“I wouldn’t have made it out of that hospital if it weren’t for you. I need you to know that. You got me through the crash, Al’s death, and losing the Colonel. I think I’ve accepted all of that for what it is, and I feel like I can move on from there, but this is the thing with Gilbert, I just don’t know. I don’t think I can just leave it at my father was a mentally ill serial killer who died in a mental institution, here’s his box of shit and his ashes. I was happy when I believed that he didn’t exist, but now I need to know more about him. Its gonna bother me forever if I don’t try to answer all these questions I have about him,” Seven said.
“Well, it sounds like you need to start looking into your father’s life and how he came to be in the hospital. I would say that you should probably try to speak with Gran again. She can probably at least get you started.” Tiffany was again the voice of reason.
“I think you’re right; I am gonna sit down with her when I get home.”
The conversation continued until Seven pulled the truck onto the long dirt driveway to the farmhouse. He was nervous about bringing up the topic of his father again with Gran. She had been reluctant to say much about the whole situation since Seven presented the letters to her at the kitchen table. When he told her that Gilbert was dead, she seemed to be somewhat relieved. Perhaps because she would no longer have to feel the guilt of deceiving her grandson, or perhaps she was just relieved that he was dead. Seven didn’t look forward to the conversation he was about to initiate.
He found Gran in the kitchen as usual. She was preparing far too much food for just her and her grandson. She had not yet adapted to preparing meals for just the two of them. He walked in and placed the box containing his father’s life on the kitchen table. She turned to him, wiped her hands on her apron, and sat at the table across from him. It appeared as though she anticipated inquiries from Seven, or perhaps she herself wished to begin the awkward conversation.