From my novel Destination . . .
She stood. “Let me show you to your room, Tommy.” And off she went, tapping that cane at a rapid pace.
“I don’t expect to stay in the house, Grams,” he offered, not wanting to put his old friend to any trouble.
That stopped her in her tracks, and she turned around abruptly. “Ha! And just where would you expect to be stayin’, Tommy? In the hen house? Heaven’s sake, boy. I don’t care if you are hired help, you’re going to have a little space to call your own in this big old lonely palace. You got a problem with that?” She confronted him with a look that reminded him of an angry little bird.
“No, ma’am,” he replied. “Thank you.”
“Huh. ‘I don’t expect to stay in the house, Grams,’” she imitated him. “For cryin’ out loud. Think this old lady is afraid to have a handsome young man in her house? That’ll be the day!” she muttered as they traveled down a spacious adobe-looking hallway.
They came to a stop outside a large room. Grams pointed with her cane. “This’ll do nicely, I think.” She walked inside. “That bed’s never been slept on to my knowledge. Ace built this end of the house for reunions with family and his Marine buddies. He put this king size bed in here just before he went on.” She plowed forward into the bathroom. “This here’s got a nice Jacuzzi. Ace put one in our room, too. It’s good for what ails ya, you know? Must be them bubbles—kinda massages away the aches and pains.”
He smiled politely and wondered if a blush was threatening to warm his neck and face. The room and bath were like a hotel suite.
She went back into the main bedroom. “In here,” she said, pointing with her cane once again to some built-in cabinets, “are all the linens. Sheets, towels, blankets, the works. You can’t find somethin’ you need, you tell me. Alright?”
“Alright,” his voice soft.
She turned toward the corner of the room near the multiple shuttered windows. “That there fireplace and insert will feel mighty good this winter. Ace built ‘em in most of the larger rooms. Great idea for wintertime.”
Wow.
“Now, you go get what stuff you got and set yourself up in here. If you’ve got anything you want stored, I’ve got the big barn and the bunkhouse. As soon as you get settled, you come on out for dinner. Alright?”
“Alright, Grams. I don’t—”
Grams held up her hand in a stop position. “Don’t. You know I’ll make you work for it. It’s only right. That way you don’t have to feel guilty.” She paused. “Looks like you’ve spent enough time feelin’ that way. No more.”
Having said that, she put her cane in motion and strutted out of the room and back down the passageway. He stood there in wonder. God, I don’t deserve this.
He hauled in his belongings, short of some tools he left in the back of the Bronco. He needed a shower and felt privileged to take one in such elegant surroundings. He shaved only because he figured it would make him look more presentable, the menthol lather feeling good on his hot face. He slapped a bit of cologne on his jaw line and inspected himself. He decided a while back his long hair was here to stay. It made him feel new. Not so much like the uptight guy he once was with the perfectly styled hair and the expensive clothes he usually couldn’t afford. He shook his head a bit at the memory while he towel dried his thick wavy mane. A waitress in one of the small towns he’d stopped in to get a piece of pie and a glass of milk, had told him he had great hair—that normally she didn’t like long hair on a man, but that his was “plum nice, all shiny and well-groomed”. He’d thanked her with a smile and a good tip. When he was all dressed in clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt, he tied back his hair and went out to have dinner with Grams.
She glanced up from her spot in front of the built-in grill. “No need to tie your hair back on my account, boy. You shoulda seen ol’ Hank Jr.’s when he wore it down.” She laughed out loud. “Ol’ Ace threatened to take him down, but Hank knew he’d gotten big enough to best his ol’ man. He wouldna done it, of course. I told ol’ Ace just to ignore him, and he’d probably cut it himself before the jarheads did.” She laughed a short burst at the memory and turned a large juicy steak over.
As it sizzled profusely, two things happened. Thomas wondered how in the world Grams could read his thoughts, and his mouth watered at the wonderful aroma of that chunk of meat, the likes of which he couldn’t remember eating since . . . well, he couldn’t remember when.
“Pour us some milk, will ya, boy? You do still drink milk, don’t ya?”
“Yeah, Grams. Coke and milk are pretty much all I drink, I guess.”
“You and me both, Tommy. Yes sir. You smell good. I like a man who ain’t afraid to wear cologne. Ol’ Ace always cleaned up nice after a day in the hot fields. Put on some of that aftershave of his, and, well . . . he knew I liked it.”
Grams attended to some other things on the stove while the occasional flames jumped up and licked the steaks on the grill. He wasn’t there too long before she shut it down, having decided the steaks were cooked to perfection. Later on when she served the meal and Thomas bit into one, he knew she was right. Medium rare, juicy, and so delicious he almost moaned with pleasure.
“Wow, Grams. I’ve never in my life had a steak this good,” he said with complete admiration.
“I still raise a few good beef. The feed store mixes up that grain concoction Ace made up. Just before he died, ol’ Norrie who owns the place asked if he could patent it and bag it up. Ace made a deal with him and they split the profits and called it Ace’s Beef Feed. They sell the darn stuff all over the world now, believe it or not. Keeps money in the coffers of heaven—Ace made sure all his profits on that project went to the Lord’s work. Missionaries. Generous man, that Ace.”
“I remember,” Thomas said with genuine respect between the savored bites of his dinner.
“You probably don’t know this, son, but he really liked you, Tommy.”
Thomas was quiet as he remembered the attention Ace would give him whenever he’d wander over to visit, a curious boy who loved the big ranch down the country road from his modest home. “He was always kind to me, Grams. I remember he taught me something every time I came over—either about hay, or cattle, or keeping up a ranch. He made me feel important, like I could actually be useful if I put my mind to it.”
Grams laughed. “He told me he’d never met a kid who was so eager to learn. Our two boys, Samuel and Hank Jr., were just so used to everything, you know? They wanted to go into the military as soon as they could fight and play, I think. Be like their daddy. I think it’s a good thing when a man can die doin’ what he likes, you know?”
Thomas almost choked on his food as the image of walking in on Will Otis having sex with his wife popped into his mind. He coughed violently and choked out an “Excuse me” before he was able to stop.
“My land, boy. Didn’t mean to bring up a bad memory.”
Thomas’s eyes had filled with water and he needed to blow his nose. “Grams, is there a bathroom close or should I run to my room?” he asked hoarsely.
“Just down that hall there on the left, son. Then get back here and finish your plate.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The main bathroom was as elegant and charming as the other rooms had been. He felt like he’d been transported to another country where he was a privileged guest. He quickly rinsed his face, blew his nose, and washed his hands. Then he tried to compose himself enough to go out and finish the fabulous meal he’d been served.
“I’m sorry about that, Grams,” he said as he sat back down at the table.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” she asked, sending a direct glare across the table at him.
“Yeah, I am.” He paused. “It’s bad, Grams. And if you’re not okay with me bein’ here after you hear about it, I’ll understand.”
“Pssht,” she uttered. “Go on now. You’ve got my attention.”
Father, plain and simple: apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
