Ariel's Crossing - Bradford Morrow [62]
Even as Ariel formed the first words of some obfuscation, the truth overwhelmed them. “You must know who Kip Calder is.”
“I know who he was.”
“Was?”
“What mother wouldn’t know who her son’s best friend growing up was. Why do you ask?”
Ariel paused. So many questions begged to be asked, but she held back lest they come flying in chaotic multitudes. Nor was it her place to be the one to reveal that Brice, her son, was not after all the father of her granddaughter. Or was it? God bless the child, there were no maps for this part of the journey, either.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Kip Calder, heavens. Maybe thirty years ago.”
“That long?” Her heart sank.
“Brice fell out of touch with him. They were born the same day, Brice and Kip, did you know? I was always of two minds about Kip, couldn’t ever figure the boy out. He was a good student, very smart, smarter than most. Troubled kid, though, always getting your father into trouble. They ran away once, hot-wired a neighbor’s car and took a joyride almost to Wyoming, until they finally crashed it. Kip was pretty badly injured if I remember right.”
“My father never told me that one.”
“No, I suppose he didn’t.”
Ariel lightly laughed.
“I heard Kip died in Vietnam.”
“Not true,” Ariel said.
“You’re sure?”
“Didn’t Brice tell you he saw Kip when he was here a few years ago?”
“Maybe so, could be. Did you know your grandfather died thirteen years ago?”
Ariel nodded, worried by this unexpected cognitive slippage, as she poured orange juice into, of all things, a Deep Space Nine glass. She had to remember that conversation with Granna was an up-and-down business, moving with no warning from sheer lucidity to consummate forgetfulness. Those prune-headed space barkeeps, what were they called? Ferengi? She poured juice into her grandmother’s glass. Odo, shape shifter. All of it ripped off from the Greeks and Shakespeare. Shylock, Proteus. This was David’s fault. Now look who was cognitively slipping.
“He was a good Christian, your grandfather. I’m sure he’s in Heaven waiting for all of us.”
“So how have you been feeling, Granna?” changing the subject away from both Brice’s father and her own.
“Have you seen Bonnie Jean yet?”
“Don’t forget, I just got here last night. We’ll call her after breakfast, would that be good?”
“If you like, dear. We’ll do whatever you want to do, since you’re my unexpected guest and wonderful granddaughter.”
Ariel immediately rose from her chair, went over to this splendid old woman, and, leaning down, gave her such a strong embrace that Granna whimpered slightly.
“I’m sorry,” releasing her, taken aback by the vigor of her own affection.
“Not to worry. I don’t break that easy.”
Which caused Ariel momentarily to consider discussing her pregnancy with Granna. Who could be wiser, more forgiving, understanding? Although she would have but one position regarding the abortion idea.
“Do you believe in Christ yet, Ariel?” Her cataracted eyes were full of rich earnestness.
“Since last night?” Ariel managed.
These tangents were as angular as ever.
“Since anytime you allowed him into your heart,” she said with utmost quiet vigor.
“I’m trying.” Her unwed pregnancy as a possible subject slipped back into the realm of impossibility.
“You don’t have to try. Don’t have to do anything. You allow him in, he comes in. You believe, he saves you. Done, finished. Praise, hallelujah. Your grandfather died these thirteen years ago and I certainly didn’t want to live thirteen years longer than he did—”
“But if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here together.”
Mrs. McCarthy paused. “True. But Ariel, I’m thinking of John, chapter six, verse seventy or thereabouts.