Grandfather's Secret

“Listen, Mom, I can’t talk right now...no, no, it’s just because I have to get going to-”

The wallet she was clutching had slipped out of her hands, and in the action of trying to get a hold of it, the woman dropped her thermos and phone out from under her ear where it had been held up by her shoulder. She groaned in defeat and muttered a quick “Love you, bye” into the phone before shutting it off. Just as she went to pick up her things, a pair of boots met her eye from where she was crouched on the sidewalk.

“Ophelia, hm?” A deep voice, sounding like honey to the ears made the woman raise her eyes up to meet its owner. Standing underneath the gloomy autumn sky with her was a man about her age with dark brown unruly hair. He was wearing a rust-colored flannel and a crooked smile that made the woman smile back, dusting herself off before the man handed her back the wallet.

“That would be me, thank you for helping…” Ophelia paused, not knowing the man’s name.

“Oh, sorry, my name’s Allen,” he said, and shook her hand.

“Wait, are you Allen Gray?” Ophelia asked with a sudden glint in her eye.

Allen widened his eyes in surprise. “Yes, I am.” Then he scratched his ear, “I don’t suppose you’re Ophelia Fay?”

When she nodded, the two embraced. Truth be told, they both saw each other to be familiar looking; it was mostly in the eyes. Everything else seems to age but the eyes. They stay the same twinkling hue forever.

“The last time I saw you was high school,” Allen breathed.

“Senior year prom, I could never forget,” Ophelia beamed, then stepped away as she gathered her posture. “What are you doing back in our hometown?”

“I’m here visiting my parents, actually. They live a few miles away, I was just exploring the places we used to explore when we were kids.”

Ophelia smiled and her dimples showed on her cheeks. “I’m actually on my way to my grandfather’s right now, would you like to come along? We can catch up on the walk.”

“On a day so dreary as this only you and I would think it a good idea to walk through the streets of New York, Ophelia.” This earned a chuckle from both. “How’s your grandfather?”

“Oh, he has actually recently passed, but I am supposed to go clean up today so we can organize the items left behind. His Will stated that the Fay family can take whatever they wish, as long as it is cherished. But there was a paragraph dedicated to me in his Will. It said that there was a special gift left for me in his house. I’m going to look now. I feel like I’ll know what it is when I see it.” Ophelia grinned warmly at the memory of him. She hadn’t ever had difficulty with letting go, and this was an example of that. Instead of grieving, she thanked the universe for allowing those she loved in her life.

“I’m sorry for your loss; I know how much you loved him,” Allen said, and they turned the corner onto Joseph Ave. where Grandfather Fay had lived.

“After you, madam,” Allen held the gate open for Ophelia, who adjusted her newsboy cap and walked to the front door, which was unlocked with the key in her wallet.

The door creaked open and the two stepped inside. Immediately, a musty, old smell enveloped them. “It smells like a bookstore in here,” Ophelia said as she looked around. Allen’s hand left the doorknob to scratch at his ear again...a nervous habit.

“Well,” Ophelia said, “where shall we start, Allen?”

“How about the attic.”

She turned to him and studied his face. While donning sharper, darker features than she remembered him to have in high school, he still had the same crooked smile that hinted there was mischief on his mind. “Why the attic?”

“The darkest places hold the deepest treasures,” was all he said before winking at her, taking her hand, and leading her around the corner and up the dust-covered stairs. The air in the stairway was still, the wallpaper seeming to tear off the walls at the loss of life. The two made it to the ladder that led to the attic, climbing up and shutting the trapdoor beneath them.

Enveloped in damp, suffocating air, they began to explore all the nooks and crannies of the attic. Several times they bumped into each other due to being very cramped, but they found themselves giggling like school children half the time. Ophelia uncovered lots of pins, sweaters, and a recipe book; Allen found an old purse that he searched through for a while. When Ophelia checked the time on her phone, it was nearing lunchtime. The sun was starting to peak over the gray clouds, shining a lovely light through the window in the attic.

“I say we move on to another room, Ophelia, there isn’t much to look at here.”

Just as Ophelia was about to agree, she stopped. Raising an eyebrow and wiping the sweat from her forehead, she peered at a painting on the wall. It was of a dark-haired woman with fair skin and thin lips. “That looks just like me…” Ophelia whispered, startling the still air.

The two exchanged a look before crawling over to the painting and examining it closer. It seemed to be attached to the wall on one side, but loose on the other.

“Was your grandfather a painter?” Allen asked. “That looks just like you. Look, maybe there’s a signature on the back…” He reached to take the painting off the wall and barely ducked out of the way before it swung to hit him in the face. Ophelia gasped as she saw that behind the painting was a tiny room. It wasn’t big enough to stand up in, but it held a single box made of dark wood.

Breaking the silence, Allen choked out, “Are we in a movie right now? Oh my gosh. Open it up, Ophelia.” Ophelia looked at him before gingerly opening the box. The light from the window shone into the room and highlighted the item inside. Sitting in the box was a little black book. A layer of dust covered its spine, and Ophelia wiped it off with the corner of her sweater. Opening the cover, she saw her grandfather’s writing. It was distinct. He always crossed his t’s much too far down.

“I think this was his journal,” Ophelia breathed. She gulped back a shaky breath as she turned the pages. The two sat together in silence, scanning over the writing. Ophelia unconsciously leaned into Allen’s chest. The little black book was filled with recipes, quotes, memorandums, and more. The very last page donned an elegantly written poem.

Artist hidden in the sun,

Painting across the sky,

Hues of blue, violet, and pink,

Were the tears he cried.

When old man is told he shall die

Quite the alarming death,

His legacy is his art

That has been forever kept

A secret from society,

A gift in form of a Will,

I just have one question left, darling…

Do you love me still?

Ophelia knew at once what the poem meant. Her grandfather had always been a writer, and he often shared his poems with her when she was a small girl growing up in New York. However, she did not know he was an artist. “He was an artist,” Ophelia muttered. “That painting...that’s me, Allen. He must have left it for me! How did he know he would die? I can’t believe-”

“Ophelia, you’re rambling...are you sure that you can decipher this?”

“Of course. I knew my grandfather more than anybody. We were the best of friends, Allen. ‘His legacy is art’ must mean he is giving us...me, sorry, his art. I wonder how many paintings he has? What if he has more than paintings? Sculptures, watercolor…”

Allen studied Ophelia’s face as she talked without a care in the world. All at once, his boyish nature came back to him and flooded his soul. He remembered how much he loved to hear her talk about anything, everything. “Come on, let’s move this box out of here and look for the art. It could be anywhere in this house…”

She eagerly nodded and exited the small room to go back into the attic. Allen hauled the box out, and underneath it was a loose floorboard. Exchanging a knowing glance with Ophelia, Allen pried the floorboard out of the floor easily and revealed a cloth. The cloth covered what must have been twenty paintings, all piled on top of each other. The two laid them out across the attic floor and observed every single one. Ophelia’s grandfather had the same talent with art as he did with words. Every detail and texture put into the painting made it look like it could be the centerpiece in a museum, and Ophelia beamed at his work.

The last one they looked at again was the painting of Ophelia. When Allen took it off the wall, he noticed how dense it was, almost heavier than all the other paintings. From a side view, it was thicker, too. Noticing that another, thinner canvas was attached to the backside, he began to try and separate them. Ophelia helped, and when the canvases came apart, Ophelia gasped and Allen almost dropped the painting.

Inside the small area between the canvases was stacks of hundred dollar bills. They were crisp as if they were brand new, and the stacks were held together with rubber bands.

“Oh my goodness, that has got to be twenty-thousand dollars,” Allen choked out. Ophelia looked at him in awe, and Allen thought that she might’ve been angry with him, but that was before she enveloped him in a very tight hug that knocked the breath out of him.

“‘A gift in the form of a Will’...This money must’ve been the gift for me in his Will! I can’t believe this. I thought we would find some old cookbooks and maybe some vintage records, but twenty-thousand dollars and the fact that my grandfather was an artist? And a rich one at that!” Ophelia laughed until her stomach felt numb, and Allen joined in.

“I have to admit, a day is never boring when you’re tagging along with Ophelia Fay.” Allen smiled his crooked smile before taking Ophelia’s hand and helping her to her feet. “I think it’s time we have a trip to the cafe. We can sort this all out over a cup of coffee, hm?”

“That sounds splendid to me, Allen. I’ll buy,” she winked.