The kitchen was alive with activity. There were enough cupcakes and cheese platters to feed a wedding, and streamers that read “100” hung from the ceiling. They all wanted to take a photo with Grandma Elsie. One hundred years, I mean. Isn’t that something?
Wrapped in her favorite purple fleece, she appeared small in her wheelchair. Sharp as ever, but fragile. She simply nodded and smiled as people flocked around her that day, saying very little. However, she made eye contact with me that stopped me cold when I brought out the cake, which had her favorite strawberries on top.
“Don’t blow the candles out yet,” she said, reaching up and lightly touching my hand.
Perhaps she was joking, I thought as I leaned closer and half smiled. I remarked lightly, “Grandma, you are aware of the regulations.” “You blow out the candles after making a wish.”
She didn’t laugh, though. Her eyes were still grave, fixed on mine in a disturbing manner. “No, my love, not just yet. She said, “There’s something I need to tell you,” in a steady voice that was hardly audible above a whisper.
A chill went through my body. “Gramma, what is it?”
She hesitated, her creased hand still softly touching mine. “There are secrets. Things I kept to myself. Before it’s too late, you must get to know them.
As I concentrated on her words, the surroundings of the room appeared to blur. My grandmother, this small woman who had always been a source of wisdom and warmth, seemed to have changed. Something darker and more intense took the place of the smile she had been wearing all day.
I looked around, but nobody else seemed to notice the tension rising because they were all too busy laughing and chatting. “What do you mean, Grandma?” My voice was low and uncertain as I asked.
After exhaling deeply, she said in a whisper that made my heart race: “Your father isn’t who you think he is. Nor am I.
The world seemed to be spinning for a moment. Something in her eyes told me this was serious, but I wanted to laugh it off and write it off to old age or perhaps the stress of aging. She appeared so solemn, as if she were bearing a weight she was no longer able to support.
“Stop, Grandma. I tried to laugh, but it sounded forced, and I said, “You’re frightening me.”
She didn’t return the smile. “I’m running short on time. You must pay attention. Visit the ancient home in the forest. You will discover the truth there. Everything you require is contained in a box in the attic.
My throat constricted, as though the surrounding air had become more dense. She was talking about the little cottage in the woods that had been left unoccupied for years after Grandpa passed away. I hadn’t been there since I was a young child. Particularly after they moved into town, nobody discussed it. However, there was a sense of urgency—almost like a warning—in her words.
She patted my hand and said, “Don’t tell anyone, darling,” before I could reply. Simply leave. You will comprehend when you locate it.
Although there was still life in the room, my thoughts were elsewhere, racing with unanswered questions. My eyes were fixed on her as I stood motionless. She added, “Promise me you’ll go,” with a slight, almost melancholy smile.