[title subtitle=”WORDS Sarah Phillips Burger
IMAGE ND700/Shutterstock k”][/title]
William removed his glasses and rubbed at the sore imprints left behind on his nose. He stuck the gas bill envelope turned grocery list turned bookmark into the book he had been attempting to read for the last half hour and placed it back on the end table beside his recliner. Feeling overcome with exhaustion, he closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his stomach, careful not to bend the thin, metal frames that dangled between his fingers. William exhaled, feeling the last bit of energy leaving his body, and slipped easily into sleep.
But the moment he drifted away, he was startled awake by the buzz of the clothes dryer. He looked down to see Scout, his Jack Russell terrier, looking toward the laundry room before yawning and laying his head back down on his bed. “Well, if you’re not going to take care of it, I guess I have to,” William said before putting on his glasses and pushing himself from the recliner.
He walked into the warm room that smelled of Gain laundry detergent and removed his clothes from the dryer, folding the larger items first and placing the smaller ones on top. He started another load in the washer, using the new detergent he was given to wash the more delicate items, and headed to the kitchen for some lunch. The sound of the refrigerator opening was echoed by the sound of Scout’s nails on the hardwood floor, the dog circling around William’s feet in excitement. “Oh, now you’re awake?” he laughed.
He shook his head, looking at all the food in his refrigerator. Tupperware filled with casseroles, cakes, soups, and more casseroles lined the shelves from side to side. His neighbors had been bringing him food all week, and he hoped, for his waistline’s sake, that they would stop soon. “There hasn’t been this much food in this house since before Margaret died,” he thought, before shaking the pinch of sadness away and deciding on the Mexican entrée.
He warmed up a plate and sat at the kitchenette to eat, his thoughts returning to his wife again as he looked around at the cobalt blue décor she loved so much. Nearly six years had passed since the car accident that took her life, but the house remained just as she had left it, the only exception being the dog, to which she would have been allergic. “I wish you were here now,” he thought. “You would know what to do.”
Scout, who had been patient up to that point, whined at William’s feet, wagging his tail in anticipation. “All right, all right,” he said as he placed the near-empty plate on the floor to be licked clean. He returned to the laundry room and emptied the washing machine, inspecting each item to ensure the fresh stains had been removed, and started the dryer again.
Scout was waiting by the sliding back door when he trekked back to the kitchen, the dirty plate once again a pristine white. He let the dog outside and carried the plate to add to the other dirty dishes from that morning, and filled the basin with soapy, hot water.
While he washed, he looked out the window above the sink at the large oak that held a tire swing and thought of his daughter. Hannah was three when he met her, all pigtails, big brown eyes, and chubby cheeks. A year after he and Margaret wed, he adopted the little girl, making him an official father. It was the proudest day of his life.
William stood with his hands braced against the countertop, and wondered again, as he had a million times over the past several years, where Hannah was. The tire swing rocked back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, keeping a record of the time she had been gone.
It was a gentle but never ceasing reminder of the loss in William’s life. After drying his hands, he stepped onto the back deck and picked up a tennis ball, throwing it as far as he could to give Scout something to do.
He then sat down on the deck stairs, watching the dog search for the ball in the grass that needed mowing while he searched his memories again for clues. Hannah had taken her mother’s death so hard. She had been a teenager in high school back then, and teenage girls need their mothers. He had tried so hard to be strong for the both of them, to step in and do the things her mother would have done, to be there for her however she needed.
But Hannah pushed him away, unwilling to share her grief, unwilling to move forward with her life without her mother’s presence.
William teared up remembering his daughter coming home late, smelling of alcohol, sleeping all hours of the day and night, missing school. She had barely managed to graduate that next year, and when she had left home to live with friends, he thought he might just give up himself.
But his job and his neighbors and friends had kept him going, and somehow, he got used to his new life. The visits from Hannah had become more sporadic, which in a way was its own blessing. Seeing her in so much pain stirred up his own, and no matter what he said to her, he could not convince her to stay.
William sat with his chin in his hands and stared at the tire swing as if it held all of the answers that he desperately needed, now more than ever. Scout climbed the steps and stood with his front paws in William’s lap, nuzzling his snout in his shirt, the cold, wet nose grazing his neck.
“Okay, let’s go in,” William said as he stood and walked back inside.
Scout drank from his water bowl and William returned to his recliner once more to read. The soft, chocolate suede of the La-Z-Boy soothed his tired body as he kicked his feet up and settled in. Not one to miss out on the best napping place in town, Scout joined him, scooting in between his leg and the armrest before resting his head on his front paws.
William picked up the book, glancing over at a picture of Margaret with her arms wrapped around Hannah, the both of them laughing. He thumbed through the pages to find the bookmark and stuck it in between his legs, opening the book wide towards the light and adjusting his eyes to the small print. He scanned the page with his finger until he found the place where he left off and began reading again.
Beside him, Scout’s head jerked up and tilted slightly to the right, his gaze zeroed in on the hallway. His head tilted to the left, hearing the noise again, and he scrambled out of the seat and leaped off the footrest, heading straight to the hall. He stopped and turned back to look at his owner.
“Okay, I’m coming,” William said as he returned the book to its place on the table once more and lifted the lever on the side of the recliner to lower his feet.
He made his way through the living room, passing wedding and birthday pictures, Margaret’s chair next to the window where she had once knitted, and the couch where Hannah had often fallen asleep watching movies. Everything in his home held memories of them, memories that he carried with him. And now, a new memory was added to be carried by him, one of a phone call he received last week from the hospital.
“I’m calling about your daughter, Hannah,” the woman had said. William’s heart had sunk to the floor in anticipation of the horrible news he thought would come.
“Is… is she okay?” he managed to ask after bracing himself on a table.
“As far as we know, yes. You see, she had a baby two days ago, a baby boy.”
Relief flooded William. My daughter has a baby boy.
“She left the hospital today, but she left without him. You are her next of kin and well, we wondered if you would be able to take the baby. Otherwise-”
“Of course. Of course, I’ll take him.”
He met with a caseworker that afternoon, and after filling out all the paperwork and answering countless questions, she took him to meet his grandson.
“She named him Jack,” the woman said as she placed the tiny bundle in his arms for the first time.
Now, as he entered the dimly lit room, Scout silently stood guard beside the crib. William peeked over the mahogany railing at the bundle that was starting to squirm. He picked up the baby, loosening the blue swaddling blanket enough to touch the tiny fingers that opened and closed in search of something to hold on to.
“Hello, Jack,” he cooed.
He returned to his recliner with his grandson and rocked
him gently as he gazed at the little face that looked so much like his daughter’s. “How about I read to you for a little bit, would you like that?” William asked before picking up the book, What to Expect the First Year and finding, once again, where he left off.
