***
Once, I tried to peek in.
But when Grandpa heard the locked door’s handle move, he shouted through the door, “Go to bed, kiddo!”
I heard a faint mechanical clicking that I couldn’t place.
A steady rhythm, over and over, deep into the night.
I lay awake, guilt curling in my stomach, sure he’d picked up a third job because of me.
Once, I tried to peek in.
***
The weeks after that hug felt strange.
Grandpa smelled different, not just of the usual motor oil, but of something sharper underneath, like fresh fabric and machine grease I didn’t recognize.
Some nights, I’d notice loose threads clinging to his sleeves, a stray bit of blue caught on his cuff. He’d pick them off without a word and drop them in the trash before he shuffled off to bed.
I couldn’t figure out what he was up to.
Grandpa smelled different.
***
One night, I asked him straight out.
I caught him at the door with a glass of water in my hand before he could disappear down the hall.
Grandpa shifted his jacket over his arm as if he were hiding something underneath.
“Sweetheart, go on to bed. I’ll be up in a bit.”
“Grandpa, you’re gonna wear yourself out. Please just stop, whatever you’re doing.”
I asked him straight out.
He just smiled that tired smile of his.
“Go on, Tina. I’ve got this. The boss is letting me stay late at the shop to get some extra work done. Nothing to worry about.”
I convinced myself he was maybe cleaning offices or doing something in a warehouse.
The guilt started eating me alive.
I repeatedly told him a thrift-store dress was fine, and I meant it.
But he continued working himself to exhaustion for me.
I convinced myself he was maybe cleaning offices.
***
About a month in, Grandpa called me into the living room, which had remained locked after his shift. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were shining.
“Come here, kiddo. I’ve got something for you.”
He opened the closet and pulled out a hanger wrapped in a white sheet. Then he uncovered it.
My jaw nearly hit the floor!
“I’ve got something for you.”
It was a soft blue dress with delicate stitching along the bodice, tiny beads catching the lamplight! It looked like something out of a magazine!
“Try it on. Go on.”
I slipped into the bathroom and pulled it over my shoulders. It fit as though he’d measured every inch of me in my sleep!
I came back out and couldn’t stop staring at myself in the hallway mirror.
It looked like something out of a magazine!
“Grandpa, did you make this for me yourself?”
He nodded, grinning like a kid.
“Borrowed the old industrial machine at the shop. Stayed late every night after work, stitch by stitch.”
“You taught yourself? In a month?”
“It wasn’t easy. Poked my fingers about a hundred times!”
I threw my arms around him and cried into his shirt.
“Did you make this for me yourself?”
“I don’t deserve this.”
“Yes, you do, sweetheart. You’ve always deserved this and so much more.”
***
Five days later, my grandpa was gone.
He had a heart attack in his sleep. Aunt Carol found him when he didn’t answer her morning call. I didn’t get to say goodbye.
I couldn’t eat or sleep.
I skipped school for almost a week and just sat on the couch in one of his old flannel shirts.
My grandpa was gone.
