The Winner's Game(12)
Je t’aime!—Grandma Grace
“I didn’t know that was a postcard.”
The comment catches me by such surprise that I drop the frame on the carpet. Thankfully, it doesn’t break. “Cade? What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I just saw you there and…you looked kind of sad.”
“I was just thinking of old times.”
“Sad times?”
“No, just…times.” Actually, what I was really thinking about when he snuck up on me was not so much the past but the challenges of the present, along with a future that feels acutely uncertain. The future Grandma Grace predicted feels nothing like the way things have played out.
I could cry just thinking about it.
“Can I see it?” he asks, pointing to the postcard. I hand it to him and he immediately flips it over to examine the front. “That’s Grandma Grace, right? And Great-grandpa?”
“That’s right.”
“She looks so young.” He flips it over once more and reads the message. When he’s done, he hands it back. “That’s pretty neat.”
“Yeah, it was ‘neat,’” I say, amused by his use of that phrase, which was my grandfather’s go-to description for everything. How was vacation, Grandpa? Oh, pretty neat. What did you think of the movie? The neatest movie I’ve seen all year. How are the kids doing? Oh, you know…they’re neat kids. Doing all right, I’d say.
“You’re smiling. What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Did I ever tell you that that postcard somehow got waylaid in the mail?”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t even tell me it was a postcard.”
“Right. Well, it did, which meant Grandma and Grandpa beat it home from France. I guess it must’ve gone on the slow boat. It was perfect timing, though—it arrived right on my wedding day. The mailman delivered it as we were heading out the door to the church, and it was the best wedding present I got.” I pause, remembering that day—the excitement and wonder of opening a new chapter in my life, the thrill of stepping into uncharted territory with my best friend, the fear of the unknown. “I was nervous. Every bride is, I think. But that little note from Grandma was just what I needed to calm me down.” I pause again, taking the postcard back and glancing once more at the picture of the Eiffel Tower. “We didn’t have much of a honeymoon, but I made your dad promise me we’d go to Paris for our twentieth anniversary, just like Grandma and Grandpa suggested.” I can feel my nostalgic smile waning.
“That’s this year, isn’t it?”
I nod. “December thirteenth.”
“So? You still going?”
How do I respond to that? For starters, I exhale very slowly while contemplating the complexity of…everything. The harsh reality is that the twenty-year celebration I once dreamed of is very unlikely. Not only would Ann’s health issues need to be considered, but there is also the matter of money. A trip like that would cost thousands of dollars, and as far behind as we are on medical bills, there is just no way. Worse, though, even if there weren’t the other obstacles, with the way we’ve been fighting I have to wonder if my marriage will even make it the six remaining months until December. “We’ll see,” I say before putting the postcard back in the frame and returning it to the hutch.
When Cade and I join everyone in the living room, the discussion with Aunt Bev is chugging right along; I am genuinely impressed that a woman of her age—eighty-one years young—is intellectually nimble enough to keep even Ann and Bree on their toes.
There is an empty space on the love seat next to Dell. I set the pitcher of lemonade on the coffee table and take a seat on the floor.
“So let me get this straight,” says Ann. “Out of the blue, the guy sitting next to you just reached over and took your cookie?”
“Exactly like that,” Bev insists. “But not just a cookie. It was one of those fancy biscottis, and I was saving it ’til the in-flight movie.”
“What did you do?” asks Bree.
“Oh, for a while I just sat there, completely befuddled. Eventually, though, I got up the nerve to ask who gave him the right to steal my food. He says to me, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady.’ Well, if that didn’t frost my cookies—no pun intended. There were still crumbs in his mustache, for goodness’ sake, and I saw both wrappers—his and mine—sitting right there on his tray beside the peanuts! So I waited a minute or two, then I pushed the button for the stewardess. When she got there, I asked if I could have another biscotti, because mine had turned up missing, and I also asked for a fresh tea, since mine was spilled on the gentleman beside me.” She pauses to cackle, then continues. “‘No it ain’t,’ the hornswoggler says to me. When he looked down at his shorts to verify, I dumped my whole cup of tea square on his lap! Poor fellow about shot through the overhead compartment. About the time his nether region stopped steaming, the stewardess returned with my tea and biscotti and informed me that I’d been upgraded to first class!” She pauses once more, then asks, “Did you know they have slippers up there for everyone? And steamed towels to freshen up? I hope I can finagle one of those seats on the return flight tomorrow.”