Grant and I knew we couldn't stop with Gwendolyn.
Her conversation with Grandma Opal had started everything.
We needed to understand what her mother knew.
We also needed to know why she had helped keep the secret.
Grant found Grandma Opal's telephone number in an old family contact list.
He called her.
She answered after several rings.
"Hello?"
"Grandma, it's Grant."
Her voice softened.
"How are you, sweetheart?"
"We need to see you."
There was a pause.
"Is something wrong?"
"Yes."
She became quiet.
Then she asked:
"Is this about your mother?"
Grant looked at me.
"Yes."
Grandma Opal sighed.
"When?"
"Today, if possible."
She agreed.
We drove to her house that afternoon.
She was waiting near the front window when we arrived.
She opened the door before we rang the bell.
Her eyes moved between us.
"I suppose you've found out."
I didn't answer.
She stepped aside.
We entered.
Her living room was smaller than I remembered.
There were photographs on the mantelpiece.
One showed Raymond with Gwendolyn.
Another showed Grant and me as children.
I wondered how many people in that room had known the truth while we sat there believing something else.
Grandma Opal invited us to sit.
She brought tea.
Neither of us drank it.
Grant placed the photograph of Sarah on the table.
Grandma Opal looked at it.
Her face changed.
"Where did you get that?"
"From Elizabeth."
She closed her eyes.
"I see."
I leaned forward.
"You knew Sarah?"
Grandma Opal nodded.
"Yes."
"Did you know she wanted to see us?"
"Yes."
I felt anger rising.
"Then why did nobody tell us?"
She placed her cup down.
"Your mother believed she was doing the right thing."
Grant shook his head.
"That's not an answer."
Grandma Opal looked at him.
"I know."
I took out Raymond's letter.
"Did you know Dad wanted to tell us?"
She looked at the handwriting.
Her eyes filled.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you help him?"
She didn't respond immediately.
Then she said:
"I was afraid of what would happen to Gwendolyn."
I stared at her.
"What about us?"
She looked down.
"I know."
I couldn't understand it.
Two adults had apparently been more concerned about protecting one another than telling two children the truth about their own mother.
Grandma Opal began explaining what she remembered.
She said Gwendolyn had been deeply attached to the idea of becoming a mother.
When the opportunity to adopt Grant and me appeared, she had wanted everything to be permanent.
She wanted us to belong completely to her.
At first, she had agreed to Sarah remaining part of our lives.
But as time passed, she became uncomfortable with the arrangement.
She feared that we might grow attached to Sarah.
She feared that we might eventually prefer our biological mother.
I listened without speaking.
Grandma Opal continued.
"Raymond tried to calm her."
"What did he say?"
"He told her that loving you didn't mean taking someone else's place."
I looked at Grant.
Those words sounded like Raymond.
Grandma Opal wiped her eyes.
"But Gwendolyn couldn't accept it."
"So you helped her?"
Grandma Opal looked ashamed.
"I didn't stop her."
There was a difference.
But not enough of one.
"Did you know she was telling us Sarah abandoned us?"
"Yes."
"Did you know she was keeping the letters?"
Grandma Opal nodded.
"Some of them."
I felt sick.
For years, we had sat at family gatherings with people who knew something important about our lives.
They had watched us grow up believing we had been unwanted.
And nobody had corrected us.
Grant stood and walked toward the window.
I stayed seated.
"Why did you say we still didn't suspect anything?"
Grandma Opal looked at me.
"When?"
"The day I overheard you and Gwendolyn."
She lowered her eyes.
"Because I knew the truth was coming out eventually."
"Then why didn't you tell us?"
She looked at me with tears in her eyes.
"I was waiting for the courage."
I didn't know what to say.
Waiting for courage was something I understood.
I had spent years waiting for it myself.
But we had been children.
We shouldn't have needed to find the courage to discover who our mother was.
Grandma Opal reached for the photograph.
"Sarah was a good woman."
I gently moved it closer to myself.
"Then you should have helped her."
She nodded.
"You're right."
Grant returned to the table.
"Did Raymond ever try to arrange a meeting?"
Grandma Opal looked at him.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Not long before he died."
My chest tightened.
"What happened?"
She explained that Raymond had wanted to bring Sarah to the house.
He had hoped the adults could finally agree on a way for us to know her.
But Gwendolyn had refused.
The argument had lasted for hours.
Raymond had been determined.
Gwendolyn had been furious.
Grandma Opal said she had tried to calm both of them.
But she hadn't taken a side.
Then Raymond became ill.
Everything stopped.
I looked at the letter.
He had written it the year before he died.
He must have known time was running out.
I wondered how many times he had held that envelope and considered giving it to us.
Grandma Opal reached across the table.
"Your father loved you boys."
I nodded.
"I know."
"He wanted you to have the truth."
I looked at her.
"Then why did you let him die without helping him tell us?"
She began crying.
I didn't comfort her.
Not because I wanted to punish her.
I simply couldn't keep taking responsibility for everyone's feelings.
We had done that for long enough.
Before leaving, Grant asked one final question.
"Is there anything else we don't know?"
Grandma Opal hesitated.
Then she said:
"Your father kept a box of documents."
I looked at her.
"What documents?"
"I don't know everything that was inside. But I remember him saying that the adoption papers weren't the only things he wanted you to have."
Grant leaned forward.
"Where is the box?"
Grandma Opal shook her head.
"I thought Gwendolyn had it."
I felt my heart beat faster.
"Why?"
"After Raymond died, she collected his personal things."
We looked at each other.
Another piece of Raymond's past might still be hidden somewhere.
And this time, we knew exactly where to start looking.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: The Box Our Father Had Left Behind Held the Last Pieces of a Story That Someone Had Worked Hard to Erase
I Thought Bringing Her Birthday Flowers Might Finally Make Her See Me as Her Son
Part 11 of 20
