“Well, this took a depressing turn. I’m going to go pick out the movie,” Jerrica says flatly before turning around to leave the kitchen, Aunt Andy close behind her.
When I look down—yes, down, because Luke’s grandmother is very short—and into her big brown eyes, she shoves the box into my hands, giving me a pointed look. “I’m not arguing with you anymore. These are all copies. I have the originals somewhere safe. None of my other family members enjoy cooking, and now that it feels as if you’re part of our family, I want you to have them.”
A part of their family. That hits me right in the center of my chest. I always looked at Luke as a part of my family but not in the way that Raine looks at him. For her, Luke is her long-lost brother, but Luke has never felt like a sibling to me. He feels like…the other half of my soul.
I don’t feel like arguing any more, and so I take the box into my hands, hug it to my chest, and tell her thank you. She reaches up and pats me on the cheek. I watch as she glides around her kitchen, putting pieces back into their places. The little Santa and Mrs. Claus salt shakers. The Christmas-print hand towel by the stove. The box of popcorn back in the cupboard.
When she turns around, she catches me staring and gives me a small smile. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah. It’s just…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “You and your family aren't anything like I expected.”
“And what did you expect?” she asks, leaning against the counter.
I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure. Luke doesn’t talk about this side of his family much.”
She tsks in an understanding way and nods her head. “I’m sure any reminder of his father is hard for him to talk about.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But you’re nothing like Davis.”
She smiles at me, a sadness glossing over her eyes that breaks my heart. I’m a sympathetic crier, so if she starts shedding tears, I will shed them right along with her.
“Luca, Luke’s grandfather, wasn’t the best husband…or father. He held high expectations for the kids and was extra hard on Davis, since he’s the oldest. Davis never could quite live up to Luca’s expectations, even when he followed in his footsteps and started working for his father. No matter how hard he tried to prove himself, Luca never saw him as worthy.”
I’ve asked Luke’s mom, in the past, about what happened to Davis to make his heart so cold and cruel. She never answered me because she didn’t know the answer. Hearing the story from Davis’ mother, witnessing the haunting expression that’s shadowing her face, puts the pieces of the puzzle together.
She continues, “The pressure became too much for Davis, and that was when his drinking started. Eventually, he got himself fired for showing up at the office intoxicated, and shortly after, Davis and Luke’s mother moved away to Covewood. He started to spiral after that, and before Cassandra could get away, she became pregnant, and Davis refused to let them leave.”
“So how did she end up divorcing him if he wouldn’t let her?” I bring my thumb to my mouth and nibble at the skin there. My eyes nervously move around the room to make sure we’re alone, praying that Davis doesn’t show up around the corner.
“After Luca passed, Davis struggled for a while. One night, while Davis wasn’t in his right mind, Cassandra was somehow able to get him to sign divorce papers and agree that things were over between them.”
More pieces of the puzzle start fitting together. I’m hit with the realization that Luke could have easily ended up like his father, but he didn’t. He broke the generational curse, it seems, and I’m thankful that God guided him along a different path that saved him.
“Luca was a lot like Davis in the ways that he was controlling. He’d often talk down to me, making me feel two inches tall and as if anything I had to say didn’t matter. I tried to be the best mother that I could be, but I made a lot of mistakes along the way. After Luca passed and I went through my grieving period, I finally got my life back. I found the Lord, discovered a way to move past all the hurt, and always hoped that redemption would come to Davis. I guess it has, just not in the way I had hoped for it.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiles up at me, both joy and sorrow revealed within her expression. “It took Davis getting cancer to bring Luke and him under the same roof.”
I place a hand against my chest, right where my heart sits, as the weight of her words hit me. The compassion I feel for Luke and this situation with Davis amplifies.
Sometimes I get this urge, a little voice inside my head, encouraging me to speak up or take action. I used to ignore it, scared that I wouldn’t do or say the right thing or would end up embarrassed. I’ve learned, over the years, not to ignore it but to lean into it. No matter how scary it can feel, I've always found myself grateful for following through.
And right now, that little voice is telling me to pray with Luke’s grandmother. I place the box of recipes down onto the counter so I can walk toward her and take her hands into mine.
“Can I pray with you?”
Her breath hitches, eyes shining with the sign of tears, as she nods. “Of course.”
We bow our heads, tightening our grip, and I take in a deep breath.
“Dear Lord, please be with this family as they walk through this difficult season. Bring them comfort, peace, and reassurance. Be near to them and let them know that you are close by. We want to pray over Luke, that he’s able to find forgiveness in his heart, and that this weekend will be exactly what he and Davis need in order to heal. Jesus, be with Davis as he draws nearer to you. It’s in your name we pray, amen.”
I open my eyes, blinking back my tears, feeling the warmth of peace wash over me. As Luke’s grandmother peers up to me, wetness covering her cheeks, she reaches up and touches my shoulder. We both smile, a soundless understanding shared between us.
“God bless you, sweet girl. Thank you.”
There’s a slight prickle in the back of my head, a sense of someone watching us, and sure enough, as I turn toward the doorway, I see Luke standing there, studying us, his face expressionless. I give him a small wave.
