I follow the nurse across the room to the corner where she's making notes in her chart. "Is he always like this?" I ask in a whisper from just over her shoulder.
"He has his good days and his bad days," the silver-haired woman says without looking away from her notes. "Some days, he's coherent and he spends hours grumbling about his troublesome grandsons and the problems in his company.” She chuckles then her expression drops. “Some days he stares blankly at a wall for hours on end. Other days, he's just downright grumpy.” She sets down her pen and smiles wistfully at her sullen patient. “It's all normal with his condition."
Wordlessly, I stare at Gramps. Seeing him like this is hard, man. Right before I left for jail, the Alzheimer's had just begun sinking its claws into him. But he'd still come to the office on occasion. He'd still play mediator between Dad and me when we couldn't see eye-to-eye on executive decisions. But now, he's in this nursing home and he's just a shell of the man he used to be.
He glances at me and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His eyes seem to be asking where the hell I’ve been, what I’ve been up to, why I haven’t come to see him in so long. But that could all be wishful thinking on my part.
This wretched disease has crippled the man’s cognitive abilities. I can't even count on him to recognize my face, let alone give me some grand nugget of wisdom that will bring clarity to my murky situation.
The nurse smiles at my grandfather and promises to see him again at dinnertime. Then she walks out the door, leaving me alone with the old man.
Gramps leans his head back and closes his eyes. I drop into the chair beside his bed and I just long for the days when I’d tell him my problems and he always had some sage advice for me. So, I decide to pretend that everything is like it used to be. I pour it all out. All the pain and anger and resentment I've been clenching onto with all my might.
I tell him about my time in jail and the bitter tale of how I got there in the first place. Then, I tell him about Callie, about how smart and sweet and wonderful she is and how she doesn’t know what to make of me. I tell him about Jessa and how great of a nanny she is and how much I can’t control the way I feel about her. Finally, I go into detail about Cannon and how pissed I am at how things turned out with the company even though I’m beginning to realize that none of it is really his fault.
When I'm done dumping it all out, I hunch forward and drop my face into my hands, feeling completely overwhelmed.
I sit like that for a while until I hear a gravelly voice scratch out next to me. “Buy the kid an ice cream cone, kiss the nanny, run the damn business with your brother and stop complaining my ear off, will ya?”
My head shoots up. I glance over at my grandfather.
His eyes are bright with amusement and he’s looking at me with a devious half-smile I haven’t seen in years. “Always so serious about everything. Have some damn fun, boy.”
“Wha…?” My mouth opens and closes. I’m looking for the right words to say.
Finally, I give up on finding words and just launch myself at him, gathering up his frail body in my arms. I can’t help it—tears are pouring down my goddamned face.
Gramps and I talk and talk and talk for what feels like hours. To be honest, I’m the one who does most of the talking. At times, he struggles with his thoughts. Sometimes I lose him for a few moments. But each word he utters is as precious as gold, every minute of our exchange is so damn incredible. When the nurse comes in to wheel him down to the dining room for dinner, she nearly has to pry me off the bed railing because I just don’t want to say goodbye, not knowing if or when I’ll be able to speak with my grandfather like this again.
On the drive home, I’m grinning the whole time. I just have this inexplicable feeling of optimism alive in my bones. Gramps’s words replay in my head.
Buy the kid an ice cream cone, kiss the nanny, run the damn business with your brother and stop complaining my ear off, will ya?
The advice is overly simplistic—and mostly illogical, of course—but I can’t shake it loose from my skull. Kissing Jessa again is out of the question. Judging by the razorblades she’s been shooting at me with her eyes, she definitely isn’t interested in being kissed by the likes of yours truly.
As for running the business with Cannon? Not gonna happen, either. My brother and I have never really gotten along and joining him on the executive board of Kingston Realties would only result in a power struggle. Our family is already divided enough as it is, and if people had to pick sides, I’m pretty sure who everyone would choose.
Hint: it wouldn’t be me.
So, I stick with the easiest suggestion on Gramps’s list. I stop at the ice cream shop on the way home and I pick up a tub of butterscotch ripple for my little girl.
When I present Callie with her bowl of ice cream after dinner, she bounces in her seat and shrieks with glee. Jessa gives me a reticent ghost of a smile as I hand her her own ice cream bowl. Her glittering eyes light up the space like fireflies. And it feels
