Pieces

“Is there somewhere else you need to be, Justine, dear?” I looked up from my smartwatch to find Ms. Ortiz studying me the way old people do, with her nose pointed south and eyes peeking over wide-rimmed glasses. Little judgment lived behind her eyes, though, and instead, a spark of familiarity glistened. Like they held a secret. But maybe that was how grandma's eyes looked. Not that I would know, because I’d never met either of mine.

“Uhm, well,” I started, but realized there was only one acceptable answer. Apparently, Dad had informed Ms. Ortiz I was free, or else she wouldn’t have knocked on our door, asking if I wanted to come over for a visit. “Are we related or something?”

Her brow furrowed, and she glanced toward her tiny kitchen, where an orange tabby cat lazed on the countertop. “Excuse me?”

By nature I’m not so direct, but being in an old lady’s house made me blunt. “Well, I mean, my dad’s never suggested I hang out with a neighbor before. At least not since I was babysit-able age, so it’s been a while. Just feels like a setup. Like you’re going to announce you’re my long-lost grandma.”

“I’m flattered you see any resemblance between us, me being short and squat as I am and you being so youthful and lanky, but no, Justine. I’m just Ms. Ortiz.” She hopped up as much as an older lady could hop, that is. “But speaking of your height, come follow me.”

We meandered to a hallway closet, and she pointed to a box on a tall shelf, which I retrieved. A lavish picture adored the front—a city built on the coast with brightly colored houses and church spires reaching for the sky. Printed near the bottom, it read ‘750 pieces’. “Wow, that’s beautiful. Where is it?”

“Valparaiso, Chile. So many wonderful colors, like paradise, yes? Shall we puzzle?”

Again, the question only had one correct answer, so I nodded and followed her back out to the dining table.

“Have you traveled much, Justine?”

I nearly snorted because nothing about me said ‘traveled’—long, split end prone, dull brown hair, knockoff, paint splattered Nike shorts and Old Navy flip flops. “No, Dad’s more of a stay-put kind of guy. We went into San Antonio once, if that counts, though. Have you been there? To Chile?”

Tiny puzzle pieces cartwheeled to the table when she flipped the box. A fleeting smile crossed her face. “Oh, yes. Many, many years ago, I visited my sister who lived there for ten years. She was always so adventurous. Eating bugs and flying airplanes. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, just me and Dad.” Ms. Ortiz started flipping pieces, so I followed suit.

“But you’re so lucky to have him. Your father is such a wonderful man. When I moved here two months ago, he was the first person to introduce himself. I think he senses my loneliness now. Are you lonely, Justine?”

I restrained myself from bristling, because if I was rude to Ms. Ortiz, Dad’s disappointment would hang over my head. I ran a hand through my ponytail. “I have lots of friends.”

“Ah. Though having friends doesn’t have much to do with whether or not you are lonely. Should we sort? I usually find all the edge pieces first. Makes it easier if you have the outline before filling in the middle.” A silence settled as our hands and fingers danced around the table. For the first time, I noticed Ms. Ortiz was missing the top knuckle of her left ring finger, but a gold band with a solitaire blue gem still adorned it. “What do you do with your friends for fun?”

“Hang out, mostly. I’m always up for ice cream at Harley’s. They have the best strawberry milkshakes.”

“You don’t do puzzles? What about sports?”

My neck warmed at the possibility of our conversation hitting a sore spot. “Oh, uh, no.”

“That surprises me. You have a very athletic build.” She waved her hands over my body, as if presenting me for an auction.

“Being taller than every age-appropriate guy isn’t always fun.” I snapped a corner piece into place.

“No, I suppose not; though I never had that problem. The grass is always greener. I always wanted more height.”

I offered a noncommittal hum in response, because someone wishing they were taller never made me any shorter.

“I thought your dad mentioned something about you and volleyball once. Do you think that’s the other bottom corner?”

I handed her the corner piece closest to me. “Well, I used to play, but I took a season off.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

I took a deep breath and restrained a sigh. “Well, all that stuff with my mom. You know. Whatever.”

Ms. Ortiz’s eyes found the red splotches invading my neck and face. “Ah. Well, no, I don’t know, and I didn’t mean to pry. I apologize.”

The sigh escaped me, then. “Oh, I just assumed you knew. Seems like everyone knows.”

Her hand patted mine before going back to sorting through pieces. “It can be hard when you think everyone knows your business. Just take me. At seventeen, I fell pregnant, so I understand everyone talking about you, but not with you.”

I wiped my sweaty palms against my cotton shirt. “Wow. I’m sixteen. I can’t imagine being pregnant. Was it scary?”

“Sure, it was. But life often disappoints, just as people do.”

I nodded. “Volleyball disappointed me, but my mom disappointed me more. There’s a gym on Fulton Street with an amazing club volleyball team. When I got the letter saying I made the team, you would’ve thought I’d found a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s.” I paused, deciding how much I wanted to share with this mere stranger, but Ms. Ortiz shared something personal with me, so it seemed polite to reciprocate. “My mom and my volleyball coach skipped town seven months ago. Apparently, my mom never loved Dad, and she only stayed with him because of me. But I guess I’m not a good enough reason to stay anymore.”

“And now you don’t play volleyball anymore.”

I nodded again. “And now I don’t play volleyball anymore.” The sound of pieces popping against the table filled the silence. “So what happened to your baby? Did you keep it?”

“No, I didn’t.” The fat orange tabby scratched at the porch door, and Ms. Ortiz stood to let him out.

“Is this where you tell me you’re my long-lost grandma?”

“A friend of a friend of our acting priest adopted her. He was kind enough to give me yearly updates on her growth. Unfortunately, she died in a tragic accident when she was twelve.”

I stopped sorting the last few pieces. An uncomfortable clench took hold of my stomach. “That’s awful. Did you ever meet her?”

“No. I never saw her after handing her over, but I thought of her often.”

My chest tightened, and I wondered if my mom was thinking of me, wherever she was. The lack of phone calls and texts gave me an idea. “Did you feel guilty for giving her up? Like if she’d been with you, she wouldn’t have died?”

“I’ve never considered that.” She didn’t resume messing with the pieces, but I nearly had the top and right side edges together. “I’ve lived a life a baby wouldn’t have made any easier.”

“You never had any other children?” I hadn’t bothered to study the house, but now I noticed a lack of picture frames and an abundance of crucifixes.

“No, I wasn’t able,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I married at thirty-seven, so a little too late for the party, I suppose. But I always dreamed of having children. Grandchildren. But what we want isn’t always given.”

“Or maybe it is,” I shrugged.

“Do you suppose?” Her hands worked on the bottom edge.

“My mom and I never agree on anything. I wished my mom wasn’t my mom more than once. And now here I am. No mom.”

“A wish and a want are but a sandal and a boot.”

I cocked an eyebrow and looked around for the cat, hoping it could explain the riddle she spewed out, but then I remembered it was wandering around the yard. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Do you miss volleyball?”

We were only missing a few connecting pieces now. “Sometimes. I miss contributing to something or knowing people are watching me and depending on me. I miss serving and I miss the bruises, too. They always made me feel kinda cool. Dumb to admit, but the truth.”

“A warrior should wear their scars proudly.” She wiggled her fingers at me, highlighting her jewelry adorned, stubby ring finger.

The last piece clicked into place, and I admired the outline of the picture. A surprising warmth spread through me, studying the perfect rectangle.

“That’s enough for now, don’t you think?” Ms. Ortiz asked.

“Oh, well, we haven’t even started filling in the picture yet.” I peeked at my watch and realized more time had passed than I had realized.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was Valparaiso, I assume. It shall keep.” She rose from the table. “Would you like a lemonade for the trip home? I don’t want to hog your whole Saturday.”

“Ms. Ortiz?”

“Yes, dear?” She didn’t stop pouring the sweet liquid into a mosaic glass.

“I know you said we aren’t related, but would you want to be my grandma? I’ve never had one.”

She didn’t answer right away but returned the lemonade pitcher to the refrigerator. “Abuela,” she said, handing me the glass. “Spanish for grandmother. You could call me abuela?”

“Abuela,” I agreed, and the older woman smiled. A sip of lemonade awoke my mouth with pops of sweet and sour. “Should we pick up where we left off next Saturday, abuela?”