Life Without You

“Since when do Harry and Walt bet on races? Or anything?” I demanded.

Grandpa shook his head, obviously aggrieved. “Since Evelyn died and took Walt’s sense with her. Now he and Harry are running around acting like idiots. Doing things neither one of ’em would’ve done when she was alive. Jackasses,” he spat.

“Grandpa!”

He shot me a look. “What? It’s true.”

“Still.” I paused, studying the ceiling. “Is there something to worry about with those two?” I asked quietly.

I saw him shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. “Worry? No. They’ll come to their senses after they lose enough times.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“She’s only been gone for a few months,” Grandpa said. “They’ll come to their senses,” he said again, a little more quietly this time.

“Don’t we all,” I whispered, not taking my eyes from the ceiling. “Don’t we all.”

I woke up drooling thirty minutes later, startled by a warm hand on my cheek. Grandpa’s hand, gnarled with age and peppered with liver spots. A Band-Aid was wrapped around the knuckle of his left index finger, covering a cut he’d gotten earlier in the week while he was replacing some rotting wood on the deck outside. The man was never idle, never really still. Even when he was outwardly still, there was the underlying hum of some pent-up energy just waiting to be released. It was an inherent part of him, and I wouldn’t have recognized him without it. No one would have.

I smiled sleepily at him. “Oops. I guess I was drooling, huh?” I sat up, uncurling my legs from where they’d been tucked up under me in the recliner. My eyebrows knotted together. “Please tell me I wasn’t snoring. Or talking in my sleep. I was, wasn’t I? I do that sometimes, I’m sorry,” I babbled.

“No, no. No snoring.” He smiled. “Or talking. Don’t worry.” He stopped and looked up at the clock on the mantel. The room had gotten darker without the glow of the TV, which now sat black and hulking from its corner perch on the entertainment center. “It’s just late, and I think we both might be ready for bed now, huh?”

I nodded, stretching as I rose from the chair.

“Bed. Good idea,” I agreed. “Very good idea. Good night, Grandpa.” I leaned forward on my toes to kiss him on the lips.

“Good night, Dellie,” he said, returning my kiss. He pulled me in for a hug, wrapping his warm, strong arms around me. It felt good, safe—familiar. And I breathed in the scent of him—an indefinable mix of soap from his shower earlier that evening and Grandpa.

“I love you,” I mumbled into his neck.

“I love you, too, Dellie. And I’m glad you’re here.”

I moved my head from the crook between his neck and shoulder to look into his eyes as they glittered in the darkened room. “Me, too,” I said on a whisper. A smile wavered across my lips, unsettled by feelings of fear that were encroaching, but I held on. “Very glad.”

And I was. Glad to be there. Glad to be looking into the eyes of my grandfather, hoping that he would still be there to smile back at me for many years to come.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_e069b7c7-f646-5596-b8ff-61f7cef60304)

It was, in some ways, I supposed, my grandfather’s way of laying claim to a long and bright future ahead, this newly acquired truck in a bold shade of candy-apple red. He had traded in his own truck, an earlier iteration of this one, without all the bells and whistles and info-tech gadgetry that came with the newer models. Ever the die-hard Dodge Ram man, Grandpa had been unwavering in his decision with what make and model he wanted to bring home, no doubt putting the salesmen on the floor at Tidewater Dodge through their paces to earn every single solitary cent of their commission.

What was missing now—leaving a noticeable hole in the old, detached garage—was a minivan. It wasn’t out on errands, traversing some stretch of Hampton between Food Lion or Walmart or Costco. It wasn’t on its way to church.

Or maybe it was.

Wherever it was headed, though, it was never coming back to reclaim its space within the walls of this aluminum-sided garage, such a familiar sight in its dated shade of what was once called avocado green during a heyday of decades long gone by. Someone new had claimed the minivan, moving the mirrors and shifting the seat, erasing her preset buttons on the radio. No key rings dangled a declaration of Mom’s Taxi from its ignition. No box of tissues claimed the space between the front seats and the console.

Instead, there was nothing but emptiness beside this shiny new specimen of steel. Nothing but emptiness and an old tube sock, stuffed and dangling on a string from the ceiling in anticipation of meeting the slight curve of a windshield, guiding it to a safe stop.

I stared at the tube sock, then felt my gaze inextricably drawn to the scarred and stained concrete floor. Ghosts of puddles, faded reminders of the inner workings of so many minivans over so many decades.

It was like the vehicular version of the empty pillow on the empty side of the bed. Stark and lonely. Almost rude in its announcement that something—someone—was missing.

“How do you like my truck?” Grandpa asked, the suddenness of his voice almost jarring.

I blinked, forcing my brain back to the present, to the upcoming outing with my grandfather. I wasn’t going to wallow here, in this loss. Grammie would have stood for none of it.

“It’s some truck,” I said, stretching my lips into a smile. And it certainly was. It was some truck, perfect and shiny and red, such a difference from the steady succession of blue trucks he’d had over the course of my life. Maybe that’s what he had been hoping for. Something different. Some kind of visual reminder that there were still new things to be had, new memories to make, even if he had to do them on his own. His life wasn’t over, any more than mine was. Now it was up to us to decide whether those futures were dull and hopeless or shiny and bright with possibility—like a sweet candy apple just waiting to be bitten into.

“So where do you want to go?” he asked, eyebrows raised in interest.

I looked down at my hands, resting idly in my lap now that we were both encapsulated in the front seats of the truck’s sumptuous cab. This truly was one impressive piece of machinery, light-years away from anything I’m sure he could have ever envisioned as a young man with a family to raise.

“Honestly, Grandpa, I have no idea,” I replied, feeling a bit lost. “I haven’t been here in so long, and I know a lot of things have changed.” I paused, lifting my gaze and regarding him thoughtfully. “Do you have anywhere you like to go? Show me around a little.” I bit my lip. I hated sounding so indecisive, but I really wasn’t sure what was even here anymore. “Is that okay?”

“Sure, sure,” he said, sounding chipper. Give Grandpa a mission, and he was happy. I had just made him my unofficial tour guide, and I could see he was getting into the idea. “You’ve never been to Peninsula Town Center, have you?”

I wracked my brain, coming up short. The name didn’t sound familiar. “Um, no?” I said, shaking my head. “What is it?”

He smiled. “It’s a whole bunch of stores and shops and restaurants, kind of like a mall. Since they tore down Coliseum Mall, they had to do something with all that space, you know.” He turned the key in the ignition and the truck roared to life. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Well, it sounds like a plan, then.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “But really, are you sure you want to go shopping?”

“You’re a girl. I’m sure you probably like doing that, right?” He chuckled.

I shrugged. “Yes and no. It can be fun, if you’re in the right mood and with the right people,” I admitted.

“So. Am I the right people?” he asked with a smile. I peered closely at him, examining every inch of his timeworn face. The question was asked flippantly, but I saw the unexpected slight sheen of tears in his eyes. Even though he was playing the whole situation quite well, I could tell it was wearing on him—even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself or to anyone else.

“You’re definitely the right people,” I said, hoping he knew just how much I meant them. “Am I the right people?” I heard my voice break.

“You bet. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather go with. We can have lunch while we’re out there, too,” he replied, glancing at the glowing face of the clock on the space-age dashboard.

I followed his gaze. “Good Lord, there are a lot of lights and things on there,” I marveled, feeling my eyes widen. It made me feel overwhelmed, just looking at them. “How do you keep all of that straight?”

Grandpa’s grin broadened as he peeked in the rearview mirror and began to back out of the garage. “To tell you the truth, Dellie, I haven’t figured it all out yet. It’s got so many bells and whistles on there, I don’t think I’ll find them all before it’s time to trade it in for a new one!”

“Seriously,” I breathed. “I’d be afraid to start it, I think. Something might explode!” I giggled.

“It’s definitely something. What they don’t put in cars nowadays.” He shook his head, turning out onto the road to head toward our newly determined destination. Just the two of us, on an adventure together. I thought about that a minute, realizing I’d never actually gone anywhere with him on my own. Grammie had always been with us—and if she wasn’t there, there was always someone else there. It was odd, a foreign sensation, and the sudden realization made it seem all the more important to get things right.

“So have you been there many times before?” I asked, shifting the conversation back to our outing.

He shook his head. “No. I went there a few times before Christmas to get some gifts, a couple of times to pick up some birthday presents for the little ones,” he murmured. There was a melancholy to his voice, his words underscored by the unspoken acknowledgement that my grandmother would have been the one to make those trips. Instead, he was relearning the landscape on his own, no longer accompanied by the companion who had seen him through so many years. No longer was there a feminine hand to guide him, at the helm of the ship as it wended its way through the sometimes perilous seas of crowds at the mall or in the grocery store.

“I guess it’ll be some exploring for both of us, then,” I chirped, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

He nodded in silent contemplation as he scrolled through his own limited experience at the string of shops. “I know there’s the Penney’s, Macy’s—used to be Hecht’s, you know,” he enumerated. “Some big book store. I think it’s a Barnes and Nobles,” he continued, adding an extra “s” to the store’s name. “Target’s a little ways down, too. Some restaurants and a bunch of stores that I’ve never heard of before.” He paused. “Most of ’em I’ve never heard of before. But we’ll see what kind of trouble we can get into.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to give me a wink and a little smile. “You can be my date.”