I still hadn’t seen the Flee. In fact, I didn’t think about him until he’d text me about coming over. I always said I was busy. Then I got the scowl from Mom.
“He’s trying, honey,” she’d say. “I sent him that Lizz Delaney story. He’s proud of you.”
Yeah, I’d like to hear that.
Well, I had school. Going to the mall after school with Denny. Watching TV with Grandpa at night. My schedule had no room for anything else. His doctor had told us that Grandpa would have good days and bad days. And then it would change to good hours and bad hours. I didn’t want to miss anything.
I preferred sitting in front of the TV with Grandpa. Mr. Darcy, sitting on the floor underneath the giant bed.
We watched shows about D-Day. About Vietnam.
We watched cooking shows. We even watched a Jane Austen film with Mom.
Grandpa rearranged himself on the bed and ordered me to reheat his water bottle.
His back hurt. He lost weight. He drank hot water or this gross herbal tea Mom read about that was supposed to help.
Know what the tea looked like? Like the same going into the body as it did coming out.
Know what it smelled like? It’s that same rotten smell that punches you in the face when you’ve left a salad in your fridge too long.
Still, he drank the putrid concoction. A lot of days, he ordered me to go jog around the block; no grandson of his was going to be soft. Then he would wink at me.
“Unless it’s your decision to be soft,” he said.
I wasn’t going to be soft.
After dinner, I usually ran down Cedar Drive. Past the hulking water tower. Past the forest of trees and into the Estates.
When I got back home, I’d shower and then we’d watch a TV marathon, but I couldn’t tell you what was on. We always talked over the sound.
That was how most days went as we headed toward summer.
On the first Tuesday of June, Mom made a cake.
Did you know that Mom hadn’t made a cake in a year? When she made cake, it was a celebration.
“Are we celebrating?” Grandpa asked.
“The premiere of Tim’s new commercial is going to air tonight,” she said.
“Well, hot diggity,” Grandpa said.
Tim LeMoot came over and we all ate spaghetti around Grandpa, which I thought was a little mean, but he said he didn’t mind. Then the commercial came on and there was Tim LeMoot, on the screen, in the middle of a giant field.
You need an attorney who is outstanding in his field. Call me, TIM LEMOOT, THE TEXAS BOOT. I’M OUT STANDING IN MY FIELD!
It was hilarious. Everyone said so.
“Wasn’t that hilarious?” Mom asked. Tim and Mom went to the kitchen and cleaned up.
That night, I would have sworn Grandpa looked a shade of yellow. Not one of the good days. He was in pain and he took his medications. I had a knowing feeling that night. Something pushed at me. Something told me we were down to the good hours.
Say it. Say it. Say it!
“I love you.”
Silence. Not awkward, but the relieving kind. Like when you’ve been holding your breath and you let out a sigh.
“So, you gonna rat-trap some birds tomorrow?” His voice was low and ragged.
“You gonna eat my sandwich and then stink up the place?”
“Darn Kovok.”
“Old fart.”
He fell asleep. But I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. What if it was the last good hour?
Before Grandpa drifted off to sleep, he whispered, “Hank Williams needs a girlfriend.”
“How about Dolly Parton?”
“Son, I was thinking the exact same thing.” He closed his eyes and fell asleep. The forever kind. I don’t know how I knew it, but I did. For so long, things had been awkward and annoying between us. But do you know what? Right before he died, I was the happiest I’d ever been in my life. I was grateful I’d been in a plane crash. I got to see my grandfather every single day for months. If that plane hadn’t plummeted, we would have stalled at spaghetti Tuesdays.
And that’s the truth.
Later the next morning, people from the funeral home came into our house and rolled out a stretcher holding the best man I ever knew.
The house felt huge and empty without him. He’d filled it.
I went to my room and played video games so that I wouldn’t have to think about anything.
Later, Mom and I watched a movie and Tim LeMoot came over with pizza and flowers, and Mrs. Rosenblatt and Denny came over with brisket and bread, and Mom cried more.
And I cried more, too. I admit it.
And when I went into the kitchen and saw Mom’s blue glass birds on the counter, I almost lost it. I lined them up like soldiers. I looked out the kitchen window to fill up my eyes with blue sky so that they wouldn’t fill up with anything else.
And I didn’t ask God why I was in the random plane crash that caused Grandpa to come and live with us.
I just bit my lip and said, Thank you.
True story.