The Devil Has Dimples (8 page)

Grant rose from the crouching position I left him in and
walked over to the dining table.  “I’ll do the dishes while you go through the
book.”  He hesitated than said.  “If you want me to identify anyone in there,
I’ll give it my best shot.”

I nodded.  For some reason, I was scared to open the book. 
My hands were literally shaking.  I took a deep breath and slowly opened the
front cover.

A picture of a newborn baby was on the first page. 
Underneath were the words, “Sara - December 9.”  It was a picture of me.  I was
sure of it.  I slept in the photo, my hands drawn up just below my chin.  Bald
as a softball, a small bow sticking on as if by magic, with a round face to
match.

Slowly I turned the pages and saw a visual account of me
growing up.  There was a gap between the ages of one and five, but there they
were.  Pictures that I didn’t know existed.

I remembered the backgrounds, my dresses, my different hairstyles
through the years.  Maudie, somehow, had taken pictures of me, consistently. 
Most of the pictures were taken as I was coming out of church, or the movie
show that I generally went to on Sunday afternoons, an occasional glimpse of me
in my front yard.

Is that what Maudie did every Sunday?  Go to Baton Rouge and
park herself outside our residence hoping to see a glimpse of me and capture a
picture.

I felt tears slip down my face.  I wiped them away hastily,
not wanting Grant to see me crying again.

Maudie really did care about me.

But, why didn’t she contact me?

Or, my parents.  They knew each other.  Why had Maudie given
me to them?  To know where I was?  If anything, the photograph book raised even
more questions.  No wonder the picture frame downstairs held a picture of me. 
Maudie took hundreds of pictures.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

I sniffled and hesitantly said. “No.  All the pictures in
here are of me.  There’s not a single one of Maudie.”

Grant rubbed the dish in his hand dry, then exclaimed. “Hey,
Maudie came to my graduation from law school.  I know I have a picture of us
somewhere.”

He put the dish in the cupboard, threw down the dishtowel
and went into his room.

I could hear him rummaging around as I put the photo album
back in its place.  I glanced around to see if there were any other albums but
couldn’t see any.

Grant came out of his room looking grim.  “They must be at
my Dad’s.”

“Wonderful.  Do you think that we could go over there
tonight and get them?”

Grant didn’t look happy at the prospect.  “Sure.  Let me
give them a call and finish up with the dishes and we can go.”

“You call.  I don’t mind finishing the cleanup.”

“Great.”

It didn’t sound great to me, if anything Grant sounded
depressed at the prospect of going to his father’s home.  I hoped that I wasn’t
putting him out.

I was cleaning the sink when he came out of his bedroom.  A
glum expression on his face.

“Oh, they don’t want us to come tonight?”  I asked.

“No.  They’re thrilled at the prospect of meeting you.  Do
you mind slicing some cake to bring over there?”

“Sure.  No problem.”  Hastily, I grabbed a plate and cut a
healthy portion to bring to his parents.

I knew my happiness must have shown on my face, as Grant
stopped me at the back door and said.  “Sara.  Don’t expect too much.”

“I won’t.”

I knew that I must have sounded lame.  Exactly what did he
mean?  I honestly didn’t expect anything from his parents at all.  But knowing
that he had problems with them since his mother’s death and his dad’s sudden
remarriage, I could imagine that he still harbored ill feelings toward his
stepmother and father.  Was I asking too much?

* * *

The house loomed up in front of me.  It was massive.  
White.  Magnificent.  It was unbelievable.

“Antebellum?”  I asked.

“Uh, no.  I think it was built in 1901 or somewhere thereabouts. 
If you notice the front windows reach down to the porch.”  Grant seemed
unimpressed.

I was definitely impressed.  It sat back on a two-acre lot, 
framed by ancient oak trees whose branches graced the ground.  Four huge
columns supported the upper porch area.  The lights within cascaded out,
inviting.  Intriguing.  A house old enough to have secrets.  Perhaps it held a
clue to my past.  I hoped so.

Grant turned in the circular driveway and stopped in front
of the dual doors.

“Well, this is it.”

“It’s so beautiful.”

His eyes rolled.  “Wait until you see the inside.  Margie
hasn’t done a thing since she moved in.”

“What do you mean?”  I followed him out of the car and up
the wide brick steps, balancing the cake in my hands.

“You’ll see.”  Grant hesitated at the door and rang the
bell.  You could hear the chimes playing a melody.  A moment later, the door
opened.

The woman who opened the door was charming.  She met us with
a wide smile and opened the door further, inviting us in with her hand.  “Come
in, come in.”

“Hey, Marge.  Meet Sara, Maudie’s daughter.”

She glanced at my face, then at the wrapped cake in my
hands, “Here let me take that.”

She seemed nervous under that gracious facade.  Tastefully
groomed, she personified the perfect Southern Belle.

“Come on in.  I thought we could eat in the kitchen, it’s so
much cozier there.”

She led the way and we followed.  The inside of the house
was tired, for the lack of a better word.  Antique furniture would have been a
better choice for the entryway, however, someone choose furniture that was
several decades old.  It needed to be redone and replacement seemed a better
idea.  What was going on here?

Margie turned left at the end of the hall.  It was a
pleasant surprise, it was perfect.  A kitchen that was designed for someone who
liked to cook and entertain.  Golden oak cabinets surrounded three walls, with
a granite countertop that complimented the walls and floor.  An island in the
middle.  My fingers itched to cook in this kitchen.

There was an informal seating arrangement before the entry
into the kitchen, with a love seat balancing it out on the other side.

A large man was sitting at the table, reading the
newspaper.  He reluctantly set it down and stood up.  Grant walked over to him
and shook his hand.  It seemed so formal.

“Dad, I want you to meet Sara, Maudie’s daughter.  Sara, my
father, Leonard.”

He seemed delighted to see me.  Instead of a handshake, he
opened his arms and hugged me gently and then pulled back and looked at me.

“My.  I can’t believe it, Maudie’s daughter.  Who would have
thought?  And don’t call me Leonard, everyone calls me Lenny.”

Everyone except his son, apparently.

He took me by the elbow and guided me toward the table.

“Here, sit.  Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’m making fresh coffee, decaf, of course.”  Margie said.

Lenny laughed.  “If I’d known coffee would keep me awake at
night, I would have drunk it more when I was a teenager.”

Margie playfully slapped him on the arm.  “You’re so bad.”

I could feel the love that surrounded this couple, I glanced
at Grant to see what his reaction was, and found him frowning.  How strange. 
Why wouldn’t he want to see them happy?

“Oh, your cake looks absolutely delicious.  I can’t bake a
cake to save my life, they always end up hard, like rocks.”  Margie took down
dessert plates from a cabinet, and began to cut into the cake.  “What did you
say the name of the cake was again?’

Grant spoke first.  “Better Than Sex.”

Margie and Lenny stole a quick look at each other and burst
out laughing.

I couldn’t help myself, I laughed with them.

Lenny wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.  “Times sure
have changed.”

“Can I help?”  I was embarrassed.

Margie gave me a big grin.  “Sure, the silverware is in that
drawer to the right of the sink.  Now, stop your laughing, men, you’re making
her blush.”

Grant turned and looked at me.  His chocolate eyes melting
my resolve.  He was definitely better than any cake I ever had.  With that
thought, I knew I turned even redder than ever.

“Now, that’s unusual.”  Lenny said.

“What’s that?”  Margie questioned.

“Maudie blushed just like that, creeping up the neck and
then onto her cheeks.  That is, if you could ever get her to blush.”

“I don’t think I ever saw Maudie blush.”  Grant said.

“I remember one time,” Lenny stated, “the six-pack were
sitting in the bleachers, watching the football players go through their
drills.  Some guy threw a pass and it landed in Maudie’s lap.  It got a big
laugh, especially when she tried to throw it back and it landed in the
bleachers two rows in front of her.  She blushed like the dickens.”

“Bitsy was telling me about the “six-pack,” I said.

Lenny looked sad.  “Yeah.  It’s hard to believe that there
are only three left.”

Margie brought coffee cups to the table, then the pot, and
began to fill them.  I helped her serve everyone, then sat.

Lenny moaned a little after stuffing a large piece of cake
in his mouth.

I smiled, like father, like son.

“This is really good.”  Lenny said.  “But sex is better.”

Margie nudged him with her hand.  “Behave.”

He mouthed around another piece of cake.  “I am, I am.”

There was deep affection between these two.  An honest
caring.  They looked happy.

Grant wasn’t.  He sat there, eating politely, but distant. 
It was as though he wished he were a million miles away.  Perhaps in Tina’s
arms.

The thought made my stomach clench.

Lenny quickly finished his cake, and Margie hustled up and
cleared his place, then refilled his coffee cup.

Grant pushed his half-eaten piece away.  “I’ve had enough.”

I could tell that he was anxious to leave.  I picked up my
own half-finished plate and his and brought them to the sink.

“Don’t worry about those.  I’ll take care of them.”  Margie
said.  She seemed tense.

I decided that it was time to start digging for photos.

“Grant, do you want me to help you look for those photos?”

He seemed relieved.

Lenny interjected.  “Margie, go help the girl find those
pictures, I need Grant’s help on my computer.  I can’t get the printer to
work.”

Margie perked up.  “I’d love to.”

She motioned for me to follow her and we left the room.  She
led the way down the hall and turned up the staircase.  The carpeting needed
replacement, and the banister could be repainted.  Everything shouted, update
me.

She turned left at the head of the stairs and entered the
first room on the right.  She hesitated as she put her hand on the knob.

“It’s just like he left it when he was a kid.”

That surprised me.

Opening the door, she motioned me inside.

The room was huge, as most of the rooms in mansions generally
are.  There were several sports pennants on the walls along with pictures.  I
looked at them first.  Grant in a baseball uniform, holding a bat, looking so
young.  Then a photo of him with his father in a fishing boat.  There were
quite a few pictures, several dozen at least covering one wall.

“She’s not in any of those.”  Margie said.

“Oh.”

“I put all his pictures in scrapbooks.”  She opened the
closet and went on tiptoe to reach something high.  “Can you get down that
green book on the top shelf?”

“Sure.”  I reached up and grabbed the book in question, and
handed it to Margie.

Margie brought it over to the bed and sat down on the edge. 
She began to search its contents.

A picture on the nightstand caught my attention.  It must
have been Grant’s mother.  There were several pictures of her and him gracing
the wall, but this one was different.  It was the picture of a young woman,
caught in profile, holding her baby.  There was such a look of contentment on
her face.  It was as though she was in the perfect place of her life.  I
reached over and picked it up to examine it further.

“That’s Lorraine.  Grant’s mother.”  Margie said sadly.

“It’s a beautiful photograph.”  I stated softly.

“She was a beautiful woman.”

The tone in Margie’s voice caused me to turn around and face
her.

Margie had tears in her eyes.  Margie hastily began to wipe
them away.  “I’m sorry.”

I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder.  “There’s
nothing to be sorry about.”

Margie gave a dry laugh.  “Oh, there’s plenty to be sorry
about.  I wish I could be Grant’s mother.  He’s the only child I will ever
have, yet...he hates me.”

The woman was in anguish.  I sat next to her and put my arm
around her to comfort her.  “I don’t think he hates you.  But, maybe you should
talk to him.”

“Oh,  I’d never do that.”  Margie finished wiping her tears
away.  She began to turn pages in the album, her hands trembling.  She stopped
at one photo and pointed to it.

“He was so cute when he was a baby.”  Grant was sitting on a
red wooden rocking horse outside.  The pleasure shown on his round little face,
his small hands grasping the handles for all he was worth.

“These are all in order.  I guess it would be smarter to
start at the back.”  Margie gave a weak smile, and turned to the back of the
book.  Grant must have been in his early teens, with braces.  His arm around a
young Tina, who looked hard even then.

“He’s dated Tina since high school?”

Margie gave a low chuckle.  “That’s what she believes.  It’s
more like she dated him.”

“So, she’s chasing him?”  I asked.

Margie raised her eyebrows.  “Relentless in her pursuit, is
more like it.  Grant abhors the thought of marriage again, but she’s in there
trying like the dickens to get him to the altar.”