(6.) Hushed Phone Calls

That summer, my mom began getting some strange vibes from my grandmother.

"Every time I get there," she said. "There's Grandma on the phone, whispering and looking over at me. As soon as I go inside she hangs up."

During this time, my mom had been going to Autumn Drive every other day to help them out with their pills and bring them their groceries. At home, she would tell me and my father that something was going on, that they weren't telling her something. Every time she would ask, though, my grandparents would deny anything out of the ordinary. One day she confronted my grandfather.

"Are you giving Nancie money again?" she asked, sitting on the loveseat in the living room. "Grandma's acting weird, if you know something, you better tell me."

She told us she explained to him that she does everything for them, that if something was going on, she should know.

From his spot at the end of the couch, my grandfather admitted that they had let her borrow money.

"How much?" my mom replied. I could picture her stern, disappointed face looking back at my grandfather, waiting for some absurd number.

Five-thousand, he said, it was just to help Nancie out through her divorce. And that she was going to pay her back. She borrowed two thousand from them and three from Aunt Steffie.

My mom continued, "Are you kidding me?"

My mom turned to us at our dinner table and retold the stories we had heard countless times. How my grandparents had paid for Nancie's college years ago, her wedding, her car. All the while never considering the fact that maybe she needed help. She had three kids, Nancie had none. Nancie had run away at age fifteen, made all the wrong choices. My mom was the one who listened to her father's advice, to work hard and always try to do the right thing. Nothing made sense.

While some things didn't make sense, others were falling into place. The divorce and money were only the tip of

the iceberg. A picture began to emerge of some underlying behavior: hushed phone calls, questionable comments, lectures about never getting caught up in drugs or alcohol. Hints of repeated actions that were slowly making their way to the surface, revealing themselves in subtle, unsettling ways. If my mom didn't push to get an answer, no one would have told her. How many times had that happened in the past? I can only imagine, but with the pervasive feeling of reality in my chest, I guessed how unfortunate and disappointing the answer was. How many things besides money were covered up? The underlying reasons for trusting Nancie, the real justifications only they knew.