Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
I smile and refill our cups before getting comfortable, aware that we’re only at the beginning. “She asked if I was okay as she fanned her face, and in reply I blurted out an invitation to come dancing with me. An apology, I guess. She looked a little shaken. But she accepted, and I made sure I was scrubbed up well when I picked her up that night.” Pops looks at me on a smile. “Could have given Fred Astaire a run for his money, I could.” He chuckles and then sighs. “And Milly was most certainly my Ginger.”
I rest my elbow on the arm of the chair, my chin on my palm, drinking my way through my mug of whiskey.
“I didn’t know what it was like to fall in love,” Pops continues. “I was walking on clouds. Thought about her all the time. Couldn’t wait to see her each week. And then your grandmother, God rest her sweet soul, tracked me down at work and delivered the blow of all blows.”
“Dad will be delighted to hear you say that,” I quip, not for the first time.
Pops smiles. “It wasn’t the news of your father’s impending arrival that was the blow, Grandboy. It was the realization that I was about to lose the love of my life.” He necks the rest of his drink and holds his glass out for me to refill, like he’s actually drowning in his sorrows. Which, I guess, he is. “I didn’t sleep for a week. Didn’t go to work, and I avoided my Milly, because I knew the next time I saw her would be the last time, and I never wanted that time to come.”
I’ve heard this story a thousand times, asked a thousand questions, but I’ve never asked this. “Did Grandma know about Milly?”
Pops nods thoughtfully. “She knew, but never once murmured a word about her. Back then, you just didn’t. The day I met Milly to tell her I couldn’t see her anymore was the worst day of my life.” His palm meets his chest and rubs, an expression of hurt traveling over his old face. “A massive part of me died that day as I watched her walk away from me. I never saw her again.” His old lips straighten. “Your grandmother and I had a shotgun wedding, your father arrived, and that was that. Don’t get me wrong, I loved your grandma. Really, I did. She was a good woman and the mother of my boy. But not a day went by that I didn’t think about Milly.” He squares me with a deadly serious look, leaning forward in his chair. “What did I tell you when you went and got Janet up the duff?”
“You told me not to marry her.”
“Why?”
“Because you knew she wasn’t the love of my life,” I answer.
“Correct.” He nods to himself, happy. “Now, tell me what my great granddaughter has been up to.” He changes the subject, just like that, leaving me bemused. There’s usually a point to him telling me his favorite story. What was his point today? Casting my question aside before I set him off on a tangent—resulting in an encore of his tale—I fill him in on Tia’s world travels and where she is right now. As always, he listens with constant gasps of shock, amazed by the concept of world travels. Before long, we’ve finished the bottle of whiskey, Pops is dosing off, and I’m not far behind him. I can’t help but think about how much flack Lo would give me for getting steaming drunk on whiskey with my old granddad, listening to stories, dosing off with him. She’d rib me something rotten. Call me an old man. Buy me a pipe and slippers.
I sigh. “Come on.” I struggle to push myself up, stumbling a few times. “Let’s get you in bed, you drunken old fool.” Getting him out of his chair, I expect we look like a comedy duo as I drunkenly try to get his limp body to the bed. It takes a while, and a few too many staggers, but I get him there eventually, and I get him there with no broken bones. It’s an achievement, considering the state of us both. Tucking him in, I drop a kiss on his forehead, seeing double as I lower my face. “Night, old boy.”
“Night, Grandboy,” he murmurs, clumsily patting at my cheek. “And remember, when she comes along, don’t you dare let her go.”
I huff a puff of laughter. “I won’t,” I assure him, even though I somehow doubt I’ll ever find her in the first place.
Chapter Thirteen
The sounds of an irritating, familiar whirring brings me round, and I squint my eyes open to the harsh morning light. In my half-conscious state, I roll onto my side.