“Rose,” Martin said quietly.
You have her eyes. Eleanor hadn’t meant my mother at all.
“How did she know I was Rose’s grandson?”
“She’d heard your name years ago. When she saw it on your badge, she wondered. Your answers about your family confirmed it.” He closed the briefcase. “She said this story belonged to Rose as much as it belonged to her.”
“Why?”
Martin met my eyes. “Ask Rose.”
For illustrative purposes only
Part Six: What Rose Carried
I drove straight to my grandmother’s assisted living apartment without stopping. She was seventy-three. When she opened the door, her face lit up.
“Daniel! What a lovely surprise. What are you—”
I held up the photograph.
Her smile vanished. She took it from me with trembling fingers and said nothing for a long time. Then, barely above a whisper:
“Eleanor.”
“She died, Grandma.”
Rose sat down hard on the arm of the sofa. “What?”
“Three weeks ago.”
She pressed a hand over her mouth. Her eyes filled and spilled over.
“You knew her,” I said.
“She was my best friend.”
“Then why did no one ever mention her? Not once, in my entire life?”
Rose looked down at the two laughing girls in the photograph. “Because I was ashamed.”
I sat across from her. “Tell me.”
She closed her eyes, and when she spoke, it was as if she were reading from somewhere far away.
“I was twenty-three. Your mother was two. Your uncle was four.” A long breath. “And your grandfather left.”
I had always been told he’d simply “moved away.” I had never asked more.
“He abandoned us. Took nearly all the money. I was behind on rent, no savings, two babies. I didn’t know how I was going to feed them past the end of the month.”
“And Eleanor?”
“She was engaged.”
I glanced at the invitation. “To Thomas.”
“Yes.” Rose’s voice broke. “She gave me the wedding money.”
I stared at her. “All of it?”
“Every cent. She and Thomas had been saving for years. She emptied it and put it in my hands.” Rose wiped her face with the back of her wrist. “I begged her not to. I told her I couldn’t take it. And she said, ‘You have children, Rosie. I have time.’”
The room felt very still.
“And Thomas?”
“He was furious. Not because she helped me — because she gave away money they’d saved together without asking him.” Rose looked at her hands. “He told her she’d always put everyone else before him. That she always would.”
The wedding was postponed. Then postponed again. Then quietly canceled. Thomas moved away. Eleanor never married.
I have time. She had given it away, too.
I felt sick. And then I felt angry.
