"You can't tell anybody what I'm going to show you."
Becca no longer stirred the mac and cheese and looked at her grandmother. Nana was sitting at the table in the kitchen with this odd expression on her face, like she was contemplating leaping off a cliff or something.
"Okay." Becca trailed off. "What's up?"
"I'm serious, Rebecca. Not your mom, not your friends, nobody."
The manner in which Nana uttered her entire name caused Becca's stomach to flip slightly. Nana reserved Rebecca only for when something was drastically wrong or drastically important. She switched off the burner and walked over to the table.
"You're scaring me here a little."
Nana let out this huge sigh and rubbed her forehead. "I've been ruminating on this for weeks now. Ever since you started inquiring about your grandfather."
Becca had been asking. Lots. Her senior project was family history and whenever she said Grandpa Eddie, Nana would get this expression of a faraway look in her eyes and change the subject. All Becca did know was that he died when her mom was a kid and that he did construction.
"Listen, your grandfather. he wasn't really who everyone thought he was."
"What do you mean?"
Nana got up and vanished into her bedroom. Becca heard her digging through things, like she was sorting through boxes or something. She came back with this manila envelope from the past.
"Eddie didn't die in a construction accident."
The words just hung there in the air in the kitchen. Becca felt as if someone had turned down the volume on everything.
"But Mom said—"
"Your mom has no idea what's happening. I didn't tell her because. well, because some things are better left buried."
Nana sat back down and rested the envelope between them on the table. It was as old as hell, stained with coffee and creased at the edges.
"Why are you telling me?"
"Because you're eighteen now. And because you're still badgering me about this family history thing. And frankly? I'm weary of shouldering this by myself."
Becca gazed at the envelope. Part of her urged her to reach and tear it open, but another part of her urged her to retreat slowly.
"He was FBI," Nana said quietly.
"What?"
"Your grandfather was an undercover FBI agent. For twenty-three years."
Becca's brain was struggling to make sense of information that wasn't adding up. "But. construction worker. Hard hat. I've seen the pictures."
"That was his cover. During the day, he was a construction worker, and he reported to the Bureau at night. He was doing organized crime in Detroit."
"Holy shit."
"Language," Nana said automatically, but she was smiling a little.
"Sorry, but. holy crap, Nana. Why did you never tell me?"
Nana opened the envelope and pulled out a bunch of papers. Official looking things. FBI stationery. Black and white photos of men in suits.
"Because he swore me to secrecy. Said it was safer no one knew, even after he died. Especially after he died."
Becca took one of the photographs. It was her grandfather - definitely him, she could see the crooked smile - shaking hands with some man in front of what looked like a warehouse.
"He looks so. normal."
"He was normal. That was part of what made him so good at it. Nobody suspected the man who showed up to work every day with his lunch pail and complained about the Lions losing would be involved."
"How did he really die?"
Nana's face changed. Got tougher in some manner.
"They found out. Someone turned him in. Eddie had an appointment with his handler one night but were waiting in ambush for him."
The kitchen became very quiet. Becca could hear the next-door neighbor's dog barking in the backyard and the hum of the refrigerator.
"They killed him?"
"Shot him three times and threw him in the Detroit River. Took two weeks for the police to find the body. The FBI told everybody it was an accident at a construction site because they had other agents working on the case still."
Becca turned around, reeling. As if the floor wasn't real anymore.
"Does this stuff prove it? These papers?"
"Part of it. There's his real ID badge, case files he had submitted, surveillance pictures. The FBI gave me a box of his things after the funeral. Said it was the least they could do."
Becca rummaged through more pictures. Her grandfather next to cars, talking to people she did not recognize, always dressed down and relaxed.
"He was too good at playing someone else," Nana continued. "There were times I was sure he had forgotten who he really was beneath all that cover story nonsense."
"Did you know? When you married him?"
"Hell no. I thought I was marrying a construction worker with a good salary and who wanted three kids. Learned about the FBI detail when your mom was six and Eddie came home one night with a black eye and split lip. That's when he finally told me everything."
"Weren't you mad?"
Nana smiled, but it was a sorrowful one. "Mad don't even begin to describe it. I was furious. All those nights he said he worked late, all those business trips that weren't business trips. I believed our whole marriage was founded on lies."
"But you stayed with him."
"Yes. Because under all the spy stuff, he was still the man I fell in love with. And because he needed someone who knew the truth. Someone he could be himself around."
Becca looked at another photo. This one showed her grandfather sitting in what looked like a diner, facing a woman with black hair.
"Who's this?"
Nana gazed at the photograph and her mouth compressed. "That is Agent Patricia Reeves. She was Eddie's case worker for the last five years of his life."
Something in Nana's tone brought Becca's head up.
"You did not like her."
"Patricia was. complicated. She was good at her job, I'll say that for her. But she pushed Eddie too hard. Wanted him to get closer to the bad people, take more risks. I think she forgot he wasn't an asset, he was a man with a family."
"Do you think she got him killed?"
"I think she cared more about the case than she cared about saving Eddie. When the FBI told me what happened, Patricia wasn't even at the meeting. Heard she requested a transfer to the West Coast straight away."
Becca set the photo aside and studied her grandmother. Truly studied her. Nana looked older in some capacity, as if talking about all of it was aged her in the moment.
"Why now? Why are you saying this to me now?"
"Because you're old enough to understand that people aren't always what they seem. And because you should know that your grandfather died doing something worthwhile, even though it wasn't necessarily what everyone thinks."
"What about Mom?"
"What about her?"
"Shouldn't she know too?"
Nana shook her head. "Your mother has lived her whole life with the idea that her father was this plain, honest man who died too soon. To take that away from her now. I don't think it would do any good."
"But it's the truth."
"Sometimes the truth isn't the most crucial thing. Sometimes keeping the people you love safe is more important."
Becca jammed the photos and documents together in a attempt to get it all into perspective. Her grandfather wasn't some construction worker moonlighting. He was a federal agent who killed doing his job to take down the bad guys. It was like discovering Superman was real and lived in your house.
"There's more," said Nana. She dipped her hand into the envelope once more and pulled out a letter. "Eddie wrote this to you. Well, to his grandchildren. He never got to meet you, but he hoped one day you'd be curious to hear about him."
The letter was addressed to "My Future Grandchildren" in handwriting Becca had never seen. Her fingers were shaking a little as she opened it.
If you're reading this, then something did happen to me and your grandmother figured you were old enough to know the truth. I hope you're not too disappointed to learn your grandfather wasn't the dull construction worker everyone made him out to be.
I wanted to make you aware that everything I did, I did because I believed it mattered. The individuals I was targeting destroyed innocent families. They destroyed communities and lives for dollars. I couldn't stop them all, but maybe I helped stop some of them.
I also want you to know that undercover all these years, I discovered what really matters. Not the work, nor the thrill, nor even the cause you're fighting for. It's the people who know who you really are and still love you anyway. Your grandmother was such a person to me. I hope you meet someone like that as well.
Be careful who you trust, but don't be afraid to trust the people who are meant for you. And always keep in mind that sometimes the greatest wisdom is the kind that stays in the family.
Love, Grandpa Eddie
Becca was sobbing by the time she finished reading. Not the dramatic, snot-into-a-tissue type, just tears running down her face as she tried to take it all in.
"He sounds like an amazing man," she said finally.
"He was. Complicated and shy and sometimes infuriating as hell, but good."
They sat in silence for a bit. The tension had ruined the mac and cheese by now, but they didn't care.
"So what do I do with all this?" Becca asked, gesturing to the papers.
"Whatever you feel is best. It's your family history now too."
"Can I think about it?"
"Sure. But don't forget what I said you shouldn't say anything. At least, not yet."
Becca nodded and helped Nana put everything back in the envelope. As they were closing up, she remembered something.
"Nana? How do you know all this is true? I mean, how do you know the FBI wasn't also lying to you?"
Nana's expression broke out into a smile for the first time since they started talking. "Because two months down the line, Agent Reeves turned up at my doorstep. Drunk and crying and going on and on about sorry. Informed me the case fell apart when they lost Eddie and that three organized crime families had been picked up on intelligence he'd provided them with. Said Eddie had saved her life twice and she'd never forgive herself for not protecting him better."
"Did you ever see her again?"
"No. But on the anniversary of Eddie's death, every year, I get a card with no return address. Just 'Thank you' and signed Patricia."
Becca helped wash the dishes they had used, keeping in mind all that she had learned. Her grandfather had been a spy. Her grandmother had been keeping this secret from her for almost forty years. Her family history was more complex than she'd ever thought.
"You alright?" Nana asked, completing the cleanup.
"Yeah. I think so. It's just. a lot."
"I know. Take your time processing it all."
Just as Becca was going to leave, Nana grabbed her arm.
"One more thing. Your grandfather always used to say the most dangerous information isn't what you know about other people. It's what other people know about you. Keep that in mind."
Becca hugged her grandmother goodbye and drove home with the envelope sitting in the passenger seat. She couldn't resist glancing over at it at red lights, still not quite believing what she'd found.
Brief knowledge. That's what her grandfather had called it in his letter. Information worth dying for, but dangerous enough to conceal.
She was eighteen, and now she had discovered something that would change the way her whole family thought about themselves. The problem was what to do with that information.
For the time being, she decided, she'd be smart like her grandfather. Be suspicious of whom you trust, but don't be afraid to trust them.
She just had to figure out who they were.
