by Denise Daye
“W-what! What’s wrong with him?”
“Blood cancer. He had a bad fall almost a week ago and was taken to the hospital. It wasn't until-"
“Almost a week! How come I am only just hearing this now?”
His mother's voice took on a sharp tone. “I think you should ask yourself that. I wasn't even sure I'd get through to you today. It took almost three tries for you to answer!”
“That doesn't matter. I'm coming home right away.”
“Rent a private jet. Your grandfather's been asking about you, he needs you. Now is not the time to slack off. You have to be on your best behavior.”
He didn’t even get a chance to respond, as his mom had already hung up the phone.
His eyes rested on the naked lady on his bed. Five minutes ago, he'd have smiled and jumped right back in bed with her. Now this woman just seemed like evidence of his bad behavior.
“Hey baby,” she grinned as she slid off the bed, walking over to him. Her breasts bounced as she walked, her hips swaying gracefully. He could smell her fruity perfume as she stood in front of him, her soft fingers trailing across his steel-hard chest. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, and she had a smile on her face.
“We had a great time last night, didn't we?”
“Sure did,” he said flatly.
The lady frowned. “Something wrong, sweetie?”
“No, no… Look, I'll have to go now. I need to take a shower and uh, leave in an hour.”
“Oh, well in that case,” she smiled. Her hand went for his phone and she quickly typed in her number.
“Britney,” she said, as if she knew that he had forgotten her name. (Which he had.) She gave him the phone back. “Call me,” she whispered in his ear.
He remained silent. The only person he ever lied to was his mother—a despicable habit that she almost forced everybody into; it was usually the only way to cope with her. Britney seemed to have noticed and tried to give it another chance.
“About that shower,” she whispered and pressed her body against his, “let's have one together.”
"No," he muttered and gently pushed her off.
"Excuse me?"
"Listen, em… emmm…”
“Britney!”
“Britney. Sorry,” he said with an apologetic grimace. “What I told you last night was the truth. I am not looking for anything serious. I am sure there is a nice guy out there for you, but I am definitely not it. I think I should get going…”
“Yeah, good idea! Get out of here you piece of shit,” she barked at him, her face contorted, her nostrils flaring. He rose and brushed past her to the side of the bed, picking through the stuff he'd lined on the bedside drawer—his gold watch, Italian leather wallet, and custom-tailored clothes.
For a moment that hollow emptiness in his chest rooted him to the ground once more. Sure, he was a shallow party animal, and he liked expensive things, but he was no sociopath. He truly loved this man. Especially after losing his father so early. His grandpa was pretty much all he had, if you didn’t count his crazy mom, and he preferred not to.
Your grandfather is dying.
“Screw the shower,” he mumbled as he bolted to the door while getting dressed at the same time. There was no more time to waste, not even ten minutes.
Through the five-hour flight on his private jet, Benjamin was tormented with anxious thoughts.
He’d never gotten the chance to properly say goodbye to his father, and he’d been a child back then. He was a man now, and the only other male figure he knew was about to leave him too. Deep down he was afraid of nothing more than being abandoned again; his worst nightmare was becoming true once again.
The black Mercedes hummed up the estate’s driveway, the tires crunching against the white and blue gravel underneath it.
Benjamin stared at the raindrops sliding down the tinted glass windows. I hate the rain. The car stopped a few feet before the main entrance, next to an ornate water fountain. A man dressed in a well-fitted suit, soaked by the rain, held opened the car door and held up an umbrella for Benjamin.
Walking quickly, partly to escape the cold drops blowing in from the side, but mostly to finally see his grandfather, Ben rushed up the stairs and into the entrance hall. His mother was already there to welcome him.
“How was your flight?” she asked, holding her arms open for an embrace.
“Good. Where’s grandpa?”
“He’s resting, but he requested to see you as soon as you got in.”
He narrowed his eyes and glanced at his mother. “He doesn’t know that I was in...”
“No, he doesn’t; I doubt he cares.” She was wrong and he knew it. “But you might still want to change into fresh clothes. You know… because of the rain.”
He nodded, a feeling of shame coming over him. Turning in on the spot, he rushed up to his room to get changed into something more respectable.
Ben had already changed into a nice Sunday polo shirt and khaki pants when he felt disheartened and sat down on his bed.
“You’ve not been a great grandson,” he muttered to himself. Why did things always have to be so gloomy and scary at the end of the line. He’d always seen his grandfather as a strong-willed person who was nothing short of invincible, but now he was actually dying.
Turning to face the mirror fixed on the side of master bathroom door, he took a good look at himself. His usually immaculate brown hair looked sticky and wet, his beautiful brown eyes looked dull. He still looked like he had partied all night in Vegas, despite the fresh set of clothes.
I should have spent more time with him.
He stared at his reflection a bit longer as if it were a stranger he was looking at, a person he had never met, or didn’t want to know.
Grabbing a towel, he dried his wet hair, tossed the towel without looking and then patted down his shirt. It was wrinkly and he knew his grandfather hated that. He always said, “If you want to dress like a gentleman, do so. If you want to look like some street bum, do so. Just don’t mix them together.”
“Sorry, grandfather,” he whispered to himself as he left the room. Sorry for looking like this, sorry for not being there when you needed me the most, and most of all, sorry for the man I now am.
B
enjamin stood outside his grandfather’s room for a few seconds. He checked himself one last time and then gave the door a soft tap before he stepped in. Old memories of sneaking into his grandpa’s room as a kid instantly hit him; his world, as he’d always called it. The room always had a certain distinct smell, even now; old books, whiskey, the faint aroma of cigars.
Back then, he’d run around the big house all on his own, playing hide and seek with the workers; of course the staff never came to find him. There were many fascinating places in the enormous mansion, but his grandpa’s room had always been the main point of attraction—a cave of wonders.
The door clicked shut as he stepped in and he stood for a few more seconds. He’d expected to start hearing sad music in his head as he dramatically approached his dying, bed-ridden grandfather who’d probably have some last words of advice for him, but that wasn’t the case. The old man was sitting at his desk, his black glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scribbled away and mumbled something to himself.
He’s delusional and talking to himself, Benjamin thought as he approached him, but then he saw the phone placed on the desk, right next to the journal his grandfather was steadily writing in.
“We'll have to talk about that tomorrow,” his grandfather said and for a moment Ben thought he was the recipient of that message, until he heard the deep voice cackle over the speakerphone: "That's fine, Elijah. Goodnight."
“It’s about time you showed up, Benjamin,” Elijah scolded him without looking up, like some all-knowing wise man.
“Was that Walter?”
That voice was hard to miss, his grandfather's lawyer. That made the gears in his head turn as
he wondered why his grandfather had been on the phone with his old-time lawyer. There was no time to finish deciphering the mystery, however, because his grandfather had turned to face him now, his tired eyes fixed straight ahead on his grandson. For the first time, Ben could now see how pale and sickly he was. How did I not notice the wheelchair?
“Grandpa,” he said taking his cold but strong hand. They never hugged. Nobody in this family ever did, except for his mother who had that fake way of embracing people for hellos and good-byes.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better, Benjamin. Just a little pain here and there, but the medications they put me on are working rather well. And of course, there is the fact that I only have a few more weeks to live.”
He dropped that like a bomb; a bomb that made Ben’s eyes feel hot and teary. But given how calm and composed his grandfather sounded, who was Benjamin to cry in front of him like a boy? Benjamin stiffened, got himself together.
“I’m sure there is something we can do. Fly in the best experts in the field. Experimental drugs. Voodoo magic. You name it, we’ll try it.”
His grandfather flinched, for the first time and he looked sad. He lovingly shook his head.
“I'm sick, my boy. Cancer, stage four they said. There is really nothing left to do,” he scoffed, and the wheelchair whirled as he circled back and moved over to his large window. “Well, something's got to kill a man, right?”
This was unreal. He was really dying.
Picking up a hardcover book from the floor that had fallen off the desk, Ben walked up to his grandfather.
“Ah,” his grandfather muttered with a smile, “for a moment there I thought you'd magically developed a fondness for books." He held out his hand and Benjamin dropped the book in it. Stroking the hardback and staring at it fondly, his grandfather sighed and said, “Your father always loved books, you know? He'd spend hours in this very room picking through my library.”
Benjamin nodded. He always was lost for words when he was around the great Elijah Radcliff, but he felt like he should say something. So, he did.
“Really?” It was weak, but it was something.
“You were just like him in some ways, too.” His grandfather sounded so enthusiastic; Benjamin braced himself for this journey down memory lane. He didn't have a lot of memories of his father, so it felt good to hear about how him.
“You reminded me of him so much when you were little, but then it all got lost somehow,” he mumbled out loud as if he was unaware that thought had slipped his lips. Ben tugged at his collar of his shirt but seeing his grandpa’s frown stopped and stood like a proper gentleman.
“Let’s go for a walk,” his grandfather said, almost absentmindedly.
Benjamin glanced down at the wheelchair and his grandfather laughed.
“I’m not exactly paralyzed.”
As if to prove it, the old man wobbled to his feet; Benjamin quickly handed him his fancy cane and got a nod of approval from his grandfather.
“Hand us each a cigar from that box, will you?” He winced. Should he smoke? That is certainly not good for his health right now. His grandfather noticed his hesitation.
“I hope you aren’t starting with acting all responsible now that I’m about to die.”
Benjamin smiled faintly and fetched the cigars.
“Are you sure the doctor is okay with you smoking these?”
His grandfather was right beside him.
“No, he is not. But what is the cigar going to do? Kill me?” He laughed for a few seconds and then coughed.
Benjamin stared at his grandfather in deep admiration. He truly was an amazing man.
“Grandpa,” he said after they’d left the library and slowly made their way down the hallway to the gardens. His grandfather looked at him.
"I’m not only acting responsible because you’re going to die. It will hurt me, you know."
A smile lit up the old man’s face, but he didn’t say anything in return.
They stepped out into the cloudy day. It had stopped raining, but the air was still filled with the smell of the earlier storm. Both of their eyes strayed to the white marble sculptures at the entrance of the garden. His eyes landed on his favorite, a young woman holding a baby. As if passing beyond some portal of silence, his grandfather asked in a low and steady voice:
"Did I ever tell you the story behind that sculpture?"
They walked toward it. His grandfather had told him about that sculpture so many times and every single time Ben let him tell the story again as if he had never heard it before.
"I'd like to hear it again."
His grandfather nodded, smiling wryly.
"Would have told you anyway."
They both chuckled.
"Your grandmother," he narrated, now tenderly rubbing the surface of the sculpture, his eyes dull and sad, "she always had a thing for art. At first, I didn’t understand her love for it. My mind works in numbers, not colors and music. So, when I first saw this sculpture in the garden for the first time, I frowned. I mean, it is pretty and all, but I saw nothing more than that. A pretty piece of rock. Your grandmother wouldn’t have it. The next day, she demanded I go with her to meet the artist. I thought her mad, but I loved her dearly, so I did it anyways. We drove several hours into the countryside, some small town in Pennsylvania that was struggling with poverty. Grandam told the driver to stop right in front of the artist’s house but she did not get out of the car. ‘Watch’ was all she said. I turned to observe the artist in his garden hammering away on another sculpture. But I didn’t see what she wanted me to see. I was about to confess that I just don’t understand art the way she does, when right there and then, an immaculate copy of the sculpture strode out of the small house holding a baby. And before I could even say a word, eight children dressed in rags came running after her. It was one of the most amazing moments of my life. Your grandmother said only one thing to me before she told the diver to return home. And do you know what that was?”
Ben grinned wide, “I love the people behind the art, not the art itself?”
His grandfather crossed his arms.
“Are you telling the story or I?”
They both laughed.
“I would have fallen for your grandmother all over again if she wasn’t already the love of my life.”
Ben frowned. Love. He had heard about the deep love and bond between his grandparents countless times, but what did he know about love? He stared up at those eyes of the sculpture; sad, beautiful and full of love. Would he ever find love or die alone?
Walking away from the sculpture and in the back of the garden, his grandfather looked up and cleared his throat. “Do you know what scares me more than death itself?"
"No, sir."
"When you've come as far as I have, dying won't exactly hurt you as much as you think. I've lived a full life. I've made mistakes and learnt from them; built an empire. But…" His eyes met Benjamin’s.
"But what, Grandpa?"
The old man blinked and wrinkled his forehead. They walked past the garage where a number of exquisite cars were parked; Rolls Royces, Mercedes, and more.
Benjamin quickly noticed how his grandfather's eyes settled on the brand-new Lamborghini... his yellow Lamborghini. Ben felt restless, a bit uncomfortable. At least until they walked on, following the marble-tiled ground leading them to the grand backyard.
"I'm scared for you, Benjamin," his grandfather finally said.
"What? Why?” Ben’s brows shot up high. “I work hard, and the company is already profiting highly under me.”
"I’m not saying you are not doing well with the business,” he sighed. “You have a kind heart, just like your father, but I am worried about you… your happiness. I just want you to be happy. Truly happy.”
“But I am happy. I have everything money can buy.”
His grandfather smiled with sad eyes before shaking his head.
&n
bsp; “Of course…”
Walking to the back of the rose garden, staring at the fence in the distance and the lush green surrounding area, they both sat down on a small stone bench. The air was now cool and calm.
"It's a beautiful night, grandpa. Don't you think?" Benjamin mused.
His grandfather chuckled. "Don't get all poetic with me. But yes, it is beautiful."
Just then, while they sat and enjoyed the atmosphere, someone approached from the side. Benjamin was staring at the roses, wondering how he had never noticed them before, when he heard her voice; soft, smooth, and beautiful. It drew his attention instantly.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Radcliff?" Ava asked. His grandfather beamed.
“Never better, my dear. I'm a fighter.”
Without all those leaves sticking out of her wild hair she was actually quite beautiful, Ben thought to himself. He'd known Ava ever since he was a kid, although using the word “know” would be a bit of a stretch. For years they had barely talked; they never really got along. Even as kids they were always fighting.
"Hello, Benjamin," she greeted him causally, her tone more like that of a bank teller. He pursed his lips and grunted a response.
“I just wanted to check in on you before I go and get Dad."
“That's too kind of you, Ava.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“No, dear. Go home and rest, I know you work hard at the shelter.”
Ava nodded. “Ok, but let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”
“I will. Say hello to your dad for me, will you?"
She straightened and smiled. "I sure will."
Benjamin looked at her for a second and their eyes met. He noticed, as if for the first time, how deep and green her eyes were. He looked away, focusing back on the roses.
Ava left and he turned around, catching one last glance of her as she walked away. Slender and tall, she had a distinctive grace and swiftness to her pace which was odd, but not strange.
As he turned again, his eyes fell on his grandfather who regarded her closely and stroked his chin at the same time.