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The microwave beeped, and lights flickered on around the house. She was grateful for the distraction. A twisting in her gut asked if she should dig deeper into the pill question. She didn’t want to, but she needed the whole story.
*
JONATHAN STARED ATthe attic in frustration. With everything reorganized, it was easy to tell what types of things were where, but he wanted a specific item. He poked his head through the trap door. “Bailey.”
“Yeah?” She’d grumbled about being mostly confined to the couch, but acquiesced when she figured out it gave her an excuse to make lists of the auction items they uncovered.
Having the power back on made it easier to get through the outstanding work. Especially since an awkward silence hovered in the air every time he and Bailey were in the same room. He didn’t regret making his offer last night, but it changed things. Where did it leave them? Friends? Nothing?
“Did you come across that old movie projector?” The note he found in the bottom of the safe sat in his wallet now, not offering more answers than when he first read it. He could decipher one riddle, though–what was on the film reel under the old photos.
“To-sellstack. Probably on the bottom.”
That gave him what he needed. Moments later, he unearthed the gray box and hauled it from the pile. Something else tumbled to the ground, and he frowned. A small, velvet jewelry box. He flipped the top, to expose a gold ring, inlaid with diamonds and engraved with delicate leaves. He recognized it. It was Nana’s mother’s wedding ring. An heirloom, passed down for generations. He was glad it wasn’t lost.
He pocketed the box and hefted the projector down the ladder. He paused in his room to grab the film, and then made his way to the living room.
Bailey looked up from her notes. “What’s that?” Before he could respond, she added, “Besides a projector.”
He raised his brows, entertained. “I found a movie. I want to see what’s on it.”
“Government secrets?” Her words were playful.
He dragged the coffee table to a spot close to an outlet but far enough from the blank wall on the far side of the room, that the image would show up. “My money’s on deleted scenes from Gone with the Wind.”
“Original director’s cut of Casablanca?”
“Shirley Temple auditions.” He almost expected one or all of the above. Or hoped for it. With all of Nana’s stories about her adventures when she was younger, it would be amazing if the film was something rare and fantastic. He plugged the projector in, loaded the reels, and dimmed the lights. “Ready to watch history... of some sort?”
“Bring it on.” Bailey laughed.
He flicked the switch. Crackles filtered through the ancient speakers—not caused by sound from the movie, but by the age of the film and player—and a sepia image covered the wall. It was Nana, looking identical to the woman in the photos upstairs. Fortunately this moving version was fully clothed.
“Wow.” Awe filled Bailey’s voice. “Is that really her?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, better than all of the above.”
He agreed. There was no sound, as the woman on the wall moved about. The room she stood in was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It wasn’t any of the houses around here, that he remembered. A man strolled into the frame. The same older gentleman as in the pictures.
“Is that Papa Hemingway?” Bailey’s question flipped a switch in Jonathan’s head.
“I think it is.” That was why he looked familiar, as did the room. Ernest Hemingway’s historic estate sat on one of the other Keys. The home of the American poet was a tourist attraction now. It all rushed back—Nana’s tales about her torrid affair with the much older man; how she used to tease Jonathan’s dad about being an illegitimate child; the way she insisted Hemingway killed himself.Accident, cleaning his gun—my ass, she’d say.He knew he’d seen the best of life and wanted to go out on a high note.
On screen, the man approached Nana. Jonathan almost choked, when Hemingway swept her into an embrace and kissed her passionately. Nana cupped the man’s crotch, and Jonathan muttered, “Oh, God.” Her partner tore her dress from her shoulders and groped her breast, and Jonathan flipped off the projector. “Nope. We’re done.” Historic documents were one thing, but there was no way he was watching his grandmother in some sort of late-forties amateur porn movie.
“Holy...” Bailey trailed off. “That wasn’t real. There’s no way.”
“I’d like to agree.”
“Can you imagine how much that’s worth if you can prove it’s legit?”
Jonathan glared at her, and she held up her hands. “Teasing. Seriously. Where did you find it?”
In the closet of shattered childhood delusions.He kept the sarcastic thought to himself. “In a safe upstairs.” He stalled on the part about the note for him, and wasn’t sure why. Maybe because, if Nana left the letter there, she intended for him to discover all of this.
“Do you think... That is... Were her stories about your real grandfather true?”
