Four Broken Pieces ✓

Twenty Five

I waited on our usual park bench, wrapped in a thick winter jacket with a beanie covering my head. The sun was out today but there was still a bitter chill in the air that had me cuddling into my jacket for warmth. I waited in silence, watching two kids building a snowman in the distance. It was hard to believe sometimes that it was still December, close to Christmas in fact and that I'd only met the boys weeks ago. So much had changed since then, so much more than I'd ever dreamed for my final year in high school.

My grandfather seated himself next to me, his usual scent filling the air around both of us. He said nothing, and neither did he push me to speak. We sat in silence for a few moments, watching the kids. We both knew what I'd called him here for.

"She came last night, to the house," I started softly, turning to gauge his reaction. He looked guilty for a second and turned his face away from me. So I'd been right in my deductions. I'd known something was off the moment I'd seen the lack of phone calls from my grandfather, questioning where my mother was like he usually did.

"You sent her, didn't you?" I pressed and he hanging his head was answer enough. There was no way my mother would have known about the existence of my grandfather's set of keys unless he'd given it to her.

"Why didn't you warn me," I asked, sounding choked and he finally looked up at me. His eyes were sunk into his skull, the dark circles more prominent under his eyes than I remembered them to be. I hadn't thought, hadn't realized the toll this would take on his health. To not only take care of his daughter but to watch her break in front of his eyes.

"I thought she'd gotten better sweetpea, and so when she asked me of this one thing, to go see her daughter, I couldn't refuse. I didn't think she'd hurt you," he said. It wasn't his fault but I still couldn't remove the image of Mikhail from my head. The gasp he'd let out, the lingering scars my mother's words had dug up. He'd acted all right this morning. His usual happy smile was in place and so neither of us had pressed the issue. I still couldn't forget it though, that gasp. It hurt, even more, to think it was my fault, for bringing my mother into his life.

"She seemed healthier. I think she's quit," I said, turning away from my thoughts of Mikhail. My grandfather nodded in agreement before turning to face me. There was a spark of light in those eyes that hadn't been there before and I realized he'd come here with his own intentions, not just on my call.

"She's coming around and I know she may have been harsh yesterday but can you do this one thing, for me," he asked and I nodded quickly. I'd do anything for this man. His kindness and generosity were all that had kept me off the streets when my mother had first left and I loved him with all my heart.

"We're hosting a Christmas dinner, like old times and I want you to be there. I felt that it might help your mother to be around family again. Will you come," he asked. I felt tears at the back of my eyes. The last time we'd celebrated Christmas together, as a huge family had been years ago, before the accident. I knew it would be nothing like that this time. I'd be lucky if we could get through dinner without my mother throwing harsh words at me but I'd try. I couldn't deny that a part of me still hoped that one day, we'd go back to the relationship we'd once had.

"Of course," I promised, and a beaming smile lit up his face, wrinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes. The urge to paint that smile tingled my fingers.

It was around 5 in the evening when I heard knock at the front door. The boys had left a couple of hours ago, claiming they wouldn't be back until dinner. Troy and Violet were on a date, and I'd met my grandfather this morning. There were few others who came knocking at my door and I felt the chills as I remembered the danger I'd put myself in by being with the boys, the danger they'd warned me of. I felt a genuine fear rise in my throat, as I slowly swung the door open.