Oftentimes that voice takes the shape of someone we know. Sometimes it’s a snarky friend, a cynical parent.
In my case, especially back when I was a kid, it was my grandma. Every happy urge I ever had she tried to talk me out of and a lot of the time she succeeded.
When she’d kicked me out at seventeen, I’d left and never looked back. In fact, it’d been a relief because after that I got to live with Gram.
Though I shared no blood with Gram, in a lot of ways, most ways, she’d always felt more like family to me than my own grandma, and unlike my complete adoration for Gram, my feelings for my own grandmother could only be described as complicated.
She resented me because I was a burden she’d been forced to shoulder but never felt she’d owned.
And I resented her because I was really, really good at it.
Also, she was mean. Deep down to her core mean. She was cold, stubborn as a mule, and vindictive to a terrible degree and with very little provocation. There was no give in her, and if you caught her in the wrong mood, she would absolutely cut off her nose to spite her face. She could self-destruct like nobody’s business if it meant taking someone else out with her.
Her entire wretched life was pretty much a testament to that.
Obviously, I’d taken after her with at least a few of those undesirable traits. The irony was not lost on me. But in my defense, I do believe that many of the toxins that resided inside of me had been set into motion quite early on and a good number of them had been planted by her.
But then again, sometimes it just feels better to have someone to blame, and my grandmother had always made herself into a very convenient target. It was one of the few nice things I could say about her.
I opened my mouth to give my obligatory scathing retort, but Dante beat me to it.
“Have a little respect,” Dante told her, voice low and mean. “What would my grandmother think about you talking like that at her funeral? For shame. And the red shoes are perfect. You of all people should remember how much Gram loved red.”
I lowered my head and started wringing my hands. The day had gone from bad to worse.
Dante defending me was perhaps the most cruel thing he could do. More than anything else, it made me remember why I’d been so devoted to him for most of my life. Reminded me of a time when I had absolute faith in him.
Made me almost forgot that all of that had only set me up for a more brutal fall.
“Oh, well,” Grandma derisively bit back, “you’re carrying on with this one again? Didn’t he dump you?” she asked me. “Like trash,” she added. “Didn’t you marry Leann’s girl?” she asked Dante. “I always told you he’d break your heart,” she told me.
This was typical. She lobbed out hurtful things like steady grenades until one hit its mark, and she never stopped before something vital was damaged.
Story of my childhood.
I began to walk away as Dante answered. “No and no. And I know what you’re doing, Glenda. You’re lashing out because she cut off all contact with you. Maybe if you’d try to be less awful to her, she’d give you a ring every once in a while.”
I didn’t hear my grandmother’s response because I’d picked up my pace.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
PAST
“I hate my name,” I complained one day to Gram when I was over for tea. My name was just one thing on a very long list that the kids at school teased me about, but I’d decided to take particular exception to it because that day I’d overheard some girls chanting Scarlett harlot when they thought I couldn’t hear.
So I’d come to rant about it to Gram. She was the only grownup I knew that I could say anything to, tell anything to, and she took it all in stride.
This though for some reason seemed to take her aback.
Her hand went to her chest and she blinked at me several times before responding, “You do?”
I looked away. I couldn’t maintain eye contact with her when she appeared so . . . wounded.
I shrugged, not so sure about my outburst now. “I guess so,” I muttered.
“Want to know something absolutely fascinating about your name?”
My eyes went back to her as I nodded.
“A very famous woman named you that. She named you that because scarlet is a brilliant, brave, and daring color. You see, she knew you’d have an interesting life where those qualities would serve you well.”
“You named me?” I breathed.
She smiled and nodded. “I did. Glenda was . . . overwhelmed when she first got you and so I took over for a while. I named you because I felt strongly about it, and she didn’t mind. I always had a talent for naming, if I do say so myself. Do you want to know who else I named?” she glanced over at Dante as she asked the question, and I found my eyes following hers.
He was in his usual spot on the sofa across the room, just lying there listening to us, occasionally piping in to add to or argue with what we were saying. He sat up now and looked at Gram.
“Who?” I asked, though I saw what she was hinting at.
“Dante. Don’t those names sound just wonderful together? Scarlett and Dante. They have a romantic ring when you combine them, don’t they?”
Dante and I were just looking at each other.
“Did you know that she named us?” I asked him.
He smiled and laid back down. “I did, but I thought you’d enjoy the story more coming from her.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
“A man’s kiss is his signature.”
~May West
PRESENT
I was striding across the cemetery, had nearly made it to the car when Dante caught up to me.
“Don’t,” I told him when he fell in beside me. “Don’t involve yourself in my issues. Just. Don’t. It’s not your job to defend me.”
“Since when?”
I shuddered. Hello, temper. “Since you dumped me.”
“I didn’t dump you.” He sounded upset, which upset me.
“I didn’t dump you,” he repeated when I didn’t respond.
“Are you trying to pick a fight?” I asked him pointedly. He had, after all, been the one to declare this a day of peace between the two of us.
He set his jaw and fell quiet. Good.
I thought and hoped that he’d just stay quiet, but about halfway back to the house he pulled the car over onto the shoulder suddenly, putting the car in park.
He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and lay his forehead against it.
“God, I don’t want to do this,” he spoke quietly, not turning his head. “I don’t want to deal with those people being in her home, talking about her, pretending to care, most of them just waiting to see what she left them in the will.”
What he’d said didn’t need a response. He knew how I felt about those people.
“And if one of them says an insulting word to you, so help me, God—“
“Let’s just get home and get it over with,” I cut in, speaking to the window. “And besides, the sooner we get there the sooner I can have a drink.”
One plus for the day—liquor. It would be flowing freely for this ill-fated gathering, I had no doubt.
“Yeah, okay,” he said dejectedly. “Just give me a minute. I need to get a grip.”
I was fine with that, because I thought he meant to just leave him to his thoughts for a minute.
He didn’t mean that, it was quickly clear.