Fall Back Skyward (Fall Back #1)(47)
Wait, what? My father has a brother? How come I’ve never met him? And no one talks about him?
My grandmother blinks, her eyes filling with tears. “He was my first born child, your father’s older brother. I got very sick when I was pregnant with Thomas, which affected his hearing. He was born deaf. He passed away a few years ago. I don’t talk about it, it’s a very difficult topic for me. I’ve held onto it for so long. Seeing the Holloway boy brought back those memories.
“Your father and Thomas never got along very well, because of Thomas’s. . .um. . .lifestyle.” She wipes her cheeks and tries to smile, but fails miserably when a sob escapes her lips. “He was gay, something my husband and later on, Stephen, didn’t approve of.”
My mind is reeling with this information. “Does Mom know?”
She shakes her head. “I have no idea if Stephen ever told her. Every family has a secret and this was ours, mainly because of the way he died.”
I scoot around the table, drop on my knees in front of her, and wrap my arms around her. I had a relative, an uncle, who I never even knew existed. Does my father ever have any positive feelings for anyone? This is just. . .insane.
I pull back and rest my bottom on my heels. “How did he die?”
She rolls her head back and stares at the ceiling, tears running down the side of her face now. I climb to my feet and rush to the counter where the cash register sits, grab the box of tissues, and hurry back to her. I pluck one out and press it into her hand. She dabs her cheeks and eyes with the tissue, before focusing on me again. I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to talk about it, but the need to know is overpowering.
“He. . .um. . .he killed himself right after he broke up with his boyfriend.”
Oh my God.
I lean forward and pull her into my arms, as my own tears roll down my cheeks, joining her in mourning someone I never had the pleasure of meeting.
I’m not even sure how this day turned from one filled with swoon-worthy kisses, walking-on-sunshine moments to one of confessions. Seeing Cole must have triggered Grandma’s memories, ripping open barely healed wounds.
“Have you ever talked to someone about this?” I ask, pulling back and walking around the desk. I lift the chair and set it on the floor next to hers so our knees are touching.
She nods. “The psychologist at work. It took me a long time to accept the consequences of not standing up for my baby. For Thomas.”
We continue chatting about the past. Customers come in, buy what they need and leave. I can’t help but think that my family is really messed up.
Eventually, we get on to the orientation. Grandma explains to me what requires urgent attention, which is arranging the carnations in various buckets in the corner. The owner will pick up their order before closing time. I end up texting Cole to inform him that I need more time. Grandma orders us Chinese for lunch from the restaurant next door. I’m not hungry despite not having breakfast this morning.
Six hours later, Cole pops in to pick me up and drive me home. I’m not even surprised when my grandmother converses with him in sign language after the introductions are over.
“Where did your grandmother learn how to sign like that?” he asks, on the way to his car.
I tell him about Thomas, his father, and how he died. I leave out the part where my father hated his own brother. I need to mull over that information first, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m a little bit scared that Cole will look at me differently. Surely, Dad’s prejudices wouldn’t be clouding his mind, judging Cole, would he?
As soon as Cole drops me home and he kisses me senseless, we agree to meet at our usual place, and I walk toward my house. There is so much I don’t know about my dad, and the more I discover about him, the more I realize he is practically a stranger. I can’t shake off this uneasiness creeping down my spine.
TODAY IS MY FIRST DAY of working with my grandma at Lily Rose and I’m running a little late. I swear if someone asks me what my super power is, I’ll tell them, running late.
I hop out of the Station Wagon, grab my purse and dash through the sliding glass doors at exactly ten o’clock in the morning. I ask the lady at the reception where Albert Hall is, then hurry down the hall. Grandma is already here. The chairs have been arranged in a circle, which I assume, will make interacting easier. I kiss her cheek and she hands me folders, and tells me that they contain songs she uses for the sessions. After placing a folder on each empty chair, she asks me if I would like to practice on the piano, get reacquainted with some of the tunes. I grab a copy of the music sheet and scan it. The first song on the list is “Frosty The Snowman.”
Ten minutes later, an elderly couple walk in slowly, the man pushing the wheelchair for his wife. More people trickle in until all the seats have been taken.
I spend the next forty-five minutes singing and playing the piano. I swear it is the most fun I’ve had in a while.
When the session is over, I excuse myself and head out into the hall, searching for the bathroom. I pause when I see a short, burly man arguing with an elderly woman. Their facial features are similar so I assume she is his mother. He drags a hand down his face in obvious frustration. The older woman’s face is red, her hands shaking in agitation. He turns around again, repeats his name and tells the woman he is her son. She shakes her head and yells, saying she doesn’t have a son. This goes on for a few seconds. One of the day workers steps forward, says something to the man with a stern face, before turning to focus on the frantic woman.