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A shudder moved through Gracie, and she clicked out of the newspaper site. Her memories of her mother were so vague, and she didn’t even have a photo to remember her by.
Realization hit her, and she stilled. Could her grandma still be alive?
She entered her grandmother’s name. It wasn’t hard to forget it.
Grace Hayes.
She scanned the list of results, saw there wasn’t an obituary mentioned at all. She added their hometown, and the results narrowed. A legal notice of the foreclosure sale of her house two years ago, an award she won at the local garden club for volunteering. Gracie went to a white pages website and entered her grandma’s name and town.
Three phone numbers popped up in the results.
Nerves ate at her, and she tapped her fingers against the edge of the laptop. Should she try and call? Were any of those listed really her grandma? And would her grandma believe it was her? Remember her?
Gracie frowned. Of course, she would remember her. She was named after the woman. But she’d kicked her daughter out of the house when Gracie had been a toddler. And she’d never offered to take Gracie in and raise her.
Maybe she hated her. Maybe she didn’t care.
Deciding now or never, Gracie grabbed her cell phone and punched in the first number with a listing of G Hayes, asking for Grace Hayes when the man answered. He told her she had the wrong number and hung up.
A little shocked at the man’s abrupt disconnect, she tried the next number and came up with no response. Tried the third number, and a woman answered.
“Is—is Grace Hayes available?”
“This is Grace Hayes.”
Gracie’s heart sunk to her toes. The woman sounded older, her voice graveled, as if she’d possibly smoked her entire life. Gracie swallowed, her mouth and throat grew dry and she didn’t know what to say next.
“Can I help you? Who is this?”
“
It’s—it’s me. It’s Gracie.”
Dead silence was her answer for long, painful seconds. Gracie’s stomach twisted so hard she was afraid she might throw up.
“Gracie who?” the woman finally asked. She sounded skeptical, not that Gracie could blame her.
“I think.” She sighed loudly. “I think I’m your granddaughter.”
More silence greeted her, this time filled with edgy tension, and Gracie’s finger hovered. Ready to hang up if the woman said something horrendous to her.
“Are you—are you really?”
“Was your daughter’s name Angela Hayes?”
“Yes.” The woman’s voice cracked. “Yes, it was. But she died a long time ago.”
“I know.” Gracie breathed deep. “Angela Hayes was my mother.”
“I always asked what happened to you. I didn’t know. When they found her, they never mentioned you. I looked everywhere until I finally figured you were…dead.” The woman broke down into tears, sobbing into the phone. Gracie’s eyes prickled with moisture. “She left the house so long ago, and she took you with her. I begged her to let you stay, but she refused. I knew she wouldn’t treat you right. But then she disappeared.”
“She left me at social services when I was five. They claimed they tried to find someone to take me like a relative, but that they couldn’t get a hold of anyone.”
“I never moved until two years ago when I lost my house after refinancing it. Now I live in a small apartment, subsidized housing.” The woman broke out into full on sobs now. “Oh, Gracie, I can’t believe you’re alive. I just can’t believe it! I’m so glad you called me. How did you find me? Why?”
“I looked you up in the White Pages online.” Gracie paused, gathering her courage. “I—I want to come see you sometime soon, if you don’t mind. When I can get away from work, which might take a while.” She couldn’t believe how accepting her grandmother was. How good it felt to feel her emotion come over the phone lines, to know that she’d been missed and loved all these years.
“You have a job? Oh, that’s so wonderful. Are you married? Do you have kids?”
