in the bottom of the cracker box. Just as he mounted the stairs to his room, his grandfather opened the living room door.
He stopped and turned to lean against the doorframe at the bottom of the stairs. "D'you know what time it is, Boy?" he asked gruffly, mocking the old man's usual late-night greeting.
His grandfather glanced at him, his sagging eyes dark circled with weariness. He slipped off the straps of his suspenders to dangle from the waistband of his jeans then crossed the room to his chair and dropped into the ragged brown velour with a groan and a puff of dust.
"Didn't close the bar down tonight?" the old man grunted.
"Yeah, I did. It's after two."
His grandfather made a growling sound and leaned over to unlace the packer-style boots he wore. Pulling off the right boot and then his sock, the old man wiggled his toes.
He eyed his grandfather's foot with its bunion and thick yellow toenails, like horse hooves. "Did she go ahead and die?"
"Mabel? Yeah. She passed on a few hours ago."
"What was wrong with her?"
"Old age. I grew up with one of her boys."
He chuckled. "I didn't even know people could get that old."
"Not many of 'em do. She was ninety-six. Still livin' on her own." His grandfather unlaced his other boot and pulled off his sock.
"Why do you do this, Gramps?" he asked abruptly.
"Do what?"
"Take care of all these people?"
The old man draped his socks across the tops of his boots. "For the same reason Jesus hung on the cross and died…for the joy that was set before Him in heaven." He looked up. "You ever known a minute's real joy in your life, Son?"
The clock ticked away a long minute, loud in the silence.
"I don't think I know what it is," he said, finally.
"You'd ought to find out." His grandfather rose stiffly. "It'd save you a bunch of money at the bar, if nothin' else." He headed toward his bedroom at the bottom of the stairs.
"Katie won't have me, Gramps." He stood open-mouthed, shocked by his own words.
The old man stopped. "Well, why would she? I told you to leave her be. Told you you didn't have anything to give her."
"She's made me wish I did."
His grandfather sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Your problem ain't a girl problem, Son, it's a God problem. You don't have the Lord and without Him your life won't never amount to a hill of beans whether you got your girl or not."
"I don't know where to start."
"What'd'you think I've been tryin' to tell you all summer? Start by not goin' to the bar every night. Pray. Have some faith."
"I don't have any. You know that."
"Well, get some, Son," his grandfather boomed testily. "I can't give it to you, but I can tell you no matter how hard you look at the bar you ain't never gonna find it there."
***
The next morning over breakfast, instead of preaching Jesus, his grandfather tried to remember the names of all eight of Mabel's offspring even though some of them had been dead for years. Then he started on the army of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Gil finally stood and wiped the egg yolk off his plate with the last bite of his toast. "Sorry to interrupt you halfway up the family tree there, Gramps, but I gotta go before I'm too old to string fence wire."
Unperturbed, his grandfather grinned and glanced at the clock. "I've got to help with funeral arrangements, but I'll move the irrigation water to the next set on the alfalfa before I leave." He swallowed the last of his coffee. "On my way home, I'll stop and check on Dave then we'll get started on the barn roof. Run down to Lone Tree and get the stuff at the hardware before I get back."
At noon, without Becky Campbell's soup, everything in the refrigerator easily qualified for a science experiment on mold growth and unless they involved explosions he'd never been interested in science experiments. He'd eat in town.
At the hardware store, he loaded sheets of galvanized metal for the barn roof into his pickup then walked down the block to the cafe. He entered the building
He stopped and turned to lean against the doorframe at the bottom of the stairs. "D'you know what time it is, Boy?" he asked gruffly, mocking the old man's usual late-night greeting.
His grandfather glanced at him, his sagging eyes dark circled with weariness. He slipped off the straps of his suspenders to dangle from the waistband of his jeans then crossed the room to his chair and dropped into the ragged brown velour with a groan and a puff of dust.
"Didn't close the bar down tonight?" the old man grunted.
"Yeah, I did. It's after two."
His grandfather made a growling sound and leaned over to unlace the packer-style boots he wore. Pulling off the right boot and then his sock, the old man wiggled his toes.
He eyed his grandfather's foot with its bunion and thick yellow toenails, like horse hooves. "Did she go ahead and die?"
"Mabel? Yeah. She passed on a few hours ago."
"What was wrong with her?"
"Old age. I grew up with one of her boys."
He chuckled. "I didn't even know people could get that old."
"Not many of 'em do. She was ninety-six. Still livin' on her own." His grandfather unlaced his other boot and pulled off his sock.
"Why do you do this, Gramps?" he asked abruptly.
"Do what?"
"Take care of all these people?"
The old man draped his socks across the tops of his boots. "For the same reason Jesus hung on the cross and died…for the joy that was set before Him in heaven." He looked up. "You ever known a minute's real joy in your life, Son?"
The clock ticked away a long minute, loud in the silence.
"I don't think I know what it is," he said, finally.
"You'd ought to find out." His grandfather rose stiffly. "It'd save you a bunch of money at the bar, if nothin' else." He headed toward his bedroom at the bottom of the stairs.
"Katie won't have me, Gramps." He stood open-mouthed, shocked by his own words.
The old man stopped. "Well, why would she? I told you to leave her be. Told you you didn't have anything to give her."
"She's made me wish I did."
His grandfather sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Your problem ain't a girl problem, Son, it's a God problem. You don't have the Lord and without Him your life won't never amount to a hill of beans whether you got your girl or not."
"I don't know where to start."
"What'd'you think I've been tryin' to tell you all summer? Start by not goin' to the bar every night. Pray. Have some faith."
"I don't have any. You know that."
"Well, get some, Son," his grandfather boomed testily. "I can't give it to you, but I can tell you no matter how hard you look at the bar you ain't never gonna find it there."
***
The next morning over breakfast, instead of preaching Jesus, his grandfather tried to remember the names of all eight of Mabel's offspring even though some of them had been dead for years. Then he started on the army of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Gil finally stood and wiped the egg yolk off his plate with the last bite of his toast. "Sorry to interrupt you halfway up the family tree there, Gramps, but I gotta go before I'm too old to string fence wire."
Unperturbed, his grandfather grinned and glanced at the clock. "I've got to help with funeral arrangements, but I'll move the irrigation water to the next set on the alfalfa before I leave." He swallowed the last of his coffee. "On my way home, I'll stop and check on Dave then we'll get started on the barn roof. Run down to Lone Tree and get the stuff at the hardware before I get back."
At noon, without Becky Campbell's soup, everything in the refrigerator easily qualified for a science experiment on mold growth and unless they involved explosions he'd never been interested in science experiments. He'd eat in town.
At the hardware store, he loaded sheets of galvanized metal for the barn roof into his pickup then walked down the block to the cafe. He entered the building
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