I wake up every morning at 5:30 without even looking at the clock. My old bones won’t let me sleep longer, and I’ve been an early riser since my youth. My room in the annex, my son’s former garage, is always filled with the pre-dawn mist through the small window that I leave ajar, despite the draft.
I am 67, although on some days I feel like I am 80, especially when I hear Parker and Odalia whispering in the kitchen, thinking I can’t hear. «My father is becoming more and more absent-minded. Yesterday I noticed that he forgot to turn off the stove.» They talk about me as if I already have one foot in the grave.
After getting out of bed, I do some simple exercises for my back, which has been bothering me since I worked as an accountant for Hillman Construction for 42 years. 42 years at a desk, with a calculator and papers. Some might find it boring, but I always found satisfaction in numbers.
They don’t lie, unlike people. After my warm-up, I quietly make myself some tea. The electric kettle makes noise, but not loud enough to wake my son and his wife.
They get up at 7:00, when their daughter Bridget gets ready for school. Bridget is my only granddaughter, a 16-year-old girl with eyes so similar to those of my late wife, Miriam. Miriam. It’s been four years since she left us.
Pancreatic cancer: late diagnosis, quick and merciless death. After she left, our big house in the suburbs of Lexington became as empty as a discarded seashell. I wandered around the rooms for two months before Parker suggested I move in with them.
«Sell the house, Dad,» he said then, putting his hand on my shoulder. «We’ll expand the addition and give you a separate entrance. You’ll be better off with your family.»
At the time, his words sounded sincere. His wife, Odelia, even hugged me and whispered, «We’ll take care of you, Cedric.» I almost believed her.
The house where Miriam and I had lived for 35 years sold for a good price. I kept a portion for myself and used most of it, almost two-thirds, for the down payment on their new house in a prestigious neighborhood. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
My son, my daughter-in-law, my granddaughter—they deserved a good start. Parker had a good but not highly paid job as a building inspector, and Odelia was just starting to climb the career ladder as a logistics coordinator. «Don’t worry about the paperwork, Dad,» Parker said when I asked if we should do something about my share of the house.
«We’re family. This house will be your home for the rest of your life.» I nod to my thoughts, sipping my tea and looking out the window at Lexington waking up.
I’ve always been naive, according to Miriam, too trusting for this world. The clock reads 6:45. I put away my cup, put on a sweater, and go out to the garden to check on the plants before the family wakes up. The small vegetable garden is my outlet.
I grow tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes, and greens. Bridget says my tomatoes are the best in the world. At 7:10, I hear a noise coming from the house.
Parker has turned on the coffee maker, Odelia is making breakfast, and Bridget is taking a shower. I deliberately linger in the garden, giving them time for a family breakfast. A month ago, Odelia remarked that I was hovering over them in the mornings.
«Grandpa!» Bridget’s clear voice cuts through the morning air, and I can’t help but smile. She runs out into the garden, already dressed in her school uniform, her red hair casually tied back in a ponytail. «I did my math homework. Do you want to check it?»
«Of course, dear,» I reply, wiping the dirt off my hands on my old jeans. We sit down on a bench, and I look over her equations. Bridget has inherited my love of numbers, although Parker has always been more of a humanities person.
«There’s a mistake here,» I point to the third equation. «Look closer.» She frowns, then her face lights up with understanding.
«Right, I put the wrong sign. Thanks, Grandpa.» She hugs me, and for a moment, the world feels right.
Then Odelia’s voice calls from the house. «Bridget! The car will be here soon.» My granddaughter sighs and rolls her eyes.
«Bye, Grandpa.» She quickly kisses me on the cheek and runs off. I get up from the bench, feeling a sharp pain in my knee.
Old age doesn’t come alone, as Miriam used to say. Entering the house through the back door, I find Parker finishing his coffee. He glances at me briefly.
«Good morning, Dad,» he says without much enthusiasm. «Odelia left you some oatmeal.» I nod, noticing the bowl on the table.
Cold oatmeal. Two years ago, Odelia made me omelets and joked that I was as picky about food as her father. Now it’s cold oatmeal.
