CHAPTER 6
764 Words
CHAPTER 6
The moment Brad saw Grandma Lucy sitting at the table in her wheelchair, he hated himself for staying away for so long. No matter how busy he got with the boys’ home and his ministry in Vermont, no matter how much he hated the thought of spending a single day under the same roof as his father, he should have come home sooner.
Mom had told him Grandma Lucy lost some weight after her hospital stay last spring, but he had no idea she’d look like this. Like a ghost version of herself. A mere shadow.
He took her hand in his, almost surprised to find that there was still warmth left in it.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Hi, Grandma Lucy. It’s good to see you.”
Her hand trembled when she brought it up to his face. Caressing his cheek, she began to pray in a warbling voice, “Father God, how I praise you for the grace you’ve shown us.”
She brought down her hand. Was that all? In all the years he’d known her, had she ever uttered a prayer that short?
Dad let out a grunt. “So we gonna eat, or we just gonna sit here and watch the food get cold?”
Mom was struggling to tie her checkered apron until Brad did it for her. While her back was turned to him, she let out another sniff, but he wasn’t sure if she was getting emotional or just congested.
He took his spot next to Grandma Lucy in her wheelchair. Mom had told him she almost always needed help eating now. Keeping up with the farm animals, running the gift shop, and overseeing the production of all the Safe Anchorage goat soaps and lotions was enough to keep a woman half Mom’s age perpetually busy. Not that his dad could be expected to lift a finger to help her. After a minor back injury put an end to his trucking days, Dad had been living here doing nothing but warming the couch and reading his stupid newspapers. If he realized how much Mom was working to take care of Grandma Lucy plus the goats plus the gift shop …
“Son, can you pass your father the rolls while they’re still warm?” Mom asked.
Brad handed off the basket without making eye contact. If he was lucky, his dad would read his magazine all through dinner, and Brad could pretend he wasn’t there. He was getting the feeling that taking care of Grandma Lucy alone was going to turn into his full-time summer job.
That’s what happens when you get down on your knees and tell God you’ll go anywhere he wants you to go.
When Brad first prayed that prayer last spring, he was thinking God might send him on another short-term mission trip to Mexico or somewhere else where he could use his Spanish language skills like he had every other summer.
Instead, the Almighty had brought him back here to the home of his childhood. It could be wonderful if it weren’t for one thing.
“Tell your mother these are cold.” Dad shoved the basket of biscuits in Brad’s face.
Mom bustled from the stove where she’d been serving up the plates, but Brad scooted back his chair.
“I’ll get it, Mom.” He shot a glare at his dad, who was too absorbed in his fishing magazine to notice, yanked a paper towel from the dispenser, and shoved one of the bread rolls into the microwave. Nuke it for a full minute and then see if he thought it was too cold.
“Careful with that,” his mother exclaimed, and Brad turned as Grandma Lucy spilled a cup of ice water down the front of her blouse.
“Great,” Dad grumbled, shaking out his magazine as if it could have gotten wet from the opposite end of the table. “Just great.”
“Grandma Lucy, you all right?” His mother was bending down, trying to dry Grandma Lucy with one of those frilly doilies she kept on the table.
Brad yanked down a towel from above the sink. “I’ll help, Mom.” He knelt down by Grandma Lucy and started wiping her blouse.
“I dropped it,” she said. “I made a mess.”
He had never heard Grandma Lucy, who had always been so full of life and boldness and faith, sound so childlike.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, realizing he might be talking to himself as much as to her. He reached out for another rag Mom held out for him. “It’s okay,” he repeated.
Dad scooted back his chair noisily. “I’ll eat my food in the den. Tell the boy to find a way to make himself useful and bring it in there.”
- Writer
