Page 3 of A Legacy of the Light

Grandpa’s footsteps shuffle in behind me, his walking stick thumping along the floor as he moves. I busy myself at the sink, looking out the window at the garden Granny cared for so diligently. Grandpa has kept it up with my help since she disappeared, and the winter plants are in full bloom now. It hurt to look at it at first. But I’ve enjoyed learning how to care for what we planted. Granny kept a journal on how to tend to the rare, beautiful flowers and plants she reared. It was a good outlet for a time. It didn’t last, though—nothing ever does. But I still feel a sense of pride seeing the beauty we'd managed to create as it thrives. Not in the same way it had for Granny, but I think she’d be proud of us.

Grandpa rests a hand on my shoulder. “I have an early birthday present for you.”

I turn and look at him. There’s a small smile on his wrinkled face. The life he and Granny lived together reflects in the soft set of his light blue eyes behind his glasses. I see it in the wrinkles around his mouth from all the laughter they shared, and the bald head he said had been caused by Mom’s and my teenage years.

They were married for fifty-two years. They had one daughter, Heather, and then she had me when she was twenty-seven. We were close as a family. All that is etched into the planes of his face, along with the sadness of losing them.

My irritation slips away when the only real father figure I’ve ever had places a small wrapped box into my hand.

I chuckle when I look down at the lilac gift wrap with unicorns and rainbows on it.

Grandpa's eyes sparkle as he laughs. “This was the only wrapping paper they had at the store! You might be turning twenty-five, but you’ll always be my baby girl.” He places a kiss on my cheek, then moves around me to get a glass of water.

“Open it when you get home,” he adds when I look up to thank him.

“Why do I need to wait to open it?” I ask, confused. Grandpa normally loves to watch me open gifts. Our family photo albums are filled with photos of us all doing just that.

“Trust me.”

I roll my eyes and open my mouth to protest, but he gives me a look that makes me think twice about questioning him further. It makes me smile.

Mom always said Grandpa could never be mad with me. I know I could push if I wanted to, but I sense he won’t tell me anything more.

I have a feeling that I should be alone when I open it. As I hold it, my whole body shivers with static energy. Putting the gift into my bag, I ignore the vagueness of his answer and the sensation of whatever is wrapped inside. I write it off as my imagination, or a chill in the November air.

I finish loading the dishes, and Grandpa heads into the living room to watch TV. It’s getting late, and I’m tired after a challenging day at work.

I used to love my job as a consultant before everything happened, but it no longer has the appeal it once did. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve lost my place in the world and won’t be finding my way back anytime soon. Plastering on a fake smile becomes exhausting and I long for a hot bath at home where no-one will bother me and I can just be.

“Do you need anything else before I go home, Grandpa?" I call out.

“No. You get yourself outta here and get some sleep. I’ll give you a call in a few days,” he replies.

“Okay,” I say as I enter the living room. Of course he has the sports channels on; the man never watches anything else—except for old John Wayne movies.

I drop another kiss onto his cheek. “Love you!” I say as I grab my keys off the coffee table and head to the hallway.

“Love you too, sweetheart! I’ll let you know when I’ve made the reservation!” Grandpa yells, louder than he needs to.

“Sure, Gramps. Goodnight,” I say rolling my eyes, knowing he can’t see me. He isn’t going to let this go. I hear his chuckle from the living room. Gramps is something I used to call him when I was little and wanted something. It’s been a while since I called him that.

By the time I get home at ten thirty and ready myself for bed, my mind has returned to its usual hollowness.

The reflection I see in the mirror doesn’t help, either. I see my face but don’t recognize the shell staring back at me. A once-happy person hardened with sadness and sorrow. My green eyes have permanent dark circles under them these days, and my blonde hair gets piled into a knot on the top of my head. I rarely make any effort with how I look, and that has gotten worse recently.

I see Mom staring back at me whenever I look too long. We have the same cheek bones, slightly rounded, the same small curve to the end of our nose, and the same shape to the set of our eyes.

She had one blue eye and one green, which always fascinated me as a child, and her hair was a dark brown to my blonde.

I can't stand to look at myself for too long, so I shut off the light in the bathroom and pad across the hallway to my bedroom, the hollow feeling following me.

The kingsize fortress that is my bed, is my safe place and where I escape the emptiness of my life. I put fresh bedding on before I left for work this morning, and the scent of clean linens envelops me as I thank past-me for being productive in the morning for a change.

After making sure my alarm is set for the next day, and checking a few emails, I spot Grandpa’s gift on the nightstand, where I had put it when I got home. Curiosity wins out and I reach out to take it. The hair on my arms stands on end as my fingers wrap around the small box.

I tear off the ridiculous gift wrap to find an ornately carved wooden box. Turning it over in my hand, I’m fascinated by the beautiful pattern etched on the top of the dark oak. It’s clearly handmade; the whirls and markings are shaped like a butterfly made of Celtic knots. The design strange, yet familiar.

Granny had a lot of jewelry made in a similar style. From Scotland. “It reminds me of home,” she’d say whenever I asked about it.