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I know I’m being unreasonable. Grief is showing me a side of myself that I’m not proud of.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m dialing Tony’s number, desperate to hear the deep, comforting timbre of his voice.
“I know you’re at work,” I blurt, trying to swallow down the ache in my chest and throat. If I could only make the pain go away, maybe I could begin to make sense of everything. “But please could you meet me at my grandpa’s house?”
“I’ll be there in twenty,” he says without any hesitation. The pain eases, and I can inhale again.
Maybe I will survive.
* * *
Tony arrives shortly after me.His dark eyes look me over, searching for something. Signs of life, perhaps.
“Thank you for coming,” I say. “I realized once I set off that I couldn’t face it alone.”
I should have let my parents do this. I should have known it would be too much for me on my own. I panicked when my parents said they were going through Grandpa’s things. Like the last little pieces of him would be filed away, and he’d truly be gone.
But heisgone.My mind whispers.
“I’m glad you called me, that you want me to be a part of such an important time,” Tony says, taking my hands in his and dropping a soft kiss on my lips.
More than anything, I want to deepen it, let it take hold of me and fill me with something other than soul-destroying loss.
He pulls away, and I immediately miss his warmth.
Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I drop my head and search for the front door key on my grandpa’s keyring.
The moment I open his door, I’m assaulted with the smell of his clothes softener and cologne, and my knees buckle.
Tony’s arms wrap around me, and he carries me into Grandpa’s living room.
“Shelby…”
I know what he wants to say. I shouldn’t be here. It’s too soon. My breath hitches in my chest as I wait for the punch of his words when my eyes land on a framed photograph on the mantel above the fire. “That was my graduation.”
Tony follows my gaze.“May I?”
I nod, and he stands, gently picking up the silver frame. He sits beside me on the overstuffed couch as we gaze at the photo.“He looks incredibly proud of you.”
“He was,” I whisper. But then again, Grandpa would’ve been proud of me if I’d come home with a polished turd.
Every moment we spent together was a joy. We had fun, we created mischief, and he held my dreams in his heart, urging me toward them. Guiding me when I lost my way and reminding me of who I am.
Shelby England.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes, and another happy memory floods my mind. Grandpa cursing as he wound the clock to the right time. He could curse like a sailor when the mood took him.
I stand and head toward it, surprised to find it’s kept time despite no one being here to wind the temperamental thing. I stroke a hand over the walnut, tracing the dark lines and spots in the whiskey-colored wood.
Turning, I look up the stairs. Grandpa always complained the house was too big for him, but he still managed to fill it with his hobbies once he retired, his latest being something to do with carving wood.
Making my way into the spare bedroom, I’m faced with a room full of shelves. Books strewn about, open and face down at the page he wanted to save for later. Pages he will never come back to.
I walk to the desk crammed full of tools and chunks of wood, and there, nestled in the middle, in front of another photo of us, is a little wooden lamb.
My throat constricts as Tony joins me in the room. His big hand lands on my shoulder, sliding down to stroke soothing circles on my back in silent comfort.
“He was the best grandpa ever,” I manage before the tears choke me entirely.
