She wasn’t sure what she planned to say, and the door opened far too soon, because suddenly her grandpa was standing there, squinting at her through bifocals perched on the end of his nose. He gasped, put a hand to his chest, and whispered, “Sugar Plum?”
She hadn’t been sure what she would feel when face-to-face with him, and she still wasn’t beyond the slight nausea of all the butterflies taking flight in her belly. “Hi, Grandpa.”
His smile was trembling and there was a suspicious shininess to his eyes now as he reached for her hand. “You’re actually here.”
“Is that okay?”
At her question, a shadow passed over his face, but his voice, trembling before, was strong now. “Yes. More than anything. I’m sorry if you doubted it for even a second.”
“There were more than a few seconds,” she said, not willing to let herself be moved by his obvious emotions at seeing her.
“I deserve that,” he said quietly. “Can . . . can I hug you, Jane?”
The eight-year-old in her spoke before the grown-up in her could, whispering yes.
He pulled her into his arms and pressed his cheek to hers. “Thank you,” he said, holding on tight. “You’re so much braver than I’ve ever been.”
Leaving that statement alone for now, she pulled back. “You smell the same.”
“It’s mothballs.”
She choked out a laugh as his gaze searched hers. “Did you get it?”
She pulled the ornament from her pocket.
“You carry it with you.” He looked unbearably touched by that. “Come in, come in, before you catch your death!”
She followed him past the well-lived-in front room she remembered so vividly. She’d bounced on that very couch, huddled up to the woodstove for heat after playing in the snow. “It’s the same,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “I like the same.” He brought her into the kitchen. “Let me make us something warm to drink. Sit.”
She sat at the same scarred wood table where she’d memorized her multiplication tables and learned how to write in cursive. She could see the small burn she’d created when she knocked over one of her grandma’s candles. And the Sharpie mark she’d accidentally left doing a school assignment.
Her grandpa brought her hot cocoa with marshmallows and whipped cream. “My favorite.”
“I know.” He hesitated. “I bought it the day I saw you watching me in the diner. I was stunned to see you, and . . .” His eyes went misty. “At first I was certain you were my imagination playing tricks on me. But then I saw you were wearing your grandma’s necklace.” He gave her a small smile. “And I knew. I knew it was you, even after all these years.”
“I saw you too.”
“Ah. I wasn’t sure. You took off pretty quickly, and I knew after what I’d done, that I had to give you the time you deserved to decide if you wanted to see me.”
Her throat felt tight. It’d been two years since she’d found him in Sunrise Cove, and she’d hesitated to make contact. For her own reasons, of course, and she knew those reasons were valid. But he’d seen her what, a week ago, and hadn’t hesitated. Food for thought. “What you did?”
He looked away as if ashamed. “I let you go, Jane.” He met her eyes again, and indeed, it was shame swimming in his rheumy blues. “I’ve never forgiven myself for that.” He studied her for a beat. “I have a lot to make up for, but I want you to know that I’ve been dreaming of a second chance with you. I started with the ornament. It was a blatant bribe, but also a way to approach you without your feeling forced into something you weren’t ready for.”
She searched for the right words, but were there any? “I’m glad you made contact,” she said carefully. “I always figured that if you’d wanted to see me after all that had happened, you’d get in touch.”
“After all that happened?”
“You know, when you and Viv fought over me and it destroyed your relationship.”
He looked stricken. “How do you know that?”
“She told me about it back then, how keeping me would have been too hard on you.”
He sighed. Scrubbed a hand over his face. “She shouldn’t have told you that. The truth is, Viv and I always fought. That wasn’t your fault, Jane.”
“It felt like it.”
He drew a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for that. So sorry. Please believe me, none of it was your fault.” He paused. “Do you remember what I used to tell you?”
“That Santa Claus was real? Which, by the way . . .”
That got her a small smile. “I meant when I once told you that family is blood. I was wrong. Family, real family, has nothing to do with blood. Family is who you pick. And I’ve not done a bang-up job of it with you. Your aunt Viv, and for that matter, also your mom . . . they are who they are. I’m angry that I allowed them to sabotage our relationship, that Viv made you feel like not only were you a burden, but that you weren’t wanted. But mostly I’m angry with myself that I didn’t come to you years ago. I don’t even have an excuse other than shame. You have no reason to believe me, but I want you to know you are my family, Jane. The family that I’m choosing. Maybe it’s too little too late, but you should know that I’m ashamed I waited so long to try and connect with you. Ashamed, and so very, very sorry. But I choose you. If you’ll have me.”
Jane lost the battle with her tears, as did her grandpa. They moved toward each other and held on tight for a long moment while she grappled with her emotions.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “And the answer doesn’t have to be yes.”
“That’s good, because I’m not sure how I am.” She sniffed and gave a slow shake of her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I can accept your not being sure. It’s better than a flat-out no.” He looked out the window. “Do you want to talk about that handsome young fellow waiting out in the cold?”
Nope. Definitely not. She shook her head.
“Sugar Plum.” He removed his fogged-up glasses to wipe them on his sweater. “It’s twenty-two degrees outside.”
And she was wearing his jacket and hat . . . “I can’t stay.”
He nodded his acceptance of that. “Maybe next time then, you’ll let him come in.”
Was there going to be a next time? She hadn’t been sure, but now she was feeling maybe having a next time might be good. “Maybe.”
He smiled, still looking emotional. And tired. And damn, older than she wanted him to be.
“When?” he asked. “I want to write it down because if my memory gets any worse, I could plan my own surprise party.”
“Maybe we could have dinner one night after work.”
“You just tell me when and where and I’ll be there,” he said.
She nodded and then put her contact info into his phone, which made him beam so happily it gave her a hard pang. “I’m going to go before Family Feud comes on, which you used to always watch after your stretching routine. You still do that, right?”
“Yes. It’s a doctor requirement now, ever since . . .” He broke off. “Er . . .”