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"Just like her mother before her, she slept around, and what do you think? She got pregnant, too. With you! Then she did the unforgivable thing." Grandma paused as if to get up enough breath and strength. "She blamed Samuel. She stood before me in this very house and claimed my husband, her stepfather, had slept with her and made her pregnant. Samuel was devastated, but I told him he deserved it for what he had done all those years."

I shook my head.

"I don't understand," I said, the tears filling my eyelids.

She laughed a wicked, short laugh.

"What's there to understand? She thought if she blamed Samuel, she could escape blame herself."

"But my daddy--"

"Your father, my son, turned on his own father. Chester turned on me," she said. "He took her side, believed her, actually believed his own father could have done such a thing. Can you imagine the heartbreak I endured, sitting there in that house and hearing my son tell me he believed that--that whore and not his own father? Can you? I told them both to get out, and as long as he took her side, to stay away. I told him I would have nothing more to do with a son who turned on his own parents that way. He knew Haille's background, but he. . . She beguiled him, too, just as she beguiles everyone she touches.

"Jacob was heartbroken as well. He couldn't believe his brother would do such a thing. They had a terrible fistfight on the beach behind this house and never spoke again."

I shook my head.

"None of this can be true. Why did my mother bring me back here?" I cried through my tears. Grandma smiled and nodded.

"Why? She wanted to get rid of you, dear, and she knew about Sara's loss. Sara's always been a kind person.

She was willing to take you in, and Jacob, God bless him for his kindness, too, wants to do nothing but what will make Sara happy again. Haille took advantage of someone in this family once more. It's that simple.

"I kept quiet about it," she continued. "After all, you are my sister's granddaughter, and, remembering the promise I made to my father on his deathbed, I didn't oppose it as long as I didn't have to set eyes on your mother."

I sat there, shaking my head. It had to be more lies, lies built on lies.

"My daddy never treated me as anything but his own daughter," I said. "He loved me."

"I'm sure he did. If he only had remembered his love for his mother and father as well," she said.

I stared at her, trying to make sense of it, slowly realizing what it meant if what she was saying was true.

"If my daddy thought that Grandpa Samuel was my father then . . . he knew he wasn't my daddy," I concluded.

"Precisely," Grandma Olivia said with some renewed energy. "And yet he still ran off with her, he still took her side and turned his back on his own mother and father."

"But. . . who is my father?"

"Take your pick. It could be anyone," she said dryly. "Maybe someday your mother will tell you, only the truth leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She can't stomach it."

I continued to shake my head.

"I don't believe my daddy wasn't my daddy," I insisted.

"Suit yourself." Grandma Olivia sipped the rest of the lemonade in her glass. "You demanded I tell you the truth and I have. You said you were old enough and I believed you. If you want to continue living in a world of illusions and lies along with your mother, be my guest, only don't come around here accusing anyone of anything.

"What you should do," she said, standing, "is get your mother to come back for you and bear up to her own responsibilities. But I wouldn't get my hopes up." She gazed down at me. "As long as you behave, do as your told, pull your share, Jacob won't throw you out of his house. They tell me you really are a good student, so if you deserve it, I'll see that you get an education. I'll do it for my father, because of the promises I made."

"I don't want anything from you," I said bitterly.

She laughed a laugh that reminded me of glass shattering.

"In time, I'm sure you'll change your mind about that. Just make sure you don't do anything to change my mind about being generous," she warned, pointing her small, crooked little forefinger at me. "That includes making my son and his family unhappy. I'm going in now to wash up. If you want, I'll have Ralph, my handyman, take you home."

I sat there, my shoulders shaking, the sobs rattling my rib cage and throwing a terrific chill over me. I embraced myself.

"I don't have the time to stand here and watch you become hysterical," she said. "When you're finished, come into the house and I'll see to it you're taken home."