Page 39 of Bitter Lies

HOURS EARLIER

A scoop of rich, refreshing gelato is the perfect way to end the night with Grams. It’s lovely sitting with her, sharing stories and laughing while we enjoy our cold sweet treats. We haven’t had much time for this lately. Her confusion is one reason, but my packed schedule leaves me with limited free time.

I’ve missed this. Us hanging out, opening up and sharing.

Growing up, our time together was limited. She lived in England. I lived in Hermosa Islas.

My mother was a frequent topic of our conversations. Grams made sure of that. She never wanted me to forget her, never let me doubt how much she loved me. Parts of those conversations I didn’t fully understand.

As a child, I couldn’t wrap my head around the painful truth. My mother murdered my father. Even now I struggle with it. I couldn’t understand her decision. Why she later ended her own life to protect me. It made no sense.

I’d questioned Grams about how her dying kept me safe. Her response never changed.

“Not all things are black and white, Izzy. Life is full of shades of gray.”

Now that I’m older, I understand what she meant. The decisions people make aren’t always simple. They don’t fit into neat boxes or follow what’s expected. But that doesn’t make those choices wrong. Not when done to protect those they love.

My mother’s life feels like a story with missing pages. Hints of something complicated, but never the full truth. I’ve accepted that her secrets died with her.

But recently, my grandmother has let a few truths slip past her guard. Things she’s kept hidden for years. Now I’m left with questions that won’t go away.

Can her words be trusted as real? Or are they fragments of a mind slipping, turning memories into something else?

Tonight’s bizarre encounter only fueled my curiosity. It’s got me thinking that maybe her memories are truer than I’m comfortable with.

After everything that’s been running through my head, the shift in her feels like a gift.

Thankfully, at this late hour, she’s herself again. The grandmother I grew up with. Her mind is clear and sharp, her wit as quick as ever.

Poor Marty has put up with her persistent, and sadly typical, flirtatious behavior without batting an eye. He’s even flirted back, making the night feel like old times. He deserves a raise.

We’ve just pulled up to my grandparents’ building. Grams hasn’t stopped making me laugh since Marty helped her into the backseat.

I bet she was a lot of fun in her younger days. Not at all the proper lady she became after marrying my grandfather.

Did he change her? Or did she evolve on her own?

I hope it was the latter, because I hate thinking she’d let a man or society take away a vital part of who she was.

As Marty opens the backdoor to let us out, we burst into laughter. He rolls his eyes and smiles, ignoring us. He’s learned not to ask, because my grandmother will tell, and this time he really doesn’t want to know.

I get out and then offer her my hand for support. “I’ve had a wonderful time tonight.”

Gram’s smile lights up her entire face. “Me too. We should do this more often. I miss you.”

Once she’s out, I tuck her arm under mine and lead us toward the front door with Marty trailing behind. We aren’t paying attention, just casually walking when a man nearly knocks us over as he barrels out of the building. Thankfully, I keep my balance steady so that my grandmother doesn’t lose hers and fall.

“You okay?” I ask, making sure she’s not hurt.

Her hair now smoothed, Grams casts a glance behind her. “He’s in quite a hurry, isn’t he?”

Marty swiftly snatches the man’s arm, his grip firm, preventing him from escaping. “I believe you owe the ladies an apology.”

With a turn of his head, the man staggers, nearly toppling, and drunkenly mumbles, “My apologies. Didn’t see you.”

The second Marty releases him, he’s off again. The bloke can’t even walk a straight line, but he doesn’t stop.

Once he reaches the curb, he lifts the key fob and presses it. The lights on the Porsche flash, and he stumbles toward it and somehow climbs in.