The old man did not have a car, so they walked to the boy’s grandmother’s house. The old man accompanied the boy through the chain link gate, past the front lawn with the water fountain surrounded by ceramic forest animals, up the steps of the front porch to the stained glass door.

“She’s probably cooking lunch or watching her tv shows.” The boy explained, “I think she’s gonna like you though!”

The old man looked down at the boy, and smiled.

The boy opened the door, placing his hoodie on the banister to the stairs, then walked left into the living room.

“Grandma, I’m home. My boss wanted to meet you.”

She was laying on her bed with Norman when she saw him.

“Oh dear,” she said, “why would you bring somebody over without telling me first, I look so...” 

Her voice trailed off as she stared at the tall, dark skinned, gray haired, dread locked, Rasta that stood before her.

“Hello Frances. How have you been?” Said the old man with a smile.

The boy looked from the old man to his grandmother and back, confused.

“You two know each other?”

“Get out!” She yelled. “Get out you son of a bitch! Get out of my husband’s house! Now!”

She stood up with the furious agility of a woman half her age, which shocked the old man and the boy.

“How dare you mislead my grandson. How dare you stumble into this house after all these years with a how have you been? Where were you?! All this time!”

His grandmother was becoming hysterical, Norman was still on the bed barking relentlessly.

“What the hell is going on?” Asked the boy. “How do you know each other? Grandma, who is he?” 

He turned to the old man and with a very curious voice said, “Who are you?”

“He’s your fucking grandfather! That no good bastard!” She screamed.

He looked at the old man in shock.

“You lied to me?” He said with great pain.

“Of course not.” Said the old man calmly. “I was going to reveal it to you when you were ready.” 

He turned and looked at the boy. 

“I’m your grandfather.” He said with a smile. “Your father was my son.”

“Was?” Asked the boy. “What happened to my dad?”

“He got him killed!” His grandmother shouted. “That son of a bitch got his own son murdered! And he will do the same thing to you! Get out!” 

She made a motion to advance towards the old man, ready to strike him.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Shouted the boy, his head was spinning with the sudden revelation. “Just hold on a damn minute!”

He put his hands on his grandmother’s shoulders. 

“Stop. You knew the truth about what happened to my dad and never told me?” 

His grandmother began to cry, falling to her knees with deadweight as she placed her face in her hands and sobbed. 

“I was trying to protect you.” She cried, “I was trying to protect you.”

“Let’s all just calm down, and have a seat.” Said the old man.

He approached the boy’s grandmother. He kneeled down in front of her, picking her up slowly.

“It’s time he knew Frances.” He said.

The boy thought his grandmother was going to slap him, push him away, curse his name some more. Instead she fell into his arms and cried. The boy stood there, stunned. 

All he could hear was the wails of his grandmother, and the barking of her dog.

Next Chapter: The Story