Winter Passing Read Online Free Page B

relationship.” Darby propped her forward as her body was racked with uncontrollable spasms. “W-wa-ter,” she sputtered. Darby grabbed the glass and placed it to her grandmother’s lips. Droplets flew across the quilt as Grandma Celia struggled to drink. Finally the cough subsided, and Grandma leaned back. She closed her eyes, then her smile came in slow motion. “I’ve got to hear the rest of your story, my dear. You know it’s not fair I got stuck in this hilly country. You’re lucky to be in the real north of Northern California near all those mountains.”
    Darby stared at her grandmother for a minute. How she loved this woman. She didn’t want to be part of this game of telling stories, joking while disease consumed her grandmother before her eyes. But she swallowed the tears that threatened—there would be plenty of time for crying later. These last moments needed smiles, stories, and joy. And below it all remained the unanswered questions.
    “I guess you’ll have to wait to hear about the cricket in City Boy’s sleeping bag. I’ll let you rest.” Darby forced a smile and rose to leave.
    “Wait.” Grandma Celia grasped Darby’s hand. “I need to talk to you about something.”
    “Okay. How about as soon as you wake up?”
    Grandma Celia’s grip tightened around Darby’s hand. The intensity in the older woman’s gaze startled her.
    “Yes, it’ll have to wait. But it’s very important.”
    Darby could feel her heart beat faster. Maybe she’d discover the secret the shadows held. She had fought the desire to ask, fearing, like her mother, what the mention of that name would do to her grandmother. Darby wanted the real Grandma Celia this morning.
    “What’s it about?”
    “I couldn’t explain it to your mother. She w-worries, and she couldn’t do anything. Besides, it’s something you should do. I’ve known that for a long time.”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    Grandma Celia’s eyes were shut for so long that Darby thought the older woman had fallen asleep. But when Darby drew closer, a second later, Grandma’s eyes fluttered half open.
    “I need you to do what I can’t do.”
    “Anything. What is it?”
    “I need you to make things right with Tatianna.”
    “Who is Tatianna?”
    As Grandma Celia gazed toward the ceiling, an age-old weariness poured into her features. “Tatianna was my best friend.”
    Sensing their time together was short, Darby wanted to hurry her, to ask question after question, but she held her tongue to give her grandmother space to open at will.
    “I have a small safe that Fred is keeping for me.”
    “Fred Bishop, your lawyer?”
    “Yes . . . you’ll find some answers in there. I’ll tell you more when I wake up. But Darby—” Celia held her granddaughter’s arm with two hands. “You must make things right. Make them right for me, please.”
    “Make what right?”
    “You’ll know when you get there.”
    “Where?”
    Grandma’s eyes flickered shut, then opened slightly. “Tatianna needs her name. I’ll tell you later. I need some rest first.”
    “Her name? What do you mean?” Darby asked, startled. Grandma’s hand motioned not now, not now , then she fell asleep.
Salzburg, Austria
    The rain slapping Brant Collins’s face was neither felt nor acknowledged. The drops streamed like tears from his jaw, nose, and chin. His legs walked without direction across wet streets. He even crossed a busy intersection without looking. A loud horn and the whoosh of a bus focused his thoughts. He stepped onto the bridge and finally stopped at the crest.
    Resting against the railing, Brant glared into the gray fingers of the Salzach River below. He noticed the newspaper clenched in his hand. It had long ago turned limp and now dripped like a leaky faucet. He wiped rain from his face and unrolled the paper where much of the black ink had worn off against his wet hand. The faces in the photo were now contorted images, quite suitable for the people they