anyway.
The thought made her release the handful of sand she’d been trickling through her fingers and reach for the empty beer can. She stood up and turned around to face the house across the road. For seventeen years the frame house perched on wooden pilings had been a haven of love and tranquillity. A safe place in a world of unsafe places. Memories oozed between its weathered slats. She knew she could summon an event, a moment or even a laugh or tear for every inch of every room.
Leigh brushed the sand from the back of her shorts and crossed the road. From the end of her drive she spotted a cyclist weaving up the slight incline from the village. She squinted, sensing a familiarity about the person. Grandpa Sam!
The bicycle, two full shopping bags in its carrier, wobbled to a stop a few feet away from her, as if Sam had expended all his energy just cresting the small rise from the village. Leigh walked over to him.
“I can’t believe you’re out riding a bicycle in the hottest part of the day. Sam Logan, have your senses left you, as my mother used to say?”
Sam’s red face bobbed up and down. He crossed his arms over the handlebars and leaned into them, gasping for air.
“Stay there,” Leigh ordered. “I’m getting my car keys to drive you the rest of the way.”
Sam held up a palm. “No...wait...minute...”
Leigh hesitated. He didn’t look well. His flushed face was now edged in a chalky pallor.
“Water. Tha’s all I need,” he finally managed.
Leigh jogged up the drive and into the house. Seconds later she was back, carrying a plastic tumbler of water and her car keys. She handed Sam the water without a word, then urged him off the bicycle and wheeled it up the drive to her car. She stowed the bike in her trunk, along with the bags, noting how heavy they were and realizing what effort they must have cost him in his ride up from the village, especially in the heat. Her thought was confirmed when she saw how unsteady his gait was as he made his way to the car.
Once they were in the car, with the air-conditioning blasting, Leigh said, “Don’t tell me you always shop that way. Can’t Spencer drive you into town?”
“He usually does, Leigh, but he’s been so busy lately I didn’t have the heart to ask. Today he was taking out an important client. Spence needs the money, you know. It’s a long winter ahead of us.”
Too true, Leigh thought, recalling the erratic seasonal flow of cash into the Randall home when Pete was still a commercial fisherman. “Sam—” she turned toward the old man, softening her voice “—you know, I’m sure you could afford the taxi ride back and forth.”
His brow knotted slightly, then eased into an expression of resignation. “To be sure I can, but there’s no telephone handy. And I won’t have one at my age,” he insisted.
Leigh shook her head, frustrated. “But even one way, Sam. The hardest part’s the ride home.”
Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. It’s difficult to explain. I guess I’m a foolish stubborn old coot. No, don’t argue. I know my faults as well as anyone. The good Lord gave me eyes to see and I use them on myself quite a lot—especially now in my old age. Amazing how clear things become the older you get. Ah, well—” he shook his head and gave a tired smile “—that’s life for you. Always got one more trick up its sleeve just when you think you’ve figured it all out.”
Leigh pulled the car onto the shoulder at the sandy path leading to Sam’s. She knew better than to tackle the path in her car, having once marooned her father’s Buick in the soft sand.
“Here, let me get your bike and groceries out of the trunk first.” Leigh swung open her door and jumped out. Once she’d leaned the bike against Sam’s signpost with its dangling salt-sprayed board that read simply Logan, she retrieved the groceries and carried them down the path to Sam’s cottage.
“I can take those,” Sam
The thought made her release the handful of sand she’d been trickling through her fingers and reach for the empty beer can. She stood up and turned around to face the house across the road. For seventeen years the frame house perched on wooden pilings had been a haven of love and tranquillity. A safe place in a world of unsafe places. Memories oozed between its weathered slats. She knew she could summon an event, a moment or even a laugh or tear for every inch of every room.
Leigh brushed the sand from the back of her shorts and crossed the road. From the end of her drive she spotted a cyclist weaving up the slight incline from the village. She squinted, sensing a familiarity about the person. Grandpa Sam!
The bicycle, two full shopping bags in its carrier, wobbled to a stop a few feet away from her, as if Sam had expended all his energy just cresting the small rise from the village. Leigh walked over to him.
“I can’t believe you’re out riding a bicycle in the hottest part of the day. Sam Logan, have your senses left you, as my mother used to say?”
Sam’s red face bobbed up and down. He crossed his arms over the handlebars and leaned into them, gasping for air.
“Stay there,” Leigh ordered. “I’m getting my car keys to drive you the rest of the way.”
Sam held up a palm. “No...wait...minute...”
Leigh hesitated. He didn’t look well. His flushed face was now edged in a chalky pallor.
“Water. Tha’s all I need,” he finally managed.
Leigh jogged up the drive and into the house. Seconds later she was back, carrying a plastic tumbler of water and her car keys. She handed Sam the water without a word, then urged him off the bicycle and wheeled it up the drive to her car. She stowed the bike in her trunk, along with the bags, noting how heavy they were and realizing what effort they must have cost him in his ride up from the village, especially in the heat. Her thought was confirmed when she saw how unsteady his gait was as he made his way to the car.
Once they were in the car, with the air-conditioning blasting, Leigh said, “Don’t tell me you always shop that way. Can’t Spencer drive you into town?”
“He usually does, Leigh, but he’s been so busy lately I didn’t have the heart to ask. Today he was taking out an important client. Spence needs the money, you know. It’s a long winter ahead of us.”
Too true, Leigh thought, recalling the erratic seasonal flow of cash into the Randall home when Pete was still a commercial fisherman. “Sam—” she turned toward the old man, softening her voice “—you know, I’m sure you could afford the taxi ride back and forth.”
His brow knotted slightly, then eased into an expression of resignation. “To be sure I can, but there’s no telephone handy. And I won’t have one at my age,” he insisted.
Leigh shook her head, frustrated. “But even one way, Sam. The hardest part’s the ride home.”
Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. It’s difficult to explain. I guess I’m a foolish stubborn old coot. No, don’t argue. I know my faults as well as anyone. The good Lord gave me eyes to see and I use them on myself quite a lot—especially now in my old age. Amazing how clear things become the older you get. Ah, well—” he shook his head and gave a tired smile “—that’s life for you. Always got one more trick up its sleeve just when you think you’ve figured it all out.”
Leigh pulled the car onto the shoulder at the sandy path leading to Sam’s. She knew better than to tackle the path in her car, having once marooned her father’s Buick in the soft sand.
“Here, let me get your bike and groceries out of the trunk first.” Leigh swung open her door and jumped out. Once she’d leaned the bike against Sam’s signpost with its dangling salt-sprayed board that read simply Logan, she retrieved the groceries and carried them down the path to Sam’s cottage.
“I can take those,” Sam
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