Hey, I know what I want for lunch, sneers Joel.

Tuna! Got any, Britt?

OMG! What a disgusting loser.

I can't believe Brittany actually shrieks with laughter. This is why I don't maintain friendships. Friends tell friends what they really think.

503.

We Find the House Arrange a meeting time, and I give Brittany forty dollars. "But don't leave until he answers the door."

Last thing I need is to sit here o n his doorstep for two hours.

Brittany waits patiently while I idle slowly up the walk, noting his yard is neat but not pretty.

I swallow one more pill for good measure, steel up my courage.

Reach for the doorbell. Push.

I hear footsteps immediately.

The door cracks, leaking warm air.

Yes? Who is it?

The voice crackles.

What do you want?

"Um. Sorry to disturb you. But I'm your...your granddaughter."

The door opens wider and Brittany starts her car. I want to shout, "Wait."

But I don't. For the first time, I look my grandfather in the eye.

"I think it's time we talked."

Long past time, young lady.

But come on inside.

504.

The House Is Small Gloomy, and like his yard, tidy but not pretty. No adornments anywhere. Serviceable furniture, lacking comfort. Still, I accept his offer to perch on the hard sofa.

Almost to himself, he says, I.

wondered if you'd ever come.

In lieu of small talk, we sit and stare at each other for several skeptical minutes.

My grandfather is shorter than Daddy, and much darker, **

with weathered California skin and gunmetal eyes. Oh, Daddy got his eyes from his father, whose own searching eyes slice into me now. I swear, it hurts, **

like he's dissecting me without benefit of anesthesia. Someone has to break the awful silence.

But I can't think of a single icebreaker. Luckily, he does.

So what can I do for you after all these years? You have questions.

505.

It's a statement, as well it should be. I could tiptoe around the real reason I'm here. But why waste time? "I want to know why Daddy won't have anything to do with you."

Well, that's very direct, isn't it?

Why is it important now?

I could lie, tell him I want to know him, learn all about my roots. But I suspect he'd know it was a fabrication. "I need to know why Daddy is like he is. Why I am...

Who you are, he finishes. Hesitates.

I'm not sure where to begin.

Oh, I can help him there.

"I don't need to hear any happy stuff, if there is any to tell. I need to hear about when everything went to shit."

506.

He Winces Slightly But agrees. I don't know you from Adam, but someone should hear this story. Your father would carry it to his grave. How much do you know about Charlotte, your grandmother?

"Only that she walked out when Daddy was a boy. Something about your messing around?"

A nice way to put it. Yes, I cheated.

I was lonely. Charlotte shared most of her time with a whiskey bottle, and so devoted little to your father or me. When she left, it was a relief, **

or would have been, except I had to work long hours. Your father was still young, so I placed him in the care of a neighbor, a woman I had known, or thought I did, for many years.

Turned out I didn't know her at all.

One day I came home early and went to pick up Raymond. I knocked but no one answered, so I went around back, where I heard voices....

507.

He pauses, clearly unsure whether to tell me the rest.

"Please. Don't stop now."

I.

found your father, on a swing with a young girl, about his age.

They were naked, playing with each other. Miranda was directing them, and her boyfriend was taking pictures.

His voice breaks a little, and his eyes--Daddy's eyes--spill the tears of this horrible truth.

Your father gained his manhood, if you could call it that, at the age of ten. His photographs appeared in magazines, for the pleasure of pedophiles. And he blames me.

508.

Bam, Sledgehammer His words don't so much sink in as they are pounded in, down through my skull, into my brain.

So much explained. So much insight gained, in the space of ten minutes of ugly monologue.

My grandfather's voice quivers.

He wasn't hurt, not physically.

But emotionally, he was scarred.

I tried to tell him how sorry I was, but he wouldn't listen. Wouldn't forgive me. For eight years, we **

barely spoke. And after he left for college, I never heard another word from him. I followed his career **

as best I could. Was happy that he did well for himself. I kept thinking with time, he'd come around....

Oh, no. Not Daddy. Once you're on his shit list, forget it. But one burning question remains.

509.

"Why did you call about your ex-wife coming back? Did you really think she wanted money?"

He crumples like a candy wrapper.

I.

didn't know what she wanted.

She'd been gone so long, I wasn't **

even sure she was still alive until she knocked on my door, wanting to know about you.