The Ring

by LuAnn Williamson

I have never liked shopping. I blame it on a defective double X chromosome. Trying on clothes is a chore. My best friend once took me to the mall, asked to see my keys and refused to give them back until I bought something for myself. I still have the skirt.

So a trip to the grocery store is not an exercise in joy and sunshine. Since the pandemic, I’ve gone as early in the morning as I can to avoid people. Only I’ve stopped seeing them as humans and only look on them as possible disease vectors.

I’d noticed the man, rather short, not much taller than my five foot three inches, he had black hair and thick, black framed glasses. With masks, I don’t even need to give my usual paste-on smile.

I’m concentrating on reading the ingredients on the can of soup under consideration. I feel someone’s presence, much too close for social distancing. The next second, I feel a hand reach out and grab my right hand.

I tend to hyper-react and this time was no different. I managed to stifle the scream that was my first instinct but sound came out as a startled squeak.

I made sure my next words were harsh and firm. “I beg your pardon.”

“Please forgive me. I just wanted to see your ring.” His voice was smooth and cultured. He did not let go of my hand.

“It’s a family heirloom. It’s not for sale and you might get fifty dollars for it at a pawn shop.” Each word was clipped and precise.

“Please, excuse me. I just wanted to see your ring. It resembles one that was in my family many years ago.”

At least he let go of my hand. I quickly pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer out of my pocket and lavishly applied it, not only to my hands but also arms and was considering applying it to my face. I realized that might sting my eyes and decided I had an immediate date with a shower as soon as I got home.

“It was my Grandmother’s ring. It was custom. Like I said, it’s not for sale. Not at any price.” I double checked to make sure the ring was still on my finger. On my ring finger since my high school graduation many years ago was the heirloom in question. It was large, almost too large for my delicate hand. It was heavy but the weight was just something that had been part of my life for over twenty years.

“And your Grandmother is…” now I could see his grey eyes, not unlike my own.

“Ten.” I stated.

“What?” he interrupted before I could continue.

“Ten. As in you have ten seconds to start backing away before I start screaming my head off and causing a major commotion.”

“I did not mean to upset you or frighten you,” he said. Let me start again. My name is Peter Williamson. I believe we may be related.”

“It’s a common enough name. I’ve been coming to this store since I could toddle in. One of the clerks might have told you.”

This guy was seriously starting to freak me out. I fumbled in my purse till my left hand closed on the pepper spray. I pulled it out a little way, just till he noticed that I had it. Hopefully that would be enough deterrent. Mentally I was sizing him up as a target and trying to remember the self-defense class I’d taken years ago.

“Please, just fifteen minutes of your time. Let me buy you some coffee.”

“I’m not in the habit of letting myself get picked up by random men in the grocery store at seven in the morning. That was pre-virus. Now you’re just a potential disease carrier.” My voice was so icy that if they could harness it, it could power the entire frozen foods section for a week.

“This store has a deli with an in-store eating area, right?”

“Which is closed due to the whole covid thing.”

“Let’s just go over there and sit down a minute. I can buy us time. Heart problems. It’s amazing what a pacemaker scar can get you in terms of slack.”

“Pacemaker?” I turned my cart to follow his. “Heart problems? Heart block?  Mid-fifties onset?” Now I saw the silver in his black hair. Just a little more visible than mine, which I kept covered up with warm walnut hair color.

He looked at me in astonishment. He pulled his shirt aside, a white button down over grey dress slacks. I moved my shirt, a pink t-shirt proclaiming my love of dogs, worn over faded blue jeans. Without thinking, I ran my fingers over the tear drop shaped bump just beneath the skin under my collar bone.

I pushed my glasses up, higher on my aquiline nose. He had the same nose but his mouth was fuller and when he smiled his teeth were much larger.

“Let me guess,” I said, “Pengars astigmatism?”

“How did… never mind.” He took off his glasses. Sure enough, thick as coke bottles. I showed him mine. “Extra thin, extra light. I measured, a quarter of an inch thick on one edge.”

“And not a suitable candidate for laser surgery,” he said.

“Not at all,” I said, shaking my head sadly.

“Let’s start this again. Your Grandmother is…”

“Olivia Poe Williamson.” I twisted the ring. “She was given this ring, custom made for her, on her high school graduation. The first girl in her family for generations to graduate high school. Also the first girl to attend college.

“Opal and Pearl, for her initials. It was a thing in the early twenties. I mean the nineteen fifteen, the year she graduated. Ivy, just because that was her favorite plant. It’s supposed to symbolize fidelity, loyalty, friendship.” I ran my finger over the delicate filigree. I’d already had to have it repaired, once before. But I stopped before I could tell him too much information.”

One of the clerks looked at me with concern in his eyes.

“Just resting a minute, Jake. Sorry if you have to re-sanitize the table but it’s better than making a scene, right?”

“Scene?” His eye brows were bushy over the black mask he wore.

I felt myself blush. “Before I was diagnosed, I fainted in the middle of the store. I made quite a scene.” I shook my head.

“I hear you,” he said.

He took a deep breath and reached into his pocket for a mint. He offered me one. It was my brand. I shook my head.

“I recognized the ring you’re wearing from a graduation picture of my Grandmother Williamson. Blue dress to match her blue eyes.”

“Real silk. With a lace collar.” I laughed. She kept that dress for years. She just got her hair bobbed.”

“Yes, short hair. I never put it into historical context before. But it fit. She could be quite a radical.” He smiled; I could see his eyes crinkle over the mask.

“If you’re the real thing, how come I’ve never heard of a Cousin Peter before?” There was suspicion in my voice.

“If it’s true and we are related, I’m the child of her first marriage.”

“Grandma was only married once. To my Grandpa, Ralph.” I stopped myself from fidgeting with my ring. “She taught school for many years before she met him.”

The man, who I was beginning to accept as my cousin, shook his head.

“No, she was married for a short time before she met your Grandfather. His name was Michael. He died and I was born just after that. My Grandfather’s family convinced her that my Dad would be better off being raised by them, rather than a single mom. I’d see her from time to time. She’d visit, drop off gifts and drift out of my life again.”

I laughed a bitter, ironic laugh. “Yeah. Especially when I was younger, she’d drift into my life, take me shopping, get our hair done together, and then she went back to Michigan. Dad settled here courtesy of Uncle Sam and the Air Force.”

“Do you have a picture of her?” he asked.

“Before we go any further, I’ve got to let you know, I have no money.” I hesitated. “I’m not living paycheck to paycheck but I’m far from wealthy.”

He laughed an ironic laugh. “I’m not after money. I’m not in the line at the food bank but the rent gets paid.”

I pulled out my wallet, extracting the photo sleeve. I had the last picture before the cancer took her. Already very thin and pale, with her arms around an early teen-aged version of myself. We were sitting on the picnic table under the shade of the oak tree in front of her house. The next time I saw her, she was in a coffin.

Peter pulled out his wallet. It was almost the exact picture, same tree, same house but a young man with his arms around her.

“I wonder if your Father knew…about the other family, I mean.”

“I never heard him mention it. I don’t recall any family gossip. And we sure do love to gossip.”

He laughed a genuine laugh this time, “We sure do.”

“I’ll ask my Father when I see him over the weekend.”

“He’s still alive? All my parents have passed.”

“He’s almost ninety. Lives in a retirement center near me.”

“Where do we go from here?” I watched his arm twitch and I think he wanted to take my hand.

“Genetic tests, just to be sure, but I’m convinced.”

I gave him my contact information and he gave me his. The box store where we were shopping had genetic test kits sitting on the shelf in the pharmacy.

I finished my shopping and spent the rest of the week thinking about what I’d learned.

Saturday morning, I got my usual donuts, one instead of two, and an espresso on my way to the retirement home.

I could see Dad’s smile crinkling around his eyes. He was in the lobby as I got my temperature taken and answered my screening questions. We could only go as far as the common room. I handed the bag of goodies to the aid to put in his room for later. No communal eating until the pandemic was over.

“Hey Dad,” I asked after the air hugs that were a poor substitute. “Do you know a Peter Williamson?”

His wrinkled brow furrowed. I could tell he was thinking. He was every bit as smart as he once was. He just required more medical care than I could provide for him.

“No, I can’t say that I do. Is that one of Livy’s children I haven’t met?” His grey eyes looked puzzled.

“No, Livy only has the two kids. No, he’s older, just a little bit older than me.”

All I got was a puzzled look.

“He says he’s my cousin. Peter?”

“You don’t have a cousin named Peter. You know this. I had one sister, Cindy and she had one child, Melissa. Your Mother was an only child. Melissa had Livy and she has two kids and Ford, who I think will be a bachelor till he dies.” He winked.

“I think so too.” I winked back. “You don’t remember any family gossip about Grandma having another family.

He laughed. “Our family sure does love to gossip, doesn’t it.” He turned thoughtful. “No, I never heard anything about another family. I think I’d know if my own Mother had another family before me. Why do you ask?”

“I met a man at the grocery store this week. He said he recognized the ring I wear. I was ready to blow him off but he has the same medical problems, the same grey eyes. Most of all, he showed me a picture of him and her in front of her house.”

“Don’t believe it. He must be looking for money.”

“He can keep looking,” we both said it together, almost in unison.

A nurse walked by, tapping on her oversized watch. I know we were very lucky that they lifted the restrictions enough to be able to visit, even if behind glass. I didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the staff.

I left on the table a sealed plastic bag inside a plastic bag, taped shut. It contained a cassette tape. I’d read and record his newsletters and magazines since his eyes were too bad to be able to read any more.

It took four weeks for the genetic test results to come back. My hands were shaking as I tore open the envelope. I wasn’t all that surprised with the ancestry. We had a bit more Norse in our heritage than I’d expected. I saw the relationship report. There was Melissa listed as first cousin. She was much younger than me and living in Michigan. We were Face Book friends and not much else. Listed were her children as well as mine. And listed under first cousin was Peter. Listed as his parents were my Grandmother Olivia Poe Carmine and Michael Carmine.

It had been a secret that my Grandmother had carried to her grave. None of my Great Aunts had ever mentioned it. Not that I saw much of them, living far away in another state.

How do I tell my Father that at almost ninety, that he had a half-brother no one ever mentioned. Someone who died early of the same heart disease that threaten my Dad’s life and my own. So far, my own children had tested negative for heart problems, but they were warned to be watching for symptoms as they got older.

I called Peter and we arranged for a socially distanced meeting in a city park. We laughed and talked. It was so good to have a cousin close to my own age and living close by.

In the near future, we’ll arrange for him to meet my family and for me to meet his wife and kids. Hopefully, soon we can have a big family reunion picnic like I’d always dreamed, with kids laughing and running around.

I told my Dad about Peter but it’s taking him some time for him to accept that he has another side of his family. I hope he can accept the idea and meet Peter before he dies.

I told Dad the last time I saw him that he’d better be extra good and go to church whenever he can. Because I believe that--secrets and all--Grandma went to heaven. But when he gets there, she’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.