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“Road trip it is,” I tell him with a nod. “Just like old times.”
“Yes. I’ll be ready at five tomorrow morning,” he says as I grumble.
“I’ll be there with an excessive dose of caffeine in my cup holder,” I retort as he heads toward the elevator.
I wait until I know he is safely on his way before turning toward the conference room. I sure hope this road trip doesn’t involve any mishaps like our previous adventures. Like the time we couldn’t find the town where our hotel was and spent the night in the car sleeping under the stars. While he did teach me the invaluable skill of troubleshooting in the most challenging of circumstances, I’m more of a cozy-hotel-with-a-hot-shower kind of guy now. But the time with Grandad is priceless—and for that alone, I’ll take any road trip he requests.
The city skyline shrinks in the rearview mirror as Grandad and I drive toward Rustic Ridge. I keep my gaze steady on the road while my mind continues to think of my never-ending checklist.
“Earth to Caleb,” Gene says, snapping me out of my reverie with a knowing look. “You’re doing that think thing again—overthinking.”
“Guilty,” I confess, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s a hard habit to break.”
“You know you work too much. Always buried in charts and reports.”
I glance at him. “I know, Grandad. I just—”
He holds up a hand and cuts me off gently. “Life’s too short for all work and no play. You’ve built an empire all on your own—made your mark. But when was the last time you did something for yourself? Something that wasn’t about the company?”
I exhale slowly, the question hanging between us like a rain cloud on a sunny day. “It’s been a while.”
He nods as if he already knew the answer. “You need to find balance, my boy. Find someone to share your life with. Start a family. There’s more to life than money and success.” His voice carries the wisdom of his years, tinged with a hint of something else—concern, maybe.
His words resonate with me, their echo bounding around the confines of my structured existence. The idea of finding someone seems as foreign as the notion of stepping back from my own creation. But looking at Grandad, who has lived through love and loss, I can’t help but wonder if he’s right.
He starts again, “Have you even been on a date since—”
“Grandad,” I begin, my voice steady despite the turmoil growing within. “Of course, I’ve moved on.”
I keep telling myself that I’m over Nancy and ready to move on, but every date I go on just reminds me of her in all the wrong ways. It’s like they only see me for my wealth and couldn’t care less about who I am as a person. Part of me wants to find someone new, but the fear of the unknown holds me back from moving on.
“I hear you, son,” he replies, his voice carrying a depth of compassion that eases the tension within me. “But moving on doesn’t always mean leaving the past behind entirely. Sometimes, it means confronting it, learning from it, and allowing yourself to open up to new possibilities.” His words strike a chord, resonating with a truth I have been reluctant to acknowledge.
I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, the weight of his words settling over me like a heavy blanket. The idea of opening myself up to love again feels daunting, yet his unwavering belief in the power of connection stirs something within me—a flicker of hope amidst the shadows of my past.
“I know it’s not easy, Caleb. But life is meant to be shared. Don’t let fear hold you back from experiencing all it has to offer.”
I nod, grateful for his wisdom and guidance, yet apprehensive about the journey that lies ahead. With Grandad’s encouragement, perhaps I can find the courage to take that first step toward healing and, perhaps, even love.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say quietly. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” He nods. “It’s time for you to start living, Caleb, not just existing.”
“Living,” I repeat, tasting the word. It feels new and uncertain, like a language I’ve yet to learn fluently.
As the miles roll by, his words nestle into my thoughts. Maybe Rustic Ridge will offer more than a solution to a tenant dispute—maybe it’ll be a chance to see how my team does without me for a few days. A catalyst to finding this “balance” between work and living.
2
Piper
“Here is your croissant and coffee,” I tell Linda as I walk around the counter to place it in the walker she uses to navigate around. “You sure you don’t want to have a seat inside today?”
“Nope, need to get to my quilting club this morning down at the community center,” the sweet, eighty-five-year-old lady tells me. “I have a baby quilt we are working on; my eighth grandbaby is due next month.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” I tell her.
Linda is just one in a long list of regulars that I adore seeing every day. She is as regular as the hours that tick away on the clock. Here at ten o’clock every morning for her piping-hot coffee and croissant. I’ve been fortunate to hear tales and see pictures of all her previous grandkids, and I’m sure that will be a hot topic of conversation in the coming weeks. I file a mental note to ask solid questions when she’s in next time.
