Thursday morning arrived.
I knew it was coming because the calendar had been hanging in the kitchen all week.
Roscoe's departure was marked in the same handwriting I had used for years.
I looked at it while making coffee.
Normally, I would have been busy by then.
His clothes would be folded.
His sandwiches would be wrapped.
The little oranges would be washed and placed in the cooler.
I would have checked that he had enough bottled water.
Then I would have stood by the door while he carried everything to his pickup.
Not this time.
His cooler was still sitting in the storage room.
Empty.
I hadn't touched it.
Roscoe came downstairs shortly after seven.
He looked toward the counter.
"Morning."
"Morning."
He poured himself coffee.
Then he looked toward the storage room.
"Did you wash the cooler?"
"No."
He nodded.
He didn't ask why.
I continued preparing breakfast.
His mother was already awake.
I had helped her wash and dress earlier.
She was sitting near the window with her blanket over her knees.
Roscoe went to check on her.
I heard him ask whether she needed anything.
She told him she was comfortable.
Then she asked him whether he was leaving that morning.
He said he was.
She didn't respond.
I carried her breakfast into the room.
She thanked me.
Then she looked toward the hallway.
"Is he still going?"
"That's what he said."
She sighed.
I sat beside her.
"I can't make that decision for him."
"I know, Libby-girl."
She touched my hand.
"But he can make better decisions than he has been making."
I smiled faintly.
I hoped she was right.
A little later, the boys arrived.
Their parents had dropped them off for the day.
The youngest came running into the kitchen.
"Grandma, is Grandpa leaving?"
I looked at him.
"He's getting ready to go to work."
His face fell.
The oldest walked in behind him.
He looked toward the storage room.
"Is he going to be gone for three weeks?"
"That's usually how it works."
He nodded.
Then he asked something I hadn't expected.
"Will he bring somebody with him again?"
I felt my chest tighten.
I looked at his little face.
"No, sweetheart. You don't have to worry about that."
I didn't know what Roscoe would do.
But I knew the boy needed reassurance.
The oldest looked at me.
"Can Grandpa still come to my school things?"
"Of course."
He nodded.
I hoped that would be true.
Roscoe came into the kitchen carrying his travel bag.
He heard the last part.
"I'll come when I can, buddy."
The boy looked at him.
"Promise?"
Roscoe hesitated.
Then he said yes.
The youngest ran over and hugged his legs.
Roscoe bent down.
He held him for a moment.
The middle boy joined them.
The oldest stayed where he was.
I noticed.
So did Roscoe.
He looked toward him.
"Come here, son."
The boy slowly walked over.
Roscoe put an arm around him.
I looked away.
I didn't want to interfere.
I wanted them to have their grandfather.
I wanted them to feel safe loving him.
But I also wanted him to understand that children remembered things adults sometimes hoped they would forget.
When the boys went into the living room, Roscoe returned to the kitchen.
He looked at the empty counter.
"No sandwiches?"
I shook my head.
"Not today."
He stared at me.
For a moment, I thought he might get angry.
Instead, he looked down.
"I suppose I deserve that."
I didn't answer.
He picked up his travel bag.
Then he stood near the door.
I knew what he was waiting for.
For years, I had walked over and kissed him goodbye.
I had told him to drive carefully.
I had reminded him to eat.
Sometimes I had stood on the porch until his pickup disappeared.
That morning, I stayed in the kitchen.
He waited.
Then he spoke.
"Lib?"
I looked up.
"Yes?"
"Take care of yourself."
I nodded.
"You too."
He opened the door.
Before leaving, he looked back toward his mother's room.
Then he walked outside.
I heard the pickup start.
I didn't go to the window.
I didn't watch him leave.
I stood at the sink and rinsed my coffee cup.
The sound of the engine slowly disappeared.
For the first time in forty years, I didn't feel responsible for making his departure comfortable.
I felt sad.
But I also felt something I hadn't expected.
Relief.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: His Mother Asked Me to Bring Her to the Living Room, and What She Told Her Son Changed the Way He Looked at Home
Forty Years of Goodbyes, Packed Coolers, and Promises I Never Thought I Would Have to Question
Part 13 of 20
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