I shook my head. “No. I remember Grandparents’ Day in kindergarten was when I first realized that people usually had two grandparents. My mother explained that her father had died when she was a baby and she’d never known him.”
Gibbes nodded slowly, his gaze focused on the folder. “Deborah probably has access to various archives online—maybe she can find a birth and death certificate for your grandfather—just to confirm it’s the same man.”
“And if it is?” I asked.
His eyes met mine. “I don’t know. A part of me hopes that it’s not him.”
Because there’s no such thing as accidents. The unspoken words floated in the air between us.
The back door burst open and Maris rushed into the kitchen. “Dr. Heyward—Owen needs you. He’s hurt himself real bad.”
She turned and ran outside, Gibbes and me close behind her. Owen sat on the ground with one leg drawn up, his hands gripping his ankle while he tried very hard not to cry. Gibbes knelt beside him, and I squatted on the other side and put my arm around Owen’s shoulders as Gibbes gently probed his ankle. “It’s definitely not broken,” he said confidently. “It’s most likely a mild sprain.”
Owen’s face fell. “Can we still go to the sandbar?”
Gibbes continued to manipulate the ankle, his fingers carefully pressing on the bones of Owen’s foot and shin. “I’m going to ice it and wrap it tightly, but I don’t see any reason we can’t still go. You’ll just have to promise me that you’ll keep your weight off of it and, when you get home tonight, you’ll elevate it.”
“I promise!” Owen said earnestly.
Gibbes stood, then carefully lifted Owen from the ground. I stopped, mesmerized by the scene around me.
I’d been in the garden only at night since Loralee had begun transforming it from a forbidding weed-filled space to what I saw just then. The white stone paths reflected the sun like something from a fairy tale, with bright blooms spilling from low hedges and pots along the curving white trail like spectators at a race.
The stone bunny faced Saint Michael, their expressions giving the improbable impression of their being in deep conversation. I was fairly confident that Loralee had done it on purpose.
But the bench had been moved, the small mound that had tilted the base of both statues transformed into a pile of rocks and dirt beside a shallow dip scooped from the ground—most likely the culprit involved in hurting Owen’s leg.
Gibbes followed my gaze as I stared at the indentation in the dirt.
“I’m assuming Loralee did all this?” he asked.
“I had no idea she’d made this so beautiful. I saw the hole last night—it’s a lot deeper than I thought.”
He nodded, frowning. “Looks like she was trying to level the ground. I’ll come back tomorrow and take care of it.”
“Look,” Maris said, squatting by the hole. “There’s something funny in here.” She reached in and pulled out what looked like a rectangular piece of disintegrating leather, a small tarnished buckle clinging to it by a single thread.
While Gibbes supported Owen, I reached for the object, the faint odor of soil and rot coming from the ground. Maris placed it in my palm, then wiped her hands on the sides of her shorts.
I brushed away the dirt that clung to it, revealing a small flap that covered a clear piece of plastic. Trace remains of white paper lay trapped behind it, a line of black ink still visible.
“I think it was a luggage tag,” I said, turning it over in my hand. “I wonder what it’s doing in the garden.” My eyes met Gibbes’s.
“That’s a very good question,” he said.
Owen hopped into the kitchen, leaning on the doctor’s arm, while Maris raced ahead to open the door and pull out a kitchen chair for Owen to sit on. I stayed in the garden for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the luggage tag in my hand and the decay of years against my skin. I listened as a warm breeze stirred the wind chimes that hung from the back of the house, making them chatter like voices from the past.
chapter 27
MERRITT
After all the coolers had been loaded, I stood by the back door of Gibbes’s Explorer, waiting for Maris and Owen to get in. I was distracted from my anxiety when I noticed how Owen held the door open for Maris and waited for her to get in before climbing in himself. I was about to ask him why I wasn’t getting the same treatment when I looked up to see Gibbes holding open the passenger door.
I realized that without Loralee there, I would be expected to sit in the front seat. I could probably climb into the backseat with the children, and endure their looks as well as any from Gibbes, but I wasn’t sure I could live with myself afterward.