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“No.” He shook his head until his brain rattled. “Those were to fluster Dad; I’m not the illegitimate grandson of...” He couldn’t say the name. It felt like sacrilege.
She sank back into the cushions. “How many more of her tales do you think are real? If this one happened, all bets are off.”
“I’m going to go with all of them at this point.” He dropped to the other end of the couch. Bailey shifted her legs to make room for him, then rested her feet on his thighs. “Hell. I think I want that treasure map and to go check out the far end of the island, to see what that iron key belongs to.” He was being facetious. It was easier than processing the awe and disbelief. His entire life he thought he knew the woman who raised him, but apparently he had no idea.
She meant the world to him. Gave him more support and affection than his own parents. For as long as he remembered, her existence seemed to revolve around him, and he took that for granted. Yet, before he came along, before his father, she’d lived a rich life.
Ernest-Fucking-Hemingway, for God’s sake. An author—an artist—who influenced the world. Jonathan struggled to reconcile the sweet old woman who led him on fake treasure hunts with the vibrant young girl in the movie looking up adoringly at her lover.
She’dlived. What was he doing with his life as athank youfor the time she gave him? Working. Earning. Ignoring anything inside that threatened to hurt. Was there something to her letter? Not that he thought he was running from fate, but was he letting life pass him by?
For the first time since hearing about her death, joyful memories of her flitted in without the grief. He wanted to hang onto this feeling for as long as he could.
Chapter Fifteen
“You're sure you don't want to sell the movie? Classic pornography with a famous leading man has to be worth a fortune to the right collector.”
Jonathan stared at Bailey in disbelief, waiting for her to crack. She looked back impassively. He finally said, “With mygrandmother.”
She laughed. “Ow.” She pressed her hand to her forehead.
“That's what you get.” He kept his tone kind.
“Yeah, yeah. That won't stop me from doing it again.”
“Teasing me? Wouldn't have it any other way.”
She massaged her temple a bit more, before dropping her hand back to her lap. “I'm sorry about the other morning. Yesterday? I guess it was only a day ago.”
“Don't worry about it.” He was still wrapping his head around the old movie—not just the contents, but all the thoughts it knocked loose. How much Nana and her stories meant. How she was there for Bailey when he wasn't. That he missed her so much it hurt in his chest and joints and every inch of his frame.
“I'm not dropping this until I've said what I need to. It can't fester when you leave. I won't let it be like last time.”
He didn't have an argument. “I'm listening.”
“I don't want to take back what I said.” She frowned. “Well, I do, but it would be dishonest. I want to take back that I meant it, but I can't. It's not true anymore. I've blamed you forever for what happened, though I shouldn't have. In a way, I'm glad it happened like this.”
