Letting Go

By Steven Granson

How they located him he had no idea. More to the point why he agreed to drive through the night and half the day to some little heard of town in the Florida Panhandle was even more perplexing to him.

Once he pulled over and thought to turn back, only to remind himself there was nothing back there for him ... nine years with nothing to show for it other than a former girl friend and a rent-controlled one room walk-up apartment in the East Village.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475997101

Steven Granson

STEVEN GRANSON, AUTHOR OF REVERIES AND OBSERVATIONS OF AN OLD MAN AND ZANDO, LIVES WITH HIS WIFE SUSAN IN SOUTH FLORIDA.

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Copyright © 2013 by Steven Granson.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-9709-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-9710-1 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 07/08/2013

Contents

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For my wife, Susan

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letting go

The traffic had thinned and was now sparse. The night was crystal clear. He was making good time far exceeding the speed limit. At this rate he figured to be there by mid-afternoon.

How they located him where he was living in Manhattan he had no idea. More to the point, why he agreed to drive through the night and half the day to some little heard of town in the Florida Panhandle, was even more perplexing to him. Once he pulled over and thought to turn back. Only to remind himself there was nothing back there for him . . . nine years with nothing to show for it other than a former girlfriend and a rent-controlled one-room walk-up tenement apartment.

As he drove he thought of Marilyn, his girlfriend, as he had every day since he walked away six months before. She had wanted a commitment he wasn’t ready to make. He wondered what she was doing at this moment, and wondered if he should call her. Wondered what she would say if he told how much he missed her; wanted to be with her. But deep down he knew he still couldn’t make the commitment she wanted. He wanted to, but he couldn’t.

The thought of feeling her body against him once more tantalized him, as he drove. It wasn’t her, it was him; he just couldn’t trust, never could and he wondered why that was.

Twice he stopped to relieve himself at a fast food place and ordered coffee to go. Each time, as he sat in his car sipping the coffee, he thought to close his eyes; sleep for a while, but sleep wouldn’t come; after a while he started up the car and continued driving on.

*     *     *

Now he was in his grandfather’s hospital room talking to his Doctor. He hadn’t seen his grandfather in over twenty years and before that had only met him once. All he knew about him was what his father and grandmother had said… and that wasn’t good.

Will it be much longer?

No telling. Maybe tonight? Maybe a few more days… ? Probably not much past that. Though you can never tell for sure.

Any chance he’ll come out of it before?

Not likely, but then again knowing your grandfather I wouldn’t make any bets. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about him is there’s no predicting what he’ll do.

From some deep recess he was hearing the words, but was having trouble making sense of them, or where they were coming from. Slowly the words were becoming intelligible to him, though he was still trying to make sense of them and figure out who was talking.

Seemingly one was somebody’s grandson. Might be his, but if so which one? He had two, neither lived nearby. He hadn’t seen either in years. In truth he did not know either of them. That’s not how he wanted it, just how it worked out. If it is my grandson, what’s he doing here now? The other voice sounded like his Doctor Shapiro . . . or no Wolfe. Shapiro had died some years back. Or maybe it was the other way around. No matter it sounded like his Doctor. He wondered who’s sick? . . . He thought to ask them, but when he tried nothing came out. He heard the question in his head but not in his ears. Nor did he hear them respond to it. Then as from a long distance he heard . . .

Doc what’s the chances of his coming out of the coma?

Son, that’s something you’ll have to go to a higher source than me for. I don’t have an answer to that one. Then after a slight pause the Doctor said, Hell son he’s over ninety. We’re not here forever you know.

What’s that they’re saying . . . is that me that’s in a coma? Are they crazy? There’s no way I’m in a coma. How could I be? I just come back from my walk, or maybe from somewhere else. I was just about to do something.  . . . I can’t remember what.  . . . How did the Doctor and my grandson get here . . . and for that matter where am I?

A cold fear came over him. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t. He willed himself to raise his head, his hand, to speak out. For a moment he thought he had.  . . . Then he heard a voice say:

Do you think he hears us? Does he have any idea of anything? Is there anyway we can get through to him?

And another voice saying quietly, There’s no telling.

It took a while for the words to fully register upon him. When they finally did he thought, if that’s my grandson, I wonder why now after all these years he’s come by? Hell I haven’t heard from him or his brother in I don’t know how many years. They didn’t want anything to do with me back then. Not that I blame them; I can only guess what they’d been told about me.

So tell me John, what about your parents, are they coming too?

They’re not with us anymore.  . . . I guess you didn’t know; no reason you should’ve. They died some years ago. Mom from a heart attack, then dad and my brother were both killed in an auto accident. I’m all that’s left.

What about your grandmother?

Oh, she passed on a long time ago.

I’m sorry, I didn’t know.

That’s okay, it was hard at first, but that’s water under the bridge. Fact is I wouldn’t be here now… wouldn’t even know about my grandfather’s condition, if the hospital hadn’t tracked me down. I guess they needed someone related to him to sign some papers or other.  . . . And I was it, as his only living relative. I mean my parents hadn’t had anything to do with him. Hell, I didn’t even know he was still alive. I was a little kid the last time I saw him. Truth is looking at that man lying there, I’d never know he was my grandfather. I kind of remember him as a much bigger man.

"Well son you’re right he was bigger, at least on the outside. He’s shrunk some over the years. But in every other way he got bigger.  . . . You might not know it, but your granddad is a very loved and respected man in these parts. His accomplishments are legendary.

Manys the family that would have lost their home but for him. This, the town’s hospital carries his name. If it wasn’t for him there wouldn’t be one. And I couldn’t begin to tell you how many of our youngsters went on to college because of his generosity. Yes son he is, at least to the townsfolk’s here, a very special person. It’s a damn shame his kin never really got to know him.

Well that’s sure news to me. I was raised to believe he was some kind of bastard. A real low life.

If that’s what you thought of him, why are you here now?

That’s a good question… for the life of me I don’t know the answer. When I got the call from the hospital about him, I felt nothing. They might as well have been talking about someone I never heard of. When they asked if I knew whether or not he had a living will, I said, how the hell should I know? I haven’t seen or heard from him in over twenty years, why are you calling me? Then the caller said we have to know whether or not we can keep him on life support, and I told her do what you want I could care less.

So what happened? What caused you to decide to show up?

I’ve been asking myself the same thing… maybe because I started thinking he’s the only kin I have… maybe it was something else. I’m still chewing on it.

Maybe I should have tried harder to make him understand. Maybe I could have gotten through . . . maybe not. But I should have tried harder.  . . . What’s that, what are they saying?"

"Tell me Doc. Is there a hotel nearby I can stay?

It’s been a long drive getting here, and I’m pretty beat."

No Son, the nearest place is two towns over about a half hour drive… we don’t get many transients here.

Damn, I’m not up to doing anymore driving just now. Guess I’ll just bunk in my car for the night.

No need for that. Why don’t you stay at your grandpa’s place? It’s only a stones throw from this hospital.

Would that be okay? I mean somehow it doesn’t seem right, he said sounding uncertain.

Hell, I don’t see why not, you’re his only kin. I can’t imagine anyone caring. And knowing your grandpa I imagine he would be put out if you didn’t make yourself at home there.

Well if you say so, but how would I get in, I don’t have a key?

No problem there. A couple years back he locked himself out a time or two and so he stopped locking the door when he went out. Didn’t figure he had to worry about anyone around here taking anything.

Well then, if you say it’s all right.

Of course it’s okay, make yourself at home; stay as long as you like. Best you change the bedding though, the ones on the bed might be a little messy. There’s fresh linens in the closet. Might be some food in the fridge, maybe not. Lord, I wish I could talk to you.

What about you Doc, will you be staying much longer?

No, I’ll be leaving shortly as well. There’s nothing more I can do other than wait. The nurse on duty will let me know if there’s any change. I’m going to catch some shuteye in the staff room. I’m really done in… been here since last night. Sometimes I forget I’m not a spring chicken anymore.

It’s late. Is there any reason you don’t go home — come back in the morning?

No, I want to be near in case I’m needed.

Does my grandfather mean that much to you?

Yes John, I guess he does. To me and to most of the people in this town.  . . . You know son there’s a little diner a block down from your granddad’s place, it’s not much, but the foods good. The owner Mitch knows your granddad better than most anyone. Why don’t you stop by there for breakfast in the morning and talk to him? You might be surprised at what you learn.

*     *     *

The Doctor’s directions were easy to follow. Right out of the hospital, at Dumont Street go right, third house on the left number 106.

He was surprised; at first he thought it must be a mistake. He expected it to be bigger, grander. Having listened to Dr. Wolfe tell of his grandfather’s gifts to the town and the people, he had expected something more. The house was small. There was a white picket fence in front. The lawn was little more than a patch, with only a lone shrub alongside the flagstone walkway leading to the porch steps. On the porch he saw three days of newspapers rolled up near the front door where the paperboy had thrown them. Picking them up he went to the door hoping the Doctor was right that it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t, and he entered the house.

Switching on the lights he noted the tiny parlor was sparsely furnished. The furniture was mismatched and obviously old. The kitchen was large by comparison, but the appliances looked to be older than he was. There was a table in it. A white oilcloth cover over it, with three wooden chairs around it. A lone setting was on the far side of the table.

The second floor was just as small; two tiny bedrooms with a bathroom in-between. In one of the bedrooms there was a double bed, the other had a single bed. Both beds were neatly made. All in all the entire house didn’t add up to much; certainly not what one would expect from a person of means.

At this point he was much too tired to nose around or give much thought to anything. Exhausted from the long drive he undressed down to his skivvies lay down and passed out on the single bed. For the first time in weeks he slept soundly without the reoccurring dreams.

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It was the light coming through the lone window that awakened him. For a moment he couldn’t figure out where he was. Then it all came back. Arising he stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Opening the wooden medicine cabinet above it, he found several toothbrushes still in their plastic wrappers, along with other sundries he needed to brush his teeth and shave. He supposed he could’ve gone to his car to get his toilet kit, but this was easier.

Looking at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror, as he shaved, he wondered how he could look so good on the outside, while feeling so rotten inside. His intense blue eyes, dark hair and olive skin he’d inherited from his grandmother, or so he always assumed. Other than that he had no idea whom he took after. He knew some women found him attractive, though he never understood why.

Now more awake, he dressed and then looked around some more. In the other bedroom on the dresser top were two 3x4 black and white pictures. One was a picture of a little boy, that could have been his father, or maybe not; the other was of an infant being held by a pretty woman. Judging by her style of dress he guessed this picture was taken a long time ago. Hanging on the bedroom wall was a larger framed picture of a dark haired woman. There was something about the way she looked that caught and held his attention. A quality… a niceness he couldn’t quite define. He found himself wondering who she might be.

Going down the stairs he noticed in one corner of the parlor a small desk with a laptop computer on it. Next to it was a number of neatly stacked files. Somehow the computer seemed out of place; like it didn’t belong here amongst all of yesterday’s relics. Feeling slightly guilty he walked over and thumbed through the files. They were filled with stock market reports and statements. Some of the statements indicated balances so incredible he could only assume he was mistaken as to what they represented.

There was little else worth noting other than how clean and orderly everything was… and how plain and simple. It was more what you’d expect the home of a person just barely making ends meet to be living in, than that of a benefactor.

Hungry he opened the refrigerator hoping to find something to eat, but there was nothing there. The freezer had two ice trays — one partially filled, the other completely filled with ice cubes and that was it. Wherever his grandfather ate it wasn’t at home.

Remembering what the Doctor said about a diner being nearby, and with his stomach’s rumbling reminding him he hadn’t had anything to eat the day before; he decided to make heading to that diner his first priority.

*     *     *

Mitch’s Diner was just a short walk down the block. The sign said diner, but you could have fooled him. It was not like any diner he’d ever seen… it was, or rather had been, a house just like all the others on the block with the ground floor having been turned into a luncheonette of sorts — five tables and eight stools around the counter. On entering he saw one person sitting at one of the stools seemingly getting ready to leave. By the time he sat down at one of the other stools and looked up on the wall to see the breakfast specials listed the man had left.

The place was clean, but not the kind of one he’d normally choose to go into.  . . . Still, he thought what the heck.

Looking toward the old man reading the newspaper behind the counter, who had barely looked up when he came in, he called out, "What’s the works?" One of the breakfast choices listed on the wall.

Not bothering to look up from the paper the old man rattled off, in a deep southern twang, Juice, three eggs, pancakes, grits, bacon, sausage, toast and coffee.

Sounds good, that’s what I’ll have.

Slowly standing up, as he put down the paper he mumbled, Damn shame about Vernon.

Who? He asked.

Vernon, Vernon Whatley. Damn fine man… you new around these parts? Must be, otherwise you’d know him.  . . . How you want your eggs?

Scrambled, if that’s not a problem, otherwise easy over.

Scramble ain’t no problem. Hell a’ve been makin them thet way longer than you’ve been alive.  . . . What brings you to these parts? Jest passin through a’h suspects? Answering his own question.

Nodding, he looked closer at the man, realizing he was even older than he first thought. His face was wrinkled and weather-beaten. From the veins around his nose and his watery reddened eyes, he guessed he was no stranger to the bottle. He had on a tieback white apron over his Levi Jeans and white t-shirt that appeared like him to have known better days. Yet the man moved well and seemed to know what he was doing as he watched him prepare his breakfast on the grill.

To John’s pleasant surprise when he deposited it all in front of him, not only did it look good, but tasted even better. Right then and there he decided if he didn’t return to New