sip. “Talk to your granddaughter, Charlie. I have to go. It’s too hot to garden today.” She looked at the sky, shielding her eyes from the sun. “It’s too hot.”
“Vera, wait . . .”
Madeline’s voice . . . it did sound strange on the message.
“Thank you for the wine, Charlie.”
Vera turned and walked away, leaving Charlie standing by the fence.
What just happened? . . . Madeline!
He suddenly felt like a parent again, like he had just caught his granddaughter red-handed, doing something wrong. Only he didn’t know what.
He dumped his glass of wine, and made his way to the door. He’d left his cane inside, on the table, and now wished he’d brought it along. The ground was lumpy and uneven.
But he made it to the railing on the porch, and to his backdoor, and then inside, where he took the phone off the cradle. He pushed the button that speed-dialed Madeline, and sat in his chair, not sure if he should be angry or not.
The phone rang a few times, and then she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Maddie, it’s me.”
“Poppy!” Her voice sounded happy—too happy.
“Listen, Maddie, what’s this about a video?”
Get right to the point, Charlie. Remind her that you’re still her grandfather, and not some old man that she can boss around.
“Oh, uh . . . hold on a second. I can barely hear you.”
“Now wait just—” He could hear the ruffle of movement, along with the constant roar of traffic. Why she wanted to live in the city was beyond him.
After a moment she came back to the phone.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you.” I’m not deaf. “Madeline, what’s this about some video?”
She hesitated. “Did you see it?”
“No, I didn’t see it. If I had, I wouldn’t be asking you about it, now would I?”
“It’s . . .” He heard her take a deep breath, and could visualize the look of exasperation on her face. “I’m so sorry, Poppy. I didn’t mean for it to get out . . . it’s . . .”
“Maddie . . .”
He heard her sigh. “Remember last month, when I came to stay with you for a week?”
Of course he remembered.
“Of course I remember.”
“I had that project to do for school?”
Is that the video Vera was talking about? He had no idea what her school project was about. All she’d told him was that she had to make some artsy video for a photography class. She took a few pictures of him doing mostly nothing: walking around, listening to records, reading the paper . . . a waste of time.
“I don’t know how it happened,” she went on. “I emailed the video to a friend, someone from class, and somehow . . . I don’t know, it just . . . went viral.”
He was about to ask what the hell she was talking about, but she continued, “The video went online. My friend—who’s an idiot—put it on YouTube.”
“What’s this video about?”
And what the hell is YouTube? he thought, although he had a pretty good idea.
“Listen, are you home?” She then remembered that, of course, he was home. She was talking to him on his landline. “I mean, are you going to be home? For a while?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ll be right over.” She sighed again. “I’ll bring my laptop.”
An hour later Maddie was at the door. She walked in after knocking, which was a nice change of pace from having to get up from the couch.
He took one look at her, and if he was angry—although he still wasn’t sure if he should be—the look on her face made his heart melt.
My little Maddie.
Then he reminded himself, She’s not so little.
She leaned over his chair to hug him, and then sat down.
“Poppy, I’m so sorry. I never would have emailed it to my friend if I knew he was going to put it online.”
“So, everyone can see this?”
“Umm . . . yes. It’s getting a lot of hits.”
Charlie didn’t care what hits meant. “Play it, Maddie.”
She opened her laptop, spent a minute typing something on the keyboard, and then put the computer on his lap.
A swirling circle came on the screen, and then it started.
First, a song played in the background that he didn’t recognize. Then, instantly, the screen filled up with images. Old images. An old movie.
“Maddie, what’s—”
“Just watch.”
It was an old home video. The images were grainy, but he could clearly see that it was Christmas, and his granddaughter, Maddie, was maybe six years old. She was in her pajamas, tearing into wrapping paper with childish abandon. The look on her face was pure joy; a magical joy that only children on Christmas morning get to experience, and only the parents and grandparents of those children get to cherish.
He remembered the video, of course, because he filmed it himself, although he hadn’t seen it in years.
Then the screen panned up, and he saw her.
Alice . . .
His wife.
He didn’t speak, but choked back a lump in his throat.
How did Maddie get ahold of this? She must have gone through the closet in his room. Which meant . . . she’d seen his collection . . . she’d seen the boxes of clothing, and all of Alice’s belongings that he couldn’t part with: her perfume, her dresses, her shoes—everything.
Charlie felt Maddie’s uncomfortable presence on the couch next to him.
It’s not like they never spoke about her, Maddie’s grandmother. He wasn’t the type to completely shut down, and not let the girl grieve. But those things in the closet, those reminders of Alice . . . they were his . . . and they were private.
The video changed. It was a few years later. The three of them were out for a walk. He was again shooting the video, but for a moment he swung the camera around, and all three of them—Maddie, with her baby teeth falling out, and gaps in her mouth—were all smiling at the camera and waving.
The videos went on, only a few minutes, going from clip to clip. There was a video of him chopping wood in the backyard, taking a break to stop and wave at the camera when he realized he was being filmed; another of him and Alice standing outside, older now, watching Maddie and her boyfriend—whoever he was—posing in their prom night outfits. Maddie’s parents must have filmed that one.
Then there was a pause in the recording. A blank period. Charlie knew why. It was around that time that Alice passed away.
Then the screen came back to life.
It was a video of him, walking down the street alone, older now. Much older. He didn’t know he was being filmed. And then there were more clips, mostly taken when he hadn’t noticed. One was on a rainy day, and he was looking out the blinds with a longing expression on his face; looking for . . .
Vera . . . oh Christ, she’s seen this . . .
The next clip was shot from far away, with him at the fence talking to Vera. They were laughing, smiling, and drinking wine.
This went on for some time. Various clips, going from one to another with a melodious soundtrack in the background. Then the screen went black and it finished.
They were silent.
“Poppy?”
Charlie thought about choosing his words carefully, but none came at all.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m so sorry. It was just . . . a stupid school assignment.”
“Why did you make it the way that you did?”
“It was for the class. We had to make a personal video, involving growth and change.”
“But why include me?”
“Because the video is about you. It’s supposed to show the constant flow of life, and how it’s always changing, for better or worse. That was the assignment. I feel so stupid now . . . it’s not even good.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand. B
ut I never said it wasn’t good. It is good; you did a good job. It’s . . . artsy.”
“It’s a happy video, if you look at it that way. It ends with you and Vera from next door.”
“Why include Vera?”
“Because you like her, Poppy. I know—”
“That’s nonsense! You have no right, no right . . .”
She’s seen the video. Vera’s seen me peering out the blinds.
“Maddie,” his voice calmed. “I’m not mad, but . . . I need some time.”
“Poppy,” she hugged him. “It’s okay to like her, you know. No one is going to be mad at you.”
“Maddie, you and I are not going to have this conversation. I’m tired now, please.”
“Okay, Poppy. Okay.”
She packed away her computer, and kissed her grandfather on the cheek.
“I’ll call you later, okay? I’m sorry.”
“Okay, sweetie. I’m not mad at you.”
At the door she stopped, and turned. “She likes you too, you know. It’s not like she does any actual gardening when she’s out there.”
“What?”
“Vera, Poppy. She likes you.”
Then Maddie left.
The next day Charlie put his pants on, buttoned his shirt, and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders. He put on his shoes, grabbed his cane, and walked to the door for his morning walk. His hand paused on the handle.
No. Not today.
He didn’t feel like going for a walk.
Charlie played some records, and tried to read a book. But he couldn’t concentrate. He felt exposed, found out. Everyone knew his emotions, his personal life; and for a man who prided himself on being a loner, having his private life out in the open for everyone to see wasn’t something he found comforting.
At two thirty he was drawn to the blinds. He couldn’t help it. Vera was out there, her hands in the dirt. He watched her for a long time. After a while she looked up at his porch. She looked at his door, as he
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