“Derek and I haven’t set the date just yet, but we hope to do so soon,” Dianne replied, lightly spinning the ring on her finger. “I can’t wait to be Mrs. Calloway,” she added, gushing.
“That’s wonderful,” she replied. Rory felt her stomach dip. She turned to look out at the horizon, feeling anything but joy and only the turmoil of her own situation.
ChapterEleven
Rory sighed for the third time since returning from Double Bluff. Her mind had been on James the whole afternoon after witnessing how happy and in love Dianne was. Every time she’d spoken of her fiancé, her face brightened, and her eyes twinkled. Rory wouldn’t say she was jealous of her cousin, but the fact that she and James were in a rocky place made Dianne’s overzealous sharing too much.
As she stared out across the porch rails sunbathing, everything in its path had a warm orange glow as the sun began its descent over the horizon. She wondered what James was doing at this moment.
She reached for her phone on the low table and speed dialed her fiancé before raising the phone to her ear. She needed to hear him. She needed him to tell her that they would be okay. The phone rang until his voicemail message came on. With another heavy sigh, she disconnected the call. She stood to her feet and went inside. En route to the stairs, she heard sounds coming from the living room. Abandoning her original plan, she went to investigate. She found her grandmother propped up by pillows behind her on the couch, her feet resting on the ottoman, her eyes trained on the television playing Law and Order.
“Hey, grandma,” she greeted, calling the woman’s attention to her presence.
“Hi, sweetie. Are you ok—ay?”
“I am,” Rory assured her, smiling warmly.
“How are you feeling?”
Becky’s lips pursed, her eyes taking on a faraway look. Rory went to sit by her, resting her hand on top of the one in her lap. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything, I understand,” she spoke reassuringly.
Becky gave her a tight-lipped smile, her brown eyes filling with pain and regret before she looked away. “H-how is y-your yo-young m-a-n?” she stuttered, turning her eyes back on her.
It was Rory’s time to look away. “To tell you the truth, Grandma. I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. Her shoulders fell, and she stared at the thick multicolored carpet covering the wooden floor. “I haven’t a clue, and the sad part is it’s been more than a month that I haven’t been able to confidently answer that question,” she continued to say, letting the truth spill that they were having problems in not so many words.
Becky flipped her palm to give Rory’s hand a squeeze in support. Her hand was stiff, and not much pressure was applied, but Rory smiled over at her grandmother, appreciating her attempt at comfort.
“I a-am s-so-sorry y-ou are going through th-this. I w-wi-wish th-there was some-th-thing I c-c-could do to ma-ma-make y-you feeeel better.”
“This is enough, Grandma,” Rory replied, raising their connected hands. “I’m just glad I can talk to you.”
“U-un-t-til I can-n-not a-any-”
“I’m happy for the now.” Rory gave her a grateful smile, leaning against her.
A warm smile broke out on Becky’s lips.
“Dinner time.”
Rory looked up to see her mother in the doorway staring at them curiously.
“Okay, thanks, Mom. I’ll take grandma.”
Andrea inclined her head in acknowledgment before moving away from the door.
Rory rose up and extended her hand to Becky. The woman reached forward, grasping Rory’s forearm to propel herself forward. Rory placed her free hand under her grandmother’s elbow and eased her into a standing position before tucking her hand in the crook of her bent arm. Slowly they made their way to the dining room, Becky dragging her left leg.
After dinner, Rory made her way upstairs to take a long hot shower before falling into bed physically and emotionally exhausted.
“Ha ha, you don’t have a father. You can’t come to the father-daughter dance because you don’t have a father.”
Tears flowed freely down Rory’s face as she stood frozen in the center of the ring the other children formed around her on the playing ground as they mocked her.
“You don’t have a father; you don’t have a father.”
Feeling helpless, she stuck her thumb into her mouth, and her heart pounded in her chest. Who knew second graders could be so mean? Her mother had told her when she’d complained that her classmates were mocking her, she’d told her not to listen to them. “You are perfect just the way you are. A father doesn’t make you special. You are special because you have a heart of gold. If you ignore them, they’ll stop.”
But they didn’t. It only got worse and made her miss the father she’d never met. A father she’d been told was dead.
