Trusting You (Second Chances #2)(17)
“Friend?” I suggested, lifting my shoulder uncertainly.
Brett’s grandmother scoffed and pulled me out of his arms and into hers. “Child, I can see it right now that you’re not just his friend. You two stop being silly. My name is Rachel, but you’re more than welcome to call me grandma.”
“I’m Melissa,” I said, once she let me go.
Brett took my hand and led me to the front door, opening it for both his grandmother and I like the gentleman he was. The moment I stepped inside the whole house smelled like heaven.
“I hope you two are hungry. It’s not every day I get company, let alone my grandson and his girlfriend. When you told me you were coming I had to cook your favorites.”
Love and admiration bloomed across Brett’s face as he guided me to the kitchen. Once I saw all the food my eyes went wide. On the table there was meatloaf, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, homemade biscuits, and other side fixings that would put Thanksgiving dinner to shame.
“Wow,” I breathed. “I have never seen so much food in my life.”
Brett chuckled and grabbed a piece of chicken. “That’s why I had to work out all the time when I was younger. If I didn’t I would’ve been as big as this house.”
His grandmother rolled her eyes and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “You silly boy, enough of that nonsense. Why don’t you go outside and pick those ripe tomatoes off of my vines while I get to know your lady here.”
His lips brushed my ear. “Now don’t let her tell you lies about me,” he whispered, winking at his grandmother.
Kissing me on the cheek, he squeezed my shoulder and walked out the back door that led to the garden. I could see rows and rows of growing vegetables through the kitchen window, and there were a ton of ripe tomatoes ready to be picked. He was going to be out there for a while.
As Rachel was chopping apples, she turned to me and smiled. “So how long have you known my grandson?” she asked.
My face flushed crimson at the memory of our first meeting, but I sure wasn’t going to tell her that. “I met him about three months ago, but I ran back into him at his company party the other night,” I informed her.
Admiration shone on his grandmother’s face. “Yeah, I’m really proud of my boy. I was so happy when he left for New York, but I was lonely without him here. I didn’t dare tell him that because he wouldn’t have left.”
“Is he your only grandchild?” I asked.
Sighing, she nodded and looked down at her apples. “Yes, he’s my only one. My husband and I thought we would have swarms of children when we got married, but God was only able to bless me with one … a daughter, Brett’s mother.”
Peering around the room, I tried to spot some pictures of what Brett might’ve looked like as a kid growing up. I saw several on the far wall and decided to take a look. There was a group photo with Brett, his grandmother, and what looked to be his parents. He had to be about twelve years old and looked exactly like his mother. She was a beautiful lady with her arm held tightly across his shoulders, smiling from ear to ear.
“Your daughter is very beautiful,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “She and Brett look so much alike.”
Rachel nodded. “Yes, they do.” Sniffling, she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and began peeling more apples. Oh no, did I say something wrong? Thankfully, I didn’t have to ask because she continued, “When my husband passed away from lung cancer I was prepared for it, but nothing could ever prepare me for what happened to my daughter.”
My ears perked up and I sidled closer to her, taking a seat. “What do you mean?” I asked. “What happened?”
Brett’s grandmother gazed out the window to where he was working in the garden. Smiling sadly, she explained, “I don’t know how much Brett told you of his mother, but she was the sweetest and most loving of anyone I knew. And I’m not saying that because she was my daughter, but when she loved someone, she loved hard.”
Wiping her hands on her apron, she left the kitchen and came back with some photo albums stacked in her arms. She set them down in front of me and opened up the first one. There were baby pictures of Brett everywhere, all chubby and bald headed; he was adorable. As I scanned through the pictures, they were mainly all of him with a lot of them with him and his mother, smiling. There were tons of his birthdays, vacations, school pictures, and all the holidays. All of them appeared to be nothing except happy times. However, they seemed to stop when Brett looked to be about the age of sixteen. There were no more smiles and no more of his mother. The light inside of his eyes was gone and he appeared angry, empty, even when he graduated high school.
When I got to the last few pages, my eyes widened when I saw the last one. It was an obituary for Caroline Rose Walker, Rachel’s daughter and Brett’s mother. She had died at the young age of forty-two, but I couldn’t find a reason as to how she died.
Swallowing hard, I closed the album and rested my hand atop it. Tears glimmered in my eyes because all I could think about was how Brett must’ve felt losing his mother when he was just a teenager. Softly, I muttered, “I’m really sorry about your daughter. I can’t begin to fathom what it would feel like to lose a child, or a mother in this case. Is Brett’s father still alive?”
My mother and father were still happily married, retired, and travelling the world. The last I heard from them they were sailing to Tahiti. I would be devastated if I lost one of them.