We give each other a quick man hug, and when we pull back, I can see that his eyes are glistening every bit as much as mine. We both clear our throats and look down at the ground for a second. Then he sniffs. “Glad you made it back, kiddo.”
“Me too.”
“Not that I didn’t fully expect you to,” he says with a firm nod. “You’re a survivor. Always have been.”
“Yup,” I answer, not wanting to think about the crash. “No question about that.”
“Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Can we go to the dock instead? I left my bike there.”
Nodding, he says, “Of course.”
We start walking together through the parking lot until we reach his red ‘69 Chevy Corvair. The top is down, but we both open the doors to get in because we’re ‘civilized’ like that. At least that’s the reason he gave me when I was a rowdy teenager who wanted to hop over the way they do in the movies.
I sink into the leather seat, suddenly feeling exhausted as he starts up the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. “I hope you weren’t too worried.”
“Nah, I know you better than all those jackasses on the news who were busy saying you were dead.” He signals to turn right onto the road, then guns it. “So? Tell me about the girl.”
Her face pops into my mind, causing a stabbing feeling in my chest. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.”
“Sure, sure. You’re probably wiped after everything you’ve been through.”
“I am. Can’t wait to get home and have a long, hot shower, an ice-cold beer, and sleep for about twelve hours.” I let out a sigh, thinking of the fact that I’ll be utterly alonedoing all of that. But I’ll get used to it again. Eventually. Maybe. “Tomorrow, I’m going to have to arrange to pick up Tweety and take her in to a mechanic to find out if she’s worth fixing.”
He reaches over and pats me on the knee, like he used to do when I was a kid. “Don’t think about that today. Today is for being glad you’re alive and that you made it home.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes, the warm evening breeze flowing through my hair. I should be content. I’m alive. I’m home. But my insides are all tangled up instead. I spend almost the entire drive trying to think of a way to find out if he knows about the money. If not, I’m going to have to tell him. I promised Paige I’d refund her the cost of the flight and it’s going to be a long while before I have a source of income again. Finally, I decide I just need to come out with it. “So, Grandpa, I have something to tell you.”
“About what happened out there or the money I owe you?”
Ah, crap. He knows. “You don’t owe me any money.”
“Like hell I don’t. You’ve been paying the increase in my fees for a year now,” he tells me.
“It’s not a big deal. In fact, it’s the least I can do for you after you took me in,” I answer, hoping that he’ll accept my reason instead of trying to fight me on it.
“You should’ve told me instead of going behind my back.”
Yup, I knew he was going to say that. “Come on, you never let me do anything nice for you. I thought I could?—”
“You thought wrong. And you made me look like an ass to Violet while you were at it,” he says, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “And here I’ve had no clue why she won’taccept my invitation for a dinner date. But it turns out it’s because you told her I was broke.”
“You’ve been trying to date Violet?”
“Why not? She’s single. And she’s a real looker, too.”
“Oh yeah, for sure she is, for someone in your demographic,” I answer, wondering if, when I’m in my eighties, I’ll be into muumuu wearing ladies. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t tell you everything,” he says. “And I don’t know where the hell you got the idea that I don’t have any money.”
“You left your bank statement open on the table one night,” I tell him.
“So you took it upon yourself to snoop?”
“No, well, yeah, I guess so,” I answer, feeling like I’m about fourteen years old and just got caught sneaking a beer from his fridge. “I was cleaning up so I could set the table. I didn’t mean to read it. But I had other reasons too, you know. There’s the fact that you never buy anything new for yourself. Like when your TV broke two years ago and you went to a thrift store and bought that ancient wide screen that weighs eight hundred pounds and is about as low res as they come.”
“Hey, that TV works just fine, thank you very much,” he says. “And just because I buy things used doesn’t mean I can’t afford to buy something new.”
