary for a spell, and now she’s Lyn.”
“So she switched up her nickname? A lot of people do that, right?” Charles reasoned, always so optimistic. I honestly didn’t know how he did it.
“Actually, she switched up her legal name. It took some digging to find all those iterations belonged to the same person.” She paused and drew in several deep breaths.
What was coming next? I almost couldn’t stand the anticipation, no matter how brief my wait.
“Luckily—or perhaps unluckily,” Sharon continued with a sigh, “she was in the papers a lot, your grandmother.”
Charles tensed at my side, tightening his grip on my shoulder.“Why?”
“She’s lived a troubled life,” Sharon said with a grimace. “She’s done a few rounds in prison. A few in the psychiatric ward. Seems to be a bit of a bad egg.”
I stumbled to my feet. Perhaps Sharon wasn’t the friend I’d thought she was. That was my fault for trusting a near stranger with something so important.
“What? Why? Why would you say that?” I demanded, feeling outraged on behalf of a woman I’d never even met. Sharon was saying my grandmother was a bad egg, and well, we were from the same nest.
“I don’t know. The records are sealed, but I could see she got picked up once every few years. Did small amounts of time in prison, until suddenly they started sending her to the asylum instead.”
“Not guilty by way of insanity,” Charles murmured.
“Also, it’s not called that anymore,” I added spitefully.
“Sorry, I guess I’m a bit old-fashioned, and I know that’s not always a good thing. I don’t mean to make you feel bad, hunny bunny,” Sharon said, softening my reaction to her harsh choice of words. But then she said, “I don’t think you’re crazy, even if your grandmother is.”
I turned toward Charles with wide eyes.“Do you think she’s dangerous? Is that why my grandfather kidnapped his own child? To keep my mom safe?”
He shook his head slowly but didn’t glance up to meet my gaze. “I wish I had the answers for you, but there’s only one person we can really ask.”
“I found her number,” Sharon said, pulling out a business card that she’d kept tucked in her jeans pocket. It had Sharon’s info on one side and another number scrawled with a failing ink pen on the back. She handed the card to me, and I read the string of numbers over again and again. I didn’t recognize the area code, suggesting she probably moved around a fair bit, too—or had at least moved somewhat recently, even before she’d arrived in Maine.
That checked out, since the seagulls had eyes on her in the Blueberry Bay area but then lost her temporarily when she moved to Katahdin.
Just where had she lived before? And how many different places had she ended up over the years? I knew she’d lived in Larkhaven, Georgia, when my mom was born and caught up with Nan in New York when Mom was a pre-teen. But where else had she journeyed these long years apart?
“It’s a California area code,” Charles informed us. “A couple counties over from where I grew up.”
“I wonder when she lived there,” I said, turning the card over in my hand with a frown. There was so much I didn’t know about this person—this stranger. Even though we shared some DNA, I knew absolutely nothing about her. Was I crazy for pursuing this?
“Are you going to call her?” Sharon prompted, nodding toward my hands.
I took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. Yes, maybe I was a little nuts, but I’d never considered that a bad thing before. “I’ve come this far. No sense in giving up now.”
I misdialed twice before I finally got it right, and then the phone rang twice, three times… seven, eight. Nobody answered, not even the voicemail service.
“Now what?” I asked Charles as tears threatened to spill. I kept pumping myself up, only to be let down. All that adrenaline coursing through my veins didn’t just go away. I stayed keyed up for hours after each near encounter with my grandmother. I had to meet her—and soon—for my own sanity.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find her,” he promised.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Sharon said gently as she struggled to her feet and opened her arms to invite a hug. “I really wanted to have good news to give you.”
“It’s okay,” I said, hugging her once more. I couldn’t be mad at her. Not about this. Not about anything, really. It was just so hard to keep my emotions straight given how many highs and lows I’d experienced lately. I needed…
I wasn’t sure what I needed, but I had to figure that one out for myself.
“I appreciate the help,” I told Sharon, then turned to look at Charles as well, “but if it’s all right with you, I think I need some time to sit alone with my thoughts.”