Grandfather's Journal

Grandfather died on Tuesday. I’ve been told by those who knew him before I came along he was a dangerous man. He was in over his head, they said. He owed money. He was a drunk, addicted to whiskey and the way it made his head buzz and his throat burn.

But the kind and gentle grandfather I knew took me in and raised me in his modest (privileged folk may have called it tiny) middle-of-nowhere cottage. To me, he was the type of person who never deserved to die. That whisky never touched his lips when I was around. He was a simple man, the only money to his name was what little cash he carried on him. My mother was fifteen when she gave birth to me, and gave me up quicker than I could take my first breath. My dad was never in the picture. Why couldn’t it have been them dead instead?

The cottage window was open, letting the fresh cool breeze of spring come in and gently sweep my long chestnut hair away from my face. I had tea on the stove, still warm in the kettle. I got ready to pour myself another cup as I put my best earrings in before the funeral.

Grandfather left behind a brother, Earl. He was a quiet and humble person. I spent my first twelve summers with him. He and Grandfather were alike, both of them always wearing steel toed boots and a ball cap. They were so skeptical of the world; you would never catch either of them without a gun inside a holster on their belts. I hadn’t seen Earl in nine years. Grandfather told me I needed to spend my summers studying once I turned thirteen.

Earl requested we have a formal funeral, and even though I knew Grandfather would have hated it, I agreed. No need to make enemies with the only family I have left.

Grandfather left me with everything he owned, which wasn’t a lot, but I was grateful to at least have the cottage. Being 21 with no further education than a high school degree, I worked only part time at a local bookstore in my small town. That certainly wasn’t enough income to start over.

I threw back my ceramic mug full of tea getting the last few drops as I slung my cloth satchel over my shoulder, hitting Grandfather’s old vase in the process. It hit the floor with a crash, shards of glass everywhere. Deciding I would clean it up later, I started towards the front door when I tripped, but caught myself before landing on the dusty cottage floor. Confused, I looked back to see a loose floorboard. ‘Of course,’ I thought to myself, ‘What else could go wrong?’ I walked out the front door with haste, now running late for the funeral. I slammed the door, shaking the whole cottage.

At the funeral, Earl spoke of beautiful memories he and Grandfather shared in their younger days. I passed the time remembering the moments in my youth Grandfather would sing me to sleep with his husky voice, occasionally forgetting the words or falling a little off key, or the times I would fall while playing outside and he would put a bandaid on me with his big, shaky hands. This, I was sure, was the way Grandfather would rather have me honor his memory.

When I returned home, I was greeted by the glass shards I had forgotten about. I cursed out loud to myself. As I contemplated leaving it another day, I remembered Grandfather’s deep voice saying to me “Allie, take good care of what is yours.” I put some tea on the stove and lit my favorite beeswax candle. I walked back into the entryway with the broom in hand and spotted the loose floorboard. I set the broom against the staircase and played around with the floorboard to see if it would be an easy fix. As I pushed and pulled on the old piece of wood, I determined it was going to have to be replaced. I made a mental note to call someone to fix it tomorrow. I tidied up the broken vase and curled up with my tea, my current book, and tried to forget that I was now on my own in this cruel world.

At 10:02 the next morning, I awoke to the sound of heavy rain on the roof. I grabbed the landline, Grandfather didn’t approve of cell phones, and dialed the town repairman’s number. I had it memorized by now. This old cottage had been falling apart since the day it was so poorly built. The repairman said he’d be over by noon, which gave me plenty of time to tidy up and prepare a small breakfast.

I was reading the last of my book when I heard the repairman finishing up the floorboard replacement. He mentioned he would be back again soon, hinting that the rest of the floorboards will give way at any time. I laughed at his well-intentioned joke, welcoming any sort of humor these days. As I was scrounging up some cash for him, I spotted a worn, leather, black notebook I had never seen before.

“What is that?” I asked as I handed him what little money I had from working at the bookstore that week.

“I found that taped to the underside of the rotten floorboard. I was going to mention it, but you beat me to it. A lot of people hide their important belongings in odd places. I’ve seen it all. I figured it was yours.” He said. I gave him a courtesy smile and nodded, playing along to get him out the door faster so I could investigate the mysterious notebook. I walked him outside and thanked him. I hurried back inside to get my hands on the notebook. Grandfather was a man of few words and many secrets, that much I knew. But taping a notebook to the underside of a floorboard and never mentioning it… had he lost his mind? With shaky hands I opened the beautiful leather book. I steadied my breathing and started by reading the first entry.

'Dearest Allie,

That old floorboard finally gave out on us, didn’t it? By the time you are reading this, I will no longer be there. I am experiencing the great beyond, wherever that may be. I started this journal when you were 13 years old… you will find all of my financial savings in the brown chest in the attic by the window. There should be $20,000 total. Please use it wisely.

I decided to write to you for a time when I would no longer be there to help you through life’s ups and downs. In each new entry, you will find my best advice. I was never terribly good at marriage, financial planning, or keeping up with the modern world. I was a bad man before I knew you. But Allie, I hope you know I tried my best to give you a normal life. I love you, darling. One last thing before I go for now, PLEASE read through this journal in its entirety.

- Grandfather'

I cried as I read the crooked handwriting I had seen so many times before on my birthday cards, never cherishing it as much as I did now. I was so lost in the numerous journal entries and Grandfather’s thoughtfulness that I forgot about the incredible amount of money that was left for me. I brought the journal to the attic, finally breaking away for a bit as I set it down on the rotting floor to check in the brown chest. Sure enough, all the money was there. I picked up the journal to read the final entry when the landline rang.

“Hello?” I said, confused. No one ever calls our phone. We kept our distance from most people in this town.

“Allie? This is Earl. I know it is getting late in the afternoon, but would you like to meet for coffee? I would love to chat with you about what you’ve been up to since I’ve last seen you. You’ve grown so much. You left the funeral so quickly I had no time to ask you then.”

I was tired, but feeling nostalgic and rather emotionally vulnerable after reading the journal entries, I decided to say yes.

“Sure, Earl. How about the coffee shop in town in thirty minutes?” He agreed. I hung up the phone and grabbed my satchel. I stuffed the black notebook into my bag and was thankful to see the rain had stopped. I hopped on my bike and headed towards town.

I arrived to see Earl waiting for me at a table. He was wearing his steel toed boots, ball cap, and of course, had the gun on his hip. I chuckled as I was reminded of Grandfather and the similarities between him and his brother. I missed Grandfather so.

Earl got up to greet me, hobbling towards me with his cane, and gave me a warm hug just as he used to do when I would visit for the summer. I felt myself relax. Hugging him was relief, reminding me of my carefree childhood years.

Earl and I talked for hours as we exchanged memories and laughs. After many pots of coffee, we decided it was time to say goodbye. We embraced once more, and I took in his usual scent: coffee, cheap cologne, and cigarette smoke. I smiled, feeling safe. Nothing had changed since I had last seen him. It was a wonderful feeling, reconnecting with the only real family I had remaining.

As I turned my back to Earl and started walking towards my bike, I pulled out the black notebook, remembering I hadn’t yet read the final entry. I opened it up, removing the fraying silk bookmark.

'Allie,

Please stay away from Earl. He is dangerous.

- Grandfather'

I felt my heart catch in my throat. I turned to find Earl staring at me, a sick smirk on his face.

“Earl? What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Allie, did you know your grandfather owed me a lot of money?” With each word, he took a step closer to me. I could smell the coffee and cigarette smoke on his breath.

“What do you mean?” I said as I backed up, stumbling over my own two feet, trying to keep my distance. My fingers clasped tight on the black notebook. I wanted Grandfather here, my protector.

“We had a falling out when you were twelve. I told him I wasn’t going to let him get away without paying me back what he owed me and he didn’t like that. He said, ‘Earl, can’t we let bygones be bygones?’ I laughed. He spent all the money I loaned him on alcohol Allie. Your grandfather was nothing but a drunk. A sad excuse for a human being. Racked up so much debt he couldn’t keep up with it.”

I felt tears welling in my eyes. How could he say such awful things about Grandfather? His own family.

“Earl, please. I’m sorry he owed you so much money… but I don’t have any to give you.” I said, turning my back to him, not giving him a chance to respond. Inside of my own head, I justified my lie as I remembered I left all the cash at home. I really didn’t have anything to give him.

All I had to do was get home safely. Then I could start a plan to escape town. Earl couldn’t know where I lived anymore. $20,000 could keep me afloat for a while. Yes. I was going to be okay. I hurried towards my bike.

I turned to check I wasn’t being followed. Instead, I saw Earl standing with his gun not in his holster, but instead in his hand, pointed at me.