20…Collisions…
Back in Henry's room, I wheel him over to the table now formally set for five people. "Ahh…looks like the lunch fairy has come." There's a steaming crockpot and some other covered dishes on a side table and the wide windowsill where Bea made room by removing the books and photos that were there. I grab the note sitting on it. "And gone."
"What did she say?" Henry picks up the newspaper, looking over the front page.
"That we're having bruschetta with an olive dip to start, then tortellini with salad, and fruit compote for dessert. And there are cold cuts in the fridge for your dinner and I'm to bring the pot and stuff home with me because she will be cleaning from the party all day and night." I put the note down, hoping it's okay that Henry will have to use a fork to eat today in front of James. He's better at it, but still a little wobbly; there are occasional spills. I take the lid off the crockpot to see the pasta with all kinds of chopped veggies in an alfredo sauce. When could she possibly have made this? I'm sure she's home right now, scrubbing the place down. "Honestly, O.G…Does Bea ever really sleep?"
"Speaking of which, you look a little knackered yourself. Why don't you have a lie down for the hour or so until your friends come? You've had two late nights now in a row. I've got the Sunday Times to enthrall me and if I finish with that, there are still some Guardians, Pravdas, and Le Mondes from last week to get to." I watch him pulling the newspaper's pages apart and he's even getting more adept at that. It was excruciating to watch him try to turn a page even a week ago.
I am exhausted and a nap sounds great. I find a pen for Henry's crossword and hand it to him. "I'll just put away this extra table setting first, since there will only be four of us." I start to grab the silverware and Henry puts his hand over mine to stop me.
"Tell me something, G.C." He hasn't used that nickname for me in a while. It stands for Grandchild. "Did you get to show the boys around The Rambler last night?"
What an odd question. "Well, James and Em stayed at Bea's 'til God knows when, dancing, so I don't know if Em showed him around. But I gave Leif a quick tour of some of it, not all. It was late and I was tired."
"And what did he like best?"
"He commented on some of Grandmother's more unusual furniture. He liked the bunks. In fact he picked the blue one to sleep in last night. They all stayed over." Rosamunde had built sleeping berths right into the wall in several wings of the apartment for when we had extra guests and not enough bedrooms. When not in use, sliding doors covered the openings to the bunks. Children, especially, loved these. They kind of look like rail car berths. Or built-in mates' bunks on a ship. Of course the sea god liked those. My face goes red thinking about it and I'm thankful Henry's not looking at me, he's already started his crossword.
"What else did he say?"
"Not much, really, oh…he liked the penny bath, but everyone does." Grandmother had tiled an entire bathroom floor with pennies and then decided to do the walls and shower stall with coins from around the world. "And he asked questions about some of the photos with you and your famous friends."
Henry looks up at me now, smiling and I hope my face is not as red as it was a moment ago. "How about we leave that extra place setting. Maybe Bea or someone else will show."
"If they do, I'll have to find another chair. There's only four."
"No you won't, I'll stay in my wheelchair. I bet the front desk can spare it for a while longer."
I grab the fedora off his head and put it away in the closet, more to get out from under Grandfather's discerning stare than anything. I slip off my shoes, then climb into Henry's bed and pull the curtains around it. The problem with lying down is that my thoughts take over. I did pretty well on our jaunt outside and only thought about him ten or twenty times while I was wheeling Henry around. I am so glad he cannot come to lunch today. He walked me all the way to the front door of the rehab this morning and I want to try to gain a little distance and at least some of my equilibrium back before I have to see him at Falk.
"O.G." I adjust the pillow. "Will you tell me about Mrs. Babic and why you said she was so brave?" Another thought pops in my head and I ask before I think it through, before I'm sure I even want to know. "And will you tell me the story of why I was a patient of Dr. Magoo's?"
"You don't remember him at all?"
"Not even a little."
"Yes, I will child. I want to tell you all your stories. But sleep now. Bonne nuit."
I did not sleep in my own bedroom last night, but rather one closer to the bunk Leif picked. Grandmother had started redecorating this particular room so I could move out of what we called the "children's wing," and into my own wing of The Rambler. At the time I was jonesing on this particular color that was somewhere between a dark teal and a bright peacock blue, and she painted the walls in that color and put a high gloss over it. She had nearly finished before she got too sick. I don't know why I've never moved into it, but I've not been in New York much, so it didn't really matter. That's where I slept last night. It was just down the hall from the bunk Leif chose.
I drift off to delicate memories of tiptoeing down the hall to watch Leif sleep, which I did last night, almost unabashedly.
"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!" is how I wake out of a deep sleep, accompanied by Em's smiling face hovering in front of me. "Basic how-do-you-do's have been made, but we need your translations skills." She is entirely too cheerful. The curtains are pulled open and I see James looking at the photos on the wall. Henry is in his wheelchair, smiling at him.
When I sit up on the bed, Em giggles at me. "You've got a hilarious imprint of the pillow across the whole left side of your face. It sort of looks like ocean waves. So does your hair." She fiddles with it, gleefully pushing it higher. "If we could just shellac it in place with a can of Aquanet, you'd fit right in with my country cousins down in Waycross."
I slap her hand away and glare at her. Now, I'm really, really glad Leif is not coming. I notice a bouquet of flowers on the table that they must've brought.
"Who else wants a coke?" Em asks. "Because I'm definitely getting one for the Grumposuarus Rex on the bed." When James says he'll take one, Em asks him "What kind?" He looks perplexed.
"Allow me if you will, to translate this Southern Gothica into proper English, James," I say with a yawn. "A 'coke,' in Em's vernacular means any kind of sweet soda drink. So what she's actually asking is do you want a Sprite, Coca-Cola—either Diet and regular—or Ginger Ale, which is all we have, I think. Oh, and…water and orange juice."
"I'll have water, please," James turns back to the photos.
"That's the safe bet," I nod. "I'll take a straight-up Coca-Cola, extra caffeine, please." My brain is still fuzzy and as I stretch my arms, I can already feel the soreness from pushing G's wheelchair.
James points to one of the pictures, "Mr. Ellis, is that Sir Nicholas Henderson with you and Thatcher?"
Henry answers and I translate. "Yes, when he was the British Ambassador to the U.S., and his father Hubert is behind him as well. Henry's impressed that you know who he is."
But that's as far we get because there is a new voice at the door—one I've not heard for, oh…about six hours. "I hope I'm not too late!" He carries a brown-wrapped parcel in his hands.
My mouth drops open, shocked.
But that's not the most shocking thing about this moment. Not even close. It's that Grandfather's entire face lights up. And he practically bellows, "Ha! I knew you'd come, Leif! I knew it!"
I am not awake enough to process this.
Another shock—Leif's face lights up, too, and he gives Henry a full-on beautiful, heartbreaking, glorious, dazzling and...loving?...smile. I've only seen half-smiles and smirks from him and I am stunned by the sheer beauty of this thing. It's only lips and teeth and happy eyes, but together it's so much more. It's just too bright for this earth.
This smile is just not fair.
Before I can fully take in the knowledge of what all this means, there are more shocks.
One. Right. After. The. Other.
Leif answers him. Leif answers him as if he can understand him.
"Of course, I would come. As soon as I figured out Ellawyn's grandfather was the divine Mr. Ellis."
"I thought I told you to call me Henry."
"I thought I told you to call me Vince."
Ohmigod! They have their own shtick! I just…can't…process…
"But Leif is just too good of a name to pass up. I don't know if I've ever seen anyone with such apt nomenclature," Henry smiles.
A shrug.
A rueful and playful smile.
And then a self-deprecating joke. "I've been called a lot worse." Leif sets the parcel on the floor against the wall.
"I do not doubt that for a second." Henry stands and gives Leif a big hug.
Which Leif returns.
With obvious affection.
From somewhere in my brain's periphery I see Em and James gaping at this spectacle, too.
Wispy thoughts and questions tack across my mind, but they are as ephemeral as clouds and I can't really grasp onto them. …They know…each other...Leif…sea god…who jokes...the joking sea god?…Granddad…they like… each other…Leif can understand Henry…understand him… perfectly… wha?... when?...how?...
What?
I need a translator to interpret to my brain what my eyes and ears are saying.
James or Em, I'm not sure who, exclaims, "You know each other?!" I guess I wasn't the only one kept in the dark.
Leif turns to James, "Yes, remember I did that conflict resolution workshop freshman year at Penn? And then another one on negotiations. And there were more lectures I attended of his. I talked incessantly about them. Well, this was the teacher of all those. My favorite teacher ever, I might add."
"My favorite student ever." Henry.
"I bet you say that to all your students." Leif.
"I bet you say that to all your teachers." Henry.
"Usually only the hot ones." Leif.
"That could be interpreted to mean that you just called this elderly, decrepit old grandfather, 'hot.' I must say I'm strangely flattered." Henry practically sparkles with humor.
And they laugh.
They.
Laugh.
And that tsunami wave of laughter ripples out into the room and probably across the earth and even the galaxy and beyond. Resulting, I'm sure, in the universe's second Big Bang.
I was right about one thing when Henry first mentioned inviting them here—this is exactly like worlds colliding.
Henry looks over at me still gaping on the bed and Leif's eyes follow with that residual ringing joy still alight in their depths.
My mouth opens and closes. And opens and closes.
Fish. Gasp.
Gasp. Fish.
I probably look like a trout.
"I do believe that we have rendered my granddaughter speechless," Henry giggles—yes, giggles—as I continue to gape mindlessly. "She had only just opened her eyes right when you got here. I don't think that awakening process is quite complete yet; possibly still in the chrysalis stage." He turns to listen to James and Em exclaim over this coincidence.
Leif stalks toward me, still with that damn unreasonable shining smile. As if the synopses in my brain didn't have enough trouble firing already.
He stops right in front of me and reaches his hand out toward my face—What the hell is he doing? What is he doing?—to lightly caresses the indentations on my cheek and temple. I'm glad that his body blocks anyone else seeing this action. Or my resulting wondrous expression.
"You have an imprint on your face," he says in that silken voice. All my synopses fire at once. I'm nearly positive all the blood I have rushes to where he's touching me as if he gave it a siren's call and it responded immediately, eager to be nearer him. I bet entire oceans are powerless but to do his bidding. And I don't know if he is reading my mind, or what, because he adds, "It looks like a wave. Or an explosion."
And I know right now as I look into his eyes, that I am done for. Game—such as it was—Over. Nothing in my arsenal is strong enough to keep this man behind the walls in my mind. Not when he's smiling like that. Not when my blood is rushing like a river to his touch. Not when his presence is just so Big. And alive. And standing right in front of me. What's worse is I cannot find it in me to care in the least that I am, apparently, that girl.
He drops his hand from my cheek and holds it out to me. "Come sit at the table."
Somehow amidst the mental effluvium and detritus caused by this collision, I do find some words. Important ones. Necessary ones. I call out:
"Em, I'm really going to need that coke."
And then I take his hand.
Leif sits in Henry's club chair and damn if he doesn't look almost kingly in it. I shoot Henry a look that is meant to convey, We'll talk about you keeping this from me later when my brain is fully functioning. I sit on the other side of Henry, almost facing Leif and immediately gulp the coke Em hands me.
Bless her, she pours me another one, but not before saying, "Oh look! You two have done it again. You're dressed alike. You match." Sure enough, we do—both in jeans and sage green shirts. Even though Leif walked me up here early this morning, he would not have seen my shirt because it was covered by my jacket.
James starts the conversation exclaiming over the dance party last night. "It was the most fun I've ever had. Does that happen often?"
Henry replies, "It's sort of an organic thing. One just sort of breaks out at Bea's, but it doesn't happen very often."
Leif translates for Henry.
He. Translates.
I need more coke.
"It was fun for more than James and me," Em grins with a bit of glint in her eye. "Elle got asked out." I notice Henry's eyes slide over to Leif with a smile, until she says this next thing. "By a friend of the twins from NYU. He's in a band."
His smile changes to surprise. "Oh?"
I shrug at Granddad and roll my eyes at Em. I could almost swear she did this with a purpose in mind only I don't know what that might be. She adds, "Yeah, and he's really cute. But not to worry, Henry, he seems sweet, too. Maybe James and I will double date with them the first time." What is she doing?
Now is the perfect time to get another coke from the fridge. When I return,
James is uncorking wine that they had apparently brought and asks around the table. I see Henry's eyes light up and I say sternly, "Don't even think about it, dude!"
Henry replies wryly, "Says the nineteen-year-old who drank illegally this weekend probably using a fake ID."
Em giggles, "When my cousin moved to Chattanooga, she let me have her old Georgia license for…"
Henry shushes her good-naturedly. "I don't need to know about it."
Leif creatively translates this sentence as, "He said that you are awful for contributing to the delinquency of this poor innocent child. And Mr. Ellis here is going to call the cops on you." He smiles wryly at Em, who knows Henry well enough to know that's not what he said.
I bristle at his reference to me as an innocent child, but mostly can't get over the fact that he is joking in this way, so comfortably, not a hint of the pendejo.
Henry's eyes are sparkling at Leif's joke. "You know it's not the drinking that I mind because we've lived in places where the legal age for wine and beer is fourteen; I think some countries didn't even have a law. Elle's never been drunk. So far. She knows how to handle it and is probably better for it for having wine be a part of life and not some secret vaunted thing. But ponder this scenario…"
I can guess what's coming. Here goes.
"Let's just say, hypothetically, that an underage girl used a fake drivers' license at a restaurant. And she got caught. And the teenage girl now has a criminal record, which might keep her from partaking in some future endeavor; a job, say. The restaurant gets a not insignificant fine. And let's just say the waitress, who, for the sake of argument, is a single mother who counts on those tips every night, gets fired." It is Leif who translates this to Em and James, leaving me to let my guilt run free. "And now can't get another job. Or pay her rent."
I roll my eyes, the caffeine kicking in a bit. "See! See what I have to put up with? I can't get away with anything without feeling guilty."
Henry puts his hand over mine laughing, "I do not wish to impart guilt, only a deeper understanding." His eyes, I notice, flick to Leif's. "But if I did, I know where to push your buttons because I installed many of those buttons." He gets more serious now. "But truly, everything we do has ramifications and can reverberate through other people's lives in ways we can barely imagine." Leif falters a moment in his translation.
"Says the grandfather who is on multiple medications and was eying that bottle of wine like a man who's been lost in the desert," I grumble.
Em turns toward James, "Honestly, if you ever need advice on anything, there is no better insightful sage then the O.G."
"I've been meaning to ask what O.G. stands for. I see it on your tracksuit," James smilingly says. Half of the things that Em bought for Henry have O.G. or G.D. or just G. embroidered on them. That starts us on the subject of nicknames and I notice for a moment that Em's face dims momentarily. James claims not to have any, "Unless being called 'poncy' counts."
Henry explains how that is not at all the same thing and vows to find him a nickname when James gets a cheeky smile on his face. "Now Leif, on the other hand, has almost too many to count."
It is Henry who surprises me when he says, "I think I might've heard a few of those in my time lecturing at Penn. And most of them, I believe, came from the young women our Leif was acquainted with."
I look over at those dark blue eyes and I think he's…I'm almost sure that he's…embarrassed. And I realize he didn't translate those last sentences of Henry's. I quickly do that for Em and James and I swear that he blushes a little, but it's hard to tell with his darker coloring. Either way, an embarrassed Leif is yet another revelation and this is now my new favorite expression of his. It might even be better than his radiant wide open smile.
"Let's keep it clean for the ladies," Leif murmurs.
I blurt out, "You're not allowed to hide behind that lame ass excuse. I know how to curse in a good twenty languages. Besides, wasn't it ladies themselves who actually gave you those nicknames?" I grin at him smugly.
Henry is chuckling uproariously at this. "While my granddaughter does make quite a perspicacious point, in light of Leif's apparent discomfort with this subject, I will keep his secrets for now."
I don't translate, but instead look pointedly at Em. "Fine. I'll just get The Coordinator to inveigle it out of James later." I watch Leif's face darken at this idea and he shoots James a warning look.
James is undaunted. "I will tell you one of the first nicknames I heard used for him that he despises beyond belief. To this day, I don't know why because it's rather complimentary. It's El Protector, which is Portuguese for…"
Both Henry and I say it at the same time. "The Protector." Neither of us speaks that language, but it's the same in Spanish.
El Protector? This is yet another revelation.
"How could you hate that?" Em asks him, but I know he won't answer the question. That mask is back down and I can't see past it at all.
Henry must notice it too because after only a small pause, he says, "I will tell you my granddaughter's first nickname and it was the only one for a long time as it was so absolute." Why do I feel as if I'm about to get thrown under the bus? "It was Little Monkey." Leif translates, eying me speculatively.
My parent's voices echo from behind that inner wall; that's what they called me in that tape last night. I don't want to think of this, but I have to work hard to push it away. I hope Leif knows not to mention last night's incident to Henry either, just like I asked him not to tell Em and James.
"Elle thinks monkey are creepy!" Em exclaims.
"Monkeys were her favorite animal, but that wasn't why. It was that she was always the loudest kid, always talking." He turns to me. "You were constantly chattering away, even if it was just gibberish as an infant before you could actually pronounce any words. And so bossy!"
After the translation, Em jumps in. "I can't really imagine a bossy or loud Elle, but that reminds me of something, Henry! When I picked her up at the airport from China, she was speaking what almost sounded like gibberish. It definitely wasn't any language I'd heard. She wouldn't or maybe even couldn't speak English!"
A quick glance at Granddad shows his smile has fallen to strain. His anxious eyes bore into mine. After a pause he asks, "Did it sound like this?…" Henry waits while Leif translates the question. Then he adds a few words that I can't make out at all.
"I don't remember." I shrug uncomfortably. And it's true that I don't have much of memory of that at all, even though it was barely two weeks ago.
Henry looks at Em and continues more words with that same sound. Em only shrugs, "Kind of like that, but…" I know she doesn't want to say to Henry that it's difficult to hear through his post-stroke speech. "What language is that anyway?"
I exclaim back what Henry said. "Yoruba? Like from Nigeria? I don't speak Yoruba! We've never been to Nigeria, right?" Henry shakes his head, watching me. Right now I'm feeling almost woozy and I have no idea why.
Leif says, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I've eaten the majority of this bread and olive dip and I'm still starving. Should we start lunch?" He has thrown me a lifeline. He picks up Henry's plate and goes to the crockpot behind him. "This looks very good, Mr. Ellis." James and Em slowly get up as well.
Henry pulls that hawkish gaze off of me and smiles over at Leif. "I thought I told you to call me Henry."
Thankfully, there is no further discussion about monkeys or mysterious languages as we start eating. Instead, when James exclaims over the Rambler, and particularly, the penny bath, Henry has me tell the story of having a Secretary of the Treasury over to stay one time, who told my grandmother that tiling a bathroom in coins was probably illegal. But with a wink at Rosamunde, promised that he wouldn't tell. I smile wistfully at this; everyone was charmed by my beautiful grandmother. Another time they had a party where a Norwegian diplomat, who was also a numinastics enthusiast, told them that one coin tiled in that bathroom was some rare invaluable thing. Later, they found scratches around the grout of one of the coins as if someone had attempted to pry it off the wall. That diplomat was never invited over again.
As I swiftly remove a tortellini that has fallen onto the table from Henry's fork, James asks about the meaning of the pop art painting just outside the kitchen that depicts a packet of fries with the caption, "Freedom Fries-not served here." Henry explains that Rosamunde picked it up at a street artist's booth in D.C. as an amusing reminder not to engage in foolish and childish endeavors. I am silent during all this, just watching. And Em, I notice, is as well.
When James says it is the most beautiful apartment he's ever seen, Henry asks where he lives. Since they just came over from Penn, their living arrangements are not permanently set. They only last week had to vacate their place in Philly, so James is currently staying in an apartment in Chelsea owned by someone he knows who's in Hong Kong for the spring and summer. He claims it's smaller than the penny bath. Leif, it turns out, is occasionally crashing with him, but it's just so small and claustrophobic, as Leif describes it, that he can barely stand it. He's been mostly staying on a boat he recently got and is fixing up. It is now moored at a marina in Chelsea.
Henry's eyes alight at this info. "A boat! How exciting!"
A chortle rises up in my throat before I can stop it. I try to suppress it, I do. I practically bite my lips together to keep it down, but it comes out anyway. Because of course the frickin' sea god lives on a boat. Of course.
"What's so funny?" Leif asks me, amusement clear on his face.
I shake my head. Hell, I'm almost surprised he doesn't just sleep on a raft anchored by mermaids in the middle of the Hudson; one that he cobbled together out of driftwood and seaweed. At this picture in my mind, another sound rises up from my core and this time, it comes out more like a snort. I clamp a hand over my mouth and press my eyes closed, looking down at my lap.
"What are you going to do in bad weather? Surely you can't stay there in a storm?" Henry questions, clearly enthralled.
When I look up, Leif is smirking at me with his eyebrow cocked, but goes on to answer Henry. I don't even hear what he says because a glance at Em shows her softly giggling at me. I shake my head for a moment, trying to shake off my mirth so it doesn't erupt into full-blown laughter. But what Henry says next dries up this burgeoning laughter. I am immediately sober.
"You should come stay at The Rambler! We have more than enough room and I'm sure Elle wouldn't mind. She lives alone there now in that huge space and anyway, we have umpteen bedrooms!"
Wha? Huh? I think my face has resumed that gasping fish look.
Leif smiles at Henry. "Thank you for the offer. I'll keep that in mind."
I find my voice. "Granddad, I don't live alone! I live there with you. You just happen to be away at the moment." Henry turns to me with a melancholy smile and pats my hand as the conversation continues, moving on to the private equity firm James will start work at in a week.
I bend my mind around this new possibility. No…Granddad is coming back. Soon. That's the plan, that's always been the plan. Hasn't it? What is he thinking? For the moment, this is even taking precedence over the very provocative idea of Leif living at the Rambler. Where does Granddad think he's going to go after he leaves inpatient Rehab? Oh dear, I've got to get our bills paid off so I can be ready. I don't know if I'm going to have to hire a nurse or some other kind of caretaker when he comes home. I don't know if Bea can properly watch over him while I'm at work. I've got so much to figure out.
It is when Leif begins talking about Falk Atlantic Investments that I tune back in to the conversation. I am reminded that as of a week from tomorrow, Leif will also be in my work life. Well, hells bells! In one week Leif has entered my social circle, such as it is, and my family life—via Grandfather, who is now offering him to move into my flippin' house. One stinkin' week! I didn't even know he existed until last Wednesday. How did this happen?
Leif is telling everyone the history of the company, most of which I learned from internet searches. How it was started post-war by Scottish immigrants in Brooklyn as a small import firm bringing in mostly Scottish and some Irish and Welsh goods such as wool, whiskey and other products. That division still remains, but is now just a small part of the whole. Their son, E. McMorgan Falk, took the company over and turned it into what it is today, a privately-held, multi-billion-dollar shipping and investment company. They are currently expanding their holdings in technology, manufacturing, and intellectual property. They're also increasing their Pacific and Gulf of Mexico port presence in the U.S.
"That's one of the reasons Ellawyn is being hired now. There are other individual speakers of those languages throughout the company, but the executives need someone on hand in New York with her particular language skills for the South American and African, but mainly Chinese and Japanese business interests," Leif explains as Henry eyes me proudly. "It was actually me who suggested we have interpreters solely dedicated to helping our staff increase those connections with foreign business partners. As you know, many business people in nearly every foreign country speak some semblance of English, but not all. Right now we're forging important liaisons as we expand with some smaller businesses that don't have English."
He looks at me now. "Captain Gray didn't expect these languages would be encased in one person; he thinks you are something of a miracle. Just be prepared that when you come in next Monday, no one will know what this position is going to look like, or quite what to do with you."
"You know it was just chance that I ran into Captain Gray while I was walking our dog, Petal, last weekend. She led me into that garden at Grace Church." Oh! As soon as those words are out of my mouth, the memory of the second time I was in that garden flashes forefront through my mind…listening to Leif's heartbeat… smelling his scent…our arms around each other. A glance at him reveals that he might be thinking of it, too.
"You met the Captain in the church garden?" Leif asks incredulously.
I nod, realizing that he wouldn't know that unless Captain Gray told him. I certainly haven't until now.
I watch Leif's face as Em chimes in with, "Well, it seems it was fated. One way or another, you were going to end up there, I guess. Because you would've eventually known Leif through me, via James. Or via Henry. But you found this job through a different source entirely. It just seems as if it was meant to happen."
A momentary quiet descends on the table. Henry is looking off in the distance and a slow smile spreads across his face. As I get up to take everyone's plates and serve the fruit salad, I hear Henry ask, "And what do you do there?"
"I work in the mailroom." I can hear the smile in Leif's voice. "With the aforementioned Captain. Or rather I will work there; I am officially starting a week from tomorrow, same as Ellawyn. When I…uh…saw her at the office last week, I was only visiting Captain Gray after my exams were done for the week and he had me come in as a favor to him." This is news. News that immediately brings to mind the elevator, which I quickly squash.
"And how did you come to be hired there?" Henry asks.
"I'd met the Captain at a sailing event a few years ago and we've stayed in touch, even taking his boat out a few times. Then he hired me for a summer internship there last year for my MBA program and as I was nearing the completion of my schooling, I was very heavily recruited."
As I stack the plates in the sink, I hear Em exclaim behind me, "To work in the mailroom? You have an MBA from Wharton to work in the mailroom!"
"Yes, but he…" James starts and stops. My head whips toward the table and I would bet all my depleted life savings that Leif has shushed him with a look. After a pause, James says, "We both still have some exams this week. We're leaving tonight to take the train up there and staying in a hotel. The official graduation is not until next Sunday."
"And are you participating?" Henry asks.
Leif answers, "James signed us both up and is trying to talk me into it, but I don't plan on it."
"And why not? What a lovely ceremony to acknowledge your hard work!" Henry is dismayed. "Ceremonies are important!" Leif doesn't translate this, so I do as I begin serving the fruit salad.
"That's what I've been telling him!" James exclaims. "Perhaps he'll listen to his favorite teacher because he is most certainly not listening to me. He says there isn't anybody to see him walk, so what's the point. I have to admit that Emory is the only guest coming to see me and I only asked her last night. Neither my parents nor sister can cross the pond for it."
"I know what we can do about that," Em declares. "Elles will come with me! She'll be your guest, Leif!"
"Hello, Coordinator," I mutter as I roll my eyes, setting a bowl in front of her. And then louder, "I can't leave Granddad." But it does, I admit, tug my heart to hear that Leif doesn't have anyone to watch him walk. I don't know anything about his family situation. There are so many questions I have about him.
Henry is appalled. "Of course you can, silly child. Go with them next weekend and cheer them on. I will not hear of you having to stay here for me. It's only for a day." When he sees I don't look convinced, he adds, "Do it for me. That's where I met this young man anyway and now that we've reconnected, I would go if I could."
Granddad has pushed both my duty and guilt buttons, for sure.
"It's decided," Em proclaims in full Coordinator or maybe Controller mode, even though no one translated what Henry said. "I've got my car here in the city, so I'll drive us up on Saturday morning and we'll go out to celebrate that night. I've never been to Philadelphia." I narrow my eyes at her and she does the same to me, knowing she's going to get her way. Between the O.G. and The Controller, I don't stand a chance in hell of not going. My eyes flick over to Leif's. His inscrutable mask is back on, but at least he doesn't look disgusted by this idea.
"Alright," I mutter, shrugging. I can't deny that some part of me wants to go, too, even if there is a warring part that doesn't want to leave Henry alone. "Speaking of upcoming exams, shouldn't you both be studying? Shouldn't you have been studying all weekend instead of hanging around with us?" Honestly, they've spent Friday night, Saturday night, and now half of Sunday afternoon with us.
James clasps Em's hand on the table. "It was worth it, and besides, we'll be fine with our last exams. We did the majority of them last week and we're both very clever." He blushes at his own boast. "But after finishing this gorgeous fruit, we will hit the road, as you Americans say. There's a train every hour, so no worries."
"Two things before you go," Henry says. "One, please do not stay in a hotel while you're there either for your exams or for graduation. There is a townhouse right in Rittenhouse Square that has lately been rented out to visiting scholars and professors. I know it is not being used at present. You'll find it has multiple bedrooms and a couple desks and tables to spread out while studying. And it's within walking distance to both the college and the 30th Street train station. I will write down instructions for the lockbox where you'll find a key, plus the alarm info. Or rather I'll transcribe it for Elle. My writing is not yet so good."
Leif translates for Em and James as I gape at Granddad. How could he possibly know it's empty? Who owns it? What if James and Leif show up and someone's there? "G, are you sure no one's staying there? Is that where we stayed before when you were lecturing at Penn?"
"Yes and yes, child."
"Who owns it?"
"Someone I know in your grandmother's family," Henry non-answers. I've not met any of them, so I guess it it's no use getting a name. My grandmother stopped speaking to her family after her own parents passed away. I don't know why.
"That place was beautiful, built in the early 1800's, wasn't it? But it's also kind of creepy. You can almost feel the ghosts of the past."
Henry nods at me. "You don't know how right you are."
"Sounds like every old pile in England. I'll feel right at home," James is again applying that positive spin on everything. "Thank you, Mr. Ellis. Are you sure we won't be putting anyone out?"
"I'm sure, dear boy, I'm sure. And if you deign to come back for another lunch with me, we will find you a nickname. Everyone needs one."
After Leif translates, James smiles so sweetly at Granddad. "Of course! This has been a delightful afternoon. And I look forward to my first nickname."
Henry looks over toward the wall where we put up the framed photos of him out in the world. "And the second thing is…Elle, will you grab that picture with the Penn students in the bar?"
I pull it off the wall and hand it to him. It is at a long rectangular table with a dozen or so students around it, with Henry at the center facing the camera, so alive and joyous. Everyone is smiling, holding shot glasses with an acid green concoction in them, aloft toward my O.G.
"Remember this night, after the lecture?" He asks Leif as he hands him the photo. Leif gazes at it, an interesting display of emotions crossing his face.
Henry continues. "Leif sent it to me later, this photograph. He somehow tracked me down while I was at Stanford." They both share a pointed look that I don't understand. When I first started at Stanford for the summer quarter four years ago, both my grandparents stayed there with me until I moved into Em's that September. Henry did a series of lectures there that summer.
Em takes the photo from Leif, and then passes it to James. "This is a really beautiful shot. Are you still taking pictures?"
"Not really. Not lately. But I didn't actually take that one."
"This photo was snapped by our very flirty waitress, using Leif's camera," Henry explains. "And as a side note, Leif…don't think I didn't see that she passed you her phone number when she gave the camera back to you." Leif looks a little abashed at this.
Why does the thought of him going out with this long ago waitress kind of bother me?
James hands the photo to me as Henry asks, "Can you spot our young Leif in that picture? Come to think of it, you were probably too young to be in a bar yourself, then." Leif shrugs.
I've walked by this 8 by 10 framed photo a zillion times in the hallway of the Rambler before I brought it here to decorate Henry's room—to remind him of his valued place in the world. I've only really glanced at the students before because my ebullient, sparkling Grandfather was at the center of that bar table and my eyes would naturally go to his convivial face. But as I look at it this time, I become transfixed by the back of a dark-haired head with the barest hint of a profile showing—just a glimpse of a square jaw and strong nose, although you can tell he's smiling—sitting opposite Henry. It's the long artists' hand holding the glass that really gives him away. I think I would recognize that hand anywhere now. In the photo, there is a light spilling on him; onto them both. And it looks as if he's just about to clink his glass to Henry's, like it's only an inch or two away.
All these connections. I really shouldn't be so shocked, but I'm having trouble getting my mind around it. Leif has been captured in a photo hanging on the wall of my house for years. A photo taken with his camera. Strange.
Yep, worlds colliding for sure.
James has just pushed the elevator button when Leif hands me the bag he's carrying for me, saying, "I forgot something. Be right back." He jogs down the hall back towards Henry's room and I watch the way he looks doing it. That man sure can wear some jeans. Even rushing down an institutional hallway, he looks graceful. And in charge. And beautiful. And compelling. And…I have to stop myself from coming up with more superlatives. I can't imagine what he could've forgotten, but maybe he'd taken his phone or something.
Once lunch was done, Henry claimed to be exhausted and needed to rest so I'm leaving with everyone else, but he probably just said that to get out of the talk we're definitely going to have about him keeping things from me. He knows I am not a fan of surprises, and this was much more than a mere surprise, much more even than a shock. I need to process this and would walk home if I could, but I have these big bags filled with Bea's serving dishes and crockpot. I'll have to take a cab.
While we wait, Em says to James, "Do you want to come over for a while before you leave? My apartment's not far from here and I probably won't see you all week." She's using her Southern accent coupled with her doe eyes. As if he'd say no.
"Well, there is a train every hour…" I look away as they kiss.
Leif strides back down the hall toward us.
When we're standing out front of the rehab center, James informs Leif that he's going over to Em's first and will meet him later at the apartment.
Leif tells James, "If you get there first, just know I've got some of my boxes strewn around and opened. I was looking for something. We've not been robbed or anything." Then they hop in a waiting cab and are gone swiftly. So much for getting to talk to Em about what's up with her. I'll call her later.
I turn to Leif who says, "Apparently, I've got some time to kill now. I'll see you home." He takes the two cumbersome bags from me to put over his own shoulders, leaving me with only my messenger bag.
I start to walk toward another waiting cab, but stop when I notice he's not following me. He's heading toward the sidewalk instead. When he sees I'm not behind him, he stops and holds out his hand. Again.
Those beautiful hands—made for artists or musicians or even surgeons. One of which is beckoning me on this sunny afternoon.
"I thought you'd like to walk."
I take his hand.
Of course I do.
I have so many questions, but I don't ask them. They're all pushing and jostling for prominence in my mind and not one actually makes it out of my mouth. We don't talk at all until we're on my block.
"I only figured it out last night and didn't tell you because I wasn't sure I would come and if I did, I wanted it to be a surprise," he explains, as if he'd been having an ongoing conversation with my thoughts.
"I hate surprises."
"Not for you, but for Mr. Ellis." Then quieter, unsettled, but with the feel of truth ringing out, "I wasn't sure he'd want to see me."
No way! What? How? Why? These thoughts all elbow each other, but remain unasked. This just doesn't make sense; I saw the open affection on Granddad's face. I wait for him to explain further, but he doesn't.
When I step inside the elevator, he stands in the threshold removing the bags from his shoulders and placing them at my feet. Just before he steps back to allow the doors to close he says, "You'll have to show me the rest of the apartment sometime, but of what I did see, I liked your room best." I can't read his expression before the doors slide closed.
It is only much later that night that I realize I never showed him which room I was sleeping in. I left him at the bunk last night and went down another hall and even around a corner to the room Grandmother had been decorating for me. Did he come to find me in the night? Did he watch me sleep like I did him?
When it's time for bed, I curl up in the blue bunk, inhaling the scent on the pillow. It'll probably leave another imprint.
