Never Too Late

 

NEVER TOO LATE

 

 

Grandpa was sitting on the beach in baggy, dark blue swim trunks, well above the high tide mark, in a folding chair under a faded, red umbrella—one of those where the stand screws right into the sand. He seemed so old. Dad said Grandpa was a “Senior Citizen.” I figured he must have been, like, the President of Senior Citizens, and kinda wondered how he did everything by himself. He was pretty tall, not fat or anything, but sitting in his chair, it seemed gravity was pulling his skin down, everything getting droopy and saggy. I noticed it happened a lot to old people. A small Styrofoam cooler sat next to him in a red Radio Flyer Wagon. I had one just like it at home in our garage in Michigan.

I was ten years old—almost eleven, I bragged to everybody—but never really talked to Grandpa much until this year. He lived by himself in one of those condominiums in Florida, in a place called Gasparilla Island. He and Grandma used to live in New Mexico, but Grandpa moved to Florida soon after Grandma died. Dad said Grandma had been sick for a long time before that happened. I was only a year old back then, so this was all news to me. I kinda remember us visiting him in Florida when I was younger, but it was a long way from Michigan, and I don’t think we saw him much. But Mom and Dad rented their own condominium on Gasparilla for our vacation this year. I think they worried about Grandpa.

My small bucket was half full with a bunch of seashells. My cousins, Billy and Megan, were near the water’s edge, still hunting for special shells as the waves lapped at their ankles and legs. Aunt Sarah hovered nearby, dividing her attention between them and me. I had wandered farther away from the foaming surf towards Grandpa, wondering what he was looking at out in the ocean. I looked over my shoulder a couple of times at a fishing boat and a big cabin cruiser in the distance. They didn’t seem special, at least not to me, anyway.

My mother always said I was a precocious young lady, although I’m not sure what that meant. Maybe it meant I was always curious or something. Anyway, I decided to find out what Grandpa found so interesting in the water. I didn’t want to miss out on anything.

Grandpa turned his head and shifted his unfocused gaze from the water as I approached. His dull, brown eyes cleared, and he smiled as I walked up to him. He looked at me expectantly as I stopped in front of him.

“Hi, Grandpa.” I stuck out my hand. Mom had taught me to be polite with grownups, and I wasn’t sure I had been around Grandpa long enough to just run up and give him a hug.

He took my hand and gave it two firm shakes before releasing it. “Why hello, Madeline. Are you having fun at the beach today?”

“It’s Maddie, remember?” I had been visiting and talking with him a little every day for the past week and figured it was time to be friendlier with him. I mean, he was the only Grandpa I had left, so I walked forward and threw my arms around his neck and squeezed. “How many times do I have to keep reminding you? Everybody calls me Maddie.”

His skin was hot and dry as he gave me a big hug back. He smelled faintly of coconut suntan lotion. “Okay, okay, I’ll remember,” he promised.

I stepped back and looked at him. Even when smiling, Grandpa looked sad. His saggy skin was deeply lined, and his thin white hair looked like he hadn’t used a comb in days. “What are you looking at out in the ocean? I don’t see anything except those two boats,” I said.

“I guess I was just daydreaming, Maddie. The ocean makes you do that, sometimes.” He squinted back out at the water, almost as if checking to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. His pale brown eyes and smile refocused on me. “But this part of the Atlantic Ocean is called—”

“The Gulf of Mexico,” I interrupted proudly. “We learned that in school back in Michigan.”

“And do you know the name of the place you’re at right now?” he asked.

I stuck out my still flat, pre-puberty chest. “Yup, it’s Gasparilla Island in Florida. But Grandpa, we talked about this stuff two days ago. Did you forget?”

Grandpa chuckled, but it didn’t sound happy, only sad somehow. “You’re a very smart girl, Maddie,” he mused. “When you get older, like me, some things you forget, and other things… well… you will never forget.” He gazed back out at the rolling ocean, searching, the corners of his dry lips creeping up as something pleasant wound through the labyrinth of his memories.

A gentle breeze blew in from the ocean, ruffling Grandpa’s wispy white hair. He seemed to return his attention to the present. The folding chair creaked as he leaned over and lifted the lid of the Styrofoam cooler. “Would you like a   cold water, Maddie?” he asked, holding out a plastic bottle.

“Sure would, Grandpa, I’m really—” I stopped as a shadow fell over me. It was Aunt Sarah.

“I’m sorry if Maddie is bothering you, James. She’s somewhat of an extrovert and can be a handful sometimes,” she said.

“No bother at all, Sarah. Maddie and I were just chatting about the ocean and things.”

“Well, we’re late for lunch, and I have to get her and her cousins back home, so I’m going to have to pull her away.” She took me by the hand, smiling as she led me away. “Have a nice day, James,” she offered, looking back over her shoulder.

Grandpa waved to us before returning his gaze to the ocean.

We walked back up the beach, Billy and Megan trailing behind, bickering over their seashells. They were only seven and eight and certainly not as mature as me. I was curious, but not about shells. “So, Aunt Sarah, how come Grandpa sits out here every day staring at the ocean? Is he looking for something or waiting for something?”

Aunt Sarah squeezed my hand. “Grandpa James is just eccentric, is all, which only means he does odd things sometimes. He sits out at the beach every day. At least he has the last two years I’ve been down here vacationing with your cousins. I don’t know why he does; maybe he just loves the ocean. You should ask your mom and dad. They might be able to tell you.”

So I did. After dinner that night I asked Mom about it. Dad had gone into the living room to watch a baseball game—the Detroit Tigers were playing—and I had Oreo cookies and milk for dessert. “Hey, Mom, why does Grandpa sit at the beach every day and stare at the ocean?” I asked.

“Well, honey, Grandpa is getting old; he turned eighty-six in March. Like the physical ailments that the elderly have, their minds sometimes don’t work as well as they once did.”

I dunked my last Oreo cookie in my milk. “Like sometimes he forgets things? Stuff like that?”

“Yes, Maddie, that’s one reason we’re vacationing here for two weeks. Your Dad and I are going to see about getting Grandpa into an assisted living home near here. He’s gotten a little frail, and his mind wanders a lot. It’s called dementia or Alzheimer’s; they’re illnesses that sometimes affect the old and gradually get worse as they age.”

I shook my head and took a sip of my milk, which now had a slight chocolaty taste. “I don’t think Grandpa will like you moving him away from the beach.”

“I know, Hon, but it will be for his own good. We don’t want him falling down or wandering off and getting hurt.”

I finished my milk and strolled into the living room while Mom did the dishes. Dad was in his easy chair. A commercial was on the TV, so I figured interrupting was okay. “Dad, can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure, Maddie, Detroit’s losing 8-2, anyway. What’s up?”

“Mom says you might put Grandpa in an old folk’s home.”

Dad looked troubled. He ran a hand through his thinning, black hair. “Yes, we’re looking into it; Gramps is getting a little old and feeble.”

“I was wondering about some stuff,” I said.

“Like what?”

“He and Grandma moved from Michigan to New Mexico after they got married. Right?”

“That’s true, Maddie; they liked the high desert climate, the people and the culture. You know where New Mexico is?”

“Of course, Dad; it’s out west by Texas where the Alamo is. We learned that in school.” Not to be sidetracked, I plowed ahead. “But after they lived in New Mexico for a while, Grandma got sick for a long time. When she died, Grandpa moved here and bought one of these condos by the beach. Then he started sitting out by the ocean every day. Did I get all that stuff right?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Maddie, that’s what happened.” Dad was frowning now.

“Grandpa and I have been talking this week. But how come he moved by the ocean from the desert when he was never interested before then? He never says.”

“Did Gramps ever tell you about his vacations in Arizona?” Dad asked.

“He just mentioned that he drove to this place called Pinetop once in a while,” I answered.

Dad looked pretty serious, which made me nervous. “I think it had something to do with Pinetop, but he’s never talked about it,” he mused. “But they’re his memories to do with as he wishes, I guess.”

 

Maybe Mom was right about me being precocious. The next afternoon I looked for Grandpa at the beach and found him in his usual spot. I ran up to him and threw my arms around his neck, and gave him a big hug. “Hi Grandpa, did you find what you were looking for in the ocean yet?”

He returned my hug and grinned as I stepped back, but his smile seemed lopsided like he was hiding a grimace. I wondered if his old Senior Citizen body was hurting.

“No, honey, nobody there.”

Kind of funny answer, I thought. Grandpa seemed to have aged even more overnight. His face was saggier, reminding me a little of our Basset Hound, Toby, back home. The loose skin of his body was paper white, and the age spots—liver spots, Mom called them—stood out darkly on the backs of his hands and arms. And his eyes looked funny. “Grandpa, have you been crying? Your eyes look all red and blurry.”

He wiped at them with the back of his hand and glanced away with a guilty look. “No, Maddie, I just got a little sand in them, is all.”

I was a little nervous, but my curiosity won out. I was sure he was hiding a secret, and I was determined to discover it. “Was it beautiful in Pinetop, Arizona, Grandpa?”

That surprised him. He looked back at me, his eyes widening. “Why did you ask that?”

“Did you forget you told me you went there sometimes when you lived in New Mexico?”

His face softened, saddened. “Yes, I guess I did. Sometimes I forget things. But other things I’ll never forget.”

“Like what, Grandpa?” I asked.

His gaze shifted back to the ocean.

With all the intuitiveness that only the young have, I asked, “The ocean and what you’ll never forget, did it have anything to do with Pinetop?” That intuition kept me quiet as the seconds dragged on, and Grandpa continued gazing out to sea.

I didn’t think he was going to answer, but he did. “Her name was Maureen,” he whispered.

“Who?” I asked. He said it so low I wasn’t sure I heard right.

He turned back to me. “Her name was Maureen, and she lived in a big two-story cabin in Pinetop, Arizona.” Grandpa’s face and eyes were the saddest I’d ever seen on a person. I had a lump in my throat, and I thought I might cry. Something told me to just be quiet and listen.

Grandpa took in a shaky breath. He stared at me, but it seemed like he wasn’t really seeing me. “Things were not good between your Grandma Gertie and me. The marriage had been over for a long time, but we stayed together out of inertia, convenience, and for me to help with her mounting physical and mental problems. Pinetop was only four hours from our home, up in the forested mountains of eastern Arizona; it always reminded me a little of northern Michigan. When things got me down, I’d take off for a few days and go there to relax; I had good neighbors and friends who’d keep a watch on your Grandma while I was gone.”

I could see Grandpa’s eyes clear at the memories. I had to exhale; I’d been holding my breath, afraid to break the spell. He was still looking at me, but not really. He was somewhere else. I mean, I didn’t even know what inertia was. It sounded like he was remembering and sharing a well-worn story, what Mom called ‘traveling down a memory lane.’

“Maureen was a retired social worker from Tucson and a widow. Her husband had died less than two years prior. She liked it up there in the mountains. The first time we met was at the local supermarket in town. She was a little thing, 5’3” at the most, blonde with green eyes. We talked, continued to see each other afterward and… well… we ended up falling in love.”

Now Grandpa’s eyes were sparkling. He was talking, but still in another world. I was afraid to make a sound as I listened to him.

“Maddie, did you realize green eyes are very rare in humans? It’s true. Only two percent of all people have green eyes. Hers were the most beautiful ‘windows to the soul’ you could imagine. And what a soul it was.” Grandpa could only shake his head in awe at the memories. “We were together every possible second, every minute, every time I went there, which was as often as I could get away. She was a dream come true for me, everything I ever imagined in a woman: beautiful, intelligent, charming, outgoing, kind, considerate, compassionate… hell, Maddie, she was like a grownup Girl Scout.”

The sparkle in his eyes dimmed. “Which is why it couldn’t go on forever. We continued to see each other for over a year, but my being married bothered her deeply, no matter the complicated circumstances. And right then, I was just too weak and thoughtless to make any final decisions about your Grandma and me. How very, very foolish that turned out to be.”

Grandpa seemed to sink deeper into his chair, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing. I was scared that something really was hurting him. I just couldn’t tell if the pain was in his body or in his head. And I feared he would stop talking.

He hesitated for several seconds before beginning again. “I understood that it must have weighed heavily on Maureen, but I ignored it, didn’t want to think about it, and wouldn’t think about it. But the inevitable caught up with me one day when she said she couldn’t do it anymore; we had to stop seeing and communicating with each other. I was devastated. Weeks passed. I lost track of time and couldn’t get her out of my mind and heart, wandering around in a daze. I couldn’t believe how much in love I was with that woman and knew I had to spend the rest of my God-given years with her… or be forever unhappy.”

Grandpa paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “I finally told Gertie it was best if we divorced. We both realized it was unavoidable, but I didn’t tell her why the time had come right at that moment. I would sign over the house and everything we had and make arrangements for her to get help if she needed or wanted it. I wanted nothing except to be with Maureen. But it was too late. When I thought I had everything figured out, I called her, only to find that her phone was disconnected with no forwarding number. I raced back to Pinetop. I discovered she sold her cabin. Maureen had disappeared.”

I had been listening silently in awe of this grownup tale but now found my voice. “Did you try to find her, Grandpa?”

“Yes, I searched every chance I got, but this was before the Internet. I wrote letters, hoping they would be forwarded, but they all came back stamped ‘Return to Sender-No Forwarding Address.’ I tracked two post office boxes from public records, but they were already closed when I checked on them. I kept looking, and after they invented the Internet, I thought maybe… but there was never any trace. So, I stayed with Gertie and cared for her until she passed away.” He paused, looking at me with a sad smile on his face. “Maddie, do you know what ‘passed away’ means?’’ he asked.

“It means she died,” I murmured.

He continued, so quiet I could barely hear him, “There was nothing else for me. I knew there would be no one after Maureen.”

Wide-eyed, I whispered, “But how does any of that have anything to do with the ocean?”

Grandpa’s eyes were blurry and unfocused. “I remember the last night Maureen and I were together. She was inconsolable, crying in my arms as I held her. She said maybe in another life, in another time and place, we could have been together. And if there were such a place, we would find each other somehow. Maureen loved the ocean and said one day she would live by one so she could go to sleep listening to the surf every night. Maddie, I believe she found her ocean, and she’s sitting on a beach somewhere in the world, as I am here. I don’t know how to find her, so I’ve been waiting for her to find me.”

“But, Grandpa, what if she died, and that’s why you haven’t been able to find her? And if she’s dead, she can’t come to you, so you’d be wasting your time sitting—”

I stopped. I knew as soon as I blurted the words out it might be hurtful for Grandpa. Mom said kids weren’t tactful, and we often spoke before we thought about what we were saying, even the painful things. She was right. Things got blurry as my eyes filled with tears.

Could be Grandpa hadn’t heard because he was still talking—but not to me—his words so soft they almost disappeared on the wafting ocean breeze as he pleaded, “Where are you, Maureen? I’m so tired, and I’ve been waiting for so long. Please, please come back and find me.” Grandpa sighed into silence, his breath blending with the gentle sounds of the waiting ocean. He gazed with longing out to sea, back to a world only he and that Maureen woman could see… or dreaming of a world only they could imagine, no matter where they were now….

I started crying and ran home.

 

Grandpa died the next day. Aunt Sarah found him in his chair under the umbrella, his little red wagon and cooler beside him. Aunt Sarah couldn’t wake him, and his body was cold on a hot day. After that, it was a confusion of sights and sounds in our building: ambulances, people milling about, phones constantly ringing, Mom and Dad crying, everybody scurrying. Aunt Sarah watched Billy, Megan and me while Mom and Dad drove to a mortuary or something.

A lot of people knew Grandpa. People kept coming and going, so I snuck out the back and ran down to the beach. Grandpa’s umbrella and things were still there; nobody had thought about coming to get them. The beach people seemed not to know what had happened that morning. I plopped down in Grandpa’s chair—the chair he had sat in for the last nine years—and cried again.

A shadow fell over me. “Please don’t cry, Maddie.”

I looked up at a young, dark-haired man standing in front of me in blue bathing trunks, his tall body blocking out the sun. He kinda looked familiar, probably one of our condominium neighbors. “You must have heard about my Grandpa,” I said, sniffling.

“Yes, Maddie, we know. But everybody dies, Maddie. Time changes, and the worlds move on. Everything will be okay, trust me.”

I didn’t understand what he meant by “time changes” and “worlds.” I mean, how many worlds are there? And time is just seconds, minutes, hours and stuff, always the same, so how does it ever change?

The man’s shadow merged with a smaller one, cast by a blonde woman in a red, one-piece swimsuit. She was almost a foot shorter than the man. “Hi, Maddie. I’m glad I got to meet you,” she said, smiling. She reached out, and tentative and unsure, I shook her firm, cool hand in greeting.

They looked like college kids. There were a lot of them at the beach during the summer. I figured these two knew my parents somehow.

The blonde woman took her companion’s hand and gazed up at him with her beautiful green eyes. “We need to leave, Jimmy. It’s time to go home.”

He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. He straightened, grinning and giving me a wink. “I told you if I waited long enough, she would find me,” he said.

I stared at the young woman. “Maureen?” I whispered, my mouth hanging open. My head swung back to the man. “Grandpa?”

“Yes, Maddie, for some things, it’s never too late. And love is one of those things,” he said.

I jumped up and hugged and kissed them both, first Grandpa, then Maureen, their warm youth filling me with laughter. I waved goodbye to them as they turned and walked off down the beach, hand in hand, mingling and disappearing forever among the beachgoers along the shore. It felt a little sad, but it was a happy kind of sad.

 

Grandpa’s funeral was a week later. I smiled a lot and never cried once. Mom and Dad were very proud of me for being a big girl during the whole thing. Of course, I was the only one who knew it wasn’t really a funeral.

 

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.06.2014

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