All of this is true, except my buddies were my cellmates, and any care packages were sifted through by the prison mailroom, resulting in cookies that had been handled and cakes that were opened up to check for hidden objects.
“Things must have changed since you found Sammie,” he continues musing. “You must be proud of her.”
“I am. She’s the best part of my life.”
“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t tell you, but I kind of want her to have the Christmas Cottage.” He steeples his fingers and looks through them. “I hate to be selfish, but she’s blood family. She reminds me so much of your grandmother. Even looks like her. Cute with those big, blue eyes, and a sense of humor that has me in stitches.”
I feel uncomfortable with this turn of events. Lindsay thinks her kids have a fair shot at the cabin. If he wanted to give it to Sammie, why have this competition?
“I’m biased for Sammie, too. But what about Will and Abbie? How about not having the competition if you’ve decided already?”
Grandpa shakes his head. “I see you still have a lot to learn. Your generation gives out participation trophies. Makes everyone feel good without recognizing reality.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I struggle to understand why he’s cooked up the game, especially since all it seems to do is pit Lindsay against me, while the three competitors are oblivious to the scoring.
“What’s wrong is pretending every solution is just as good, especially if it makes us feel good,” Grandpa says in a firm tone which signifies an incoming rant. “That’s the problem with young people these days. Victory should be earned by true merit, not pretend accolades.”
“Hey, it’s your cabin, so you can award it any way you like.” I shrug, not wanting to argue with him, especially since he’s so sick.
But he’s not done. He sits up straighter and fixes his gaze on me. “I don’t have long to live, and you’re my oldest grandson. I hope to pass on my values to you. I’ve had limited time with you, unlike Ben who’s the closest to me. Hard worker. Honest guy and considerate. You don’t become a pro football player by cheating or skirting the facts. Your stats can’t be faked. Your weight, height, conditioning, how fast you run. Merit is rewarded.”
I can see where this is going now. He’s always suspected me of being dodgy and a bit of a cheat. I skimmed the truth often, and I nicked pennies and quarters from his pocket when I thought he wouldn’t miss them.
“What does honesty and hard work have to do with you changing your will on the cabin?”
“It’s an old-fashioned competition. May the best elf win.”
“Except it’s subjective, not objective. You’re the judge.”
“Because I’m the benefactor. You see? Life isn’t fair, and it never was fair. Some of us are born with more talents than others, but all of us must make the best of the blessings we do have.”
“Are you saying I didn’t make the best of my life?” I ask the question that I know is hanging in the air between us.
“I’m not sure your reality is reality but the way you wish it to be.” His words hit at my gut level sense of unease.
“Give me an example. I don’t understand.”
“Okay, let’s talk about green energy, electric cars, solar and wind. They only exist to make us feel good—like we’re environmental do-gooders. Meanwhile, they ignore the real costs to the environment, the mining of rare earth metals, the toxic batteries, and the plain fact that solar and wind are the most inefficient ways of generating energy per unit area. They also kill animals and plants, especially birds, and they ruin the habitats underneath them.”
“What alternatives do we have? We don’t want to keep burning fossil fuels, and we’ll run out eventually, anyway.”
“Glad you asked.” He brightens visibly and puffs out his chest. “First of all, solar and wind require backup generators, because face it, the sun doesn’t shine at night or on a cloudy day, and the wind doesn’t always blow. Add to that, the wind turbines are expensive to maintain and cost a lot of energy to build. What I’m saying is to look at the big picture, the entire soup to nuts, and not just the part that makes you feel good.”
“This gets back to the Elfprentice competition, how?” I spin my finger in a circle.
“I’m not finished. The truly green energy is nuclear. It is rich in energy, and the latest fourth generation plants can use nuclear waste as fuel. But people don’t feel good about nuclear, so they reject what’s scientifically proven to be more efficient, cheaper, and greener, plus no carbon emissions.”
“I kind of get it. You’re saying that solar and wind feel good but are inefficient and ineffective, but nuclear feels bad but the technology has improved to the point of it being feasible. Isn’t it dangerous?”
“That’s the old reactors—look up fourth generation nuclear—much safer. Anyway, getting back to the competition. It feels bad to have winners and losers. It feels bad to compete. To try and to fail. To have pressure and stress. But it’s also how you achieve and make something out of your life. It’s important to earn and not be given something. You never really appreciate what you didn’t fight for and earn honestly. If you cheat or were awarded due to low standards, it’s not right. Even if no one else knows, you know and that’s all the punishment you need.”
I don’t know how many levels of cringe I go through listening to him compare me to solar and wind energy—the feel-good lies, but his conclusion is wrong. I don’t really care what I know about myself. I’ve fabricated my life up to now. Coming clean would not only be for the birds, but stupid, and in my case, life-threatening.
“You and I live in different worlds.” I pat him on the shoulder. “I appreciate what you’re telling me, and I agree. Rewards should be earned, and life isn’t fair. I only wonder how far these Elfprentices need to go to earn the reward they don’t even know about.”
“They don’t need to know, because the reason I have the reward is so you and Lindsay will keep them in the game. Your father suggested I change up the game every three months to make it more interesting, and my lawyer says he won’t charge me to change the name of the winner.”
Ah. I get it now. Dad convinced Grandpa to keep the game running as a way to keep him wanting to live. As long as the Elfprentice game runs, and he gets to update the scores every three months, he’ll have something to focus on.
“I don’t know if Sammie will be interested in being an elf for long. She has to go back to her mother’s home soon.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t last that long. I’m ready to go to your grandmother, and the will I make will be my last and final one.” He clasps my hand and squeezes. “I am just so blessed to spend these last days with you, and the icing on the cake is Sammie. I can’t get over how much she looks like you—especially those big, blue Powers eyes.”
Panic bubbles up from my gut along with a huge ball of regret. What have I done?
What started out as a joke is turning into the scam of the century. I have to tell the truth, but if I do, my entire house of cards will tumble down.
Maybe it’s best that Sammie and I leave as soon as we can—forfeit the game and disappear.
