Between Heaven and Earth (2 page)

The room erupted in protest again.

“Could everybody please just stop!” the lawyer yelled as he stood up. “Please, I am reading a will. Decorum is needed. Out of respect for the deceased, you all need to follow his directions. Is that understood?”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Me too,” my brother said.

I knew he meant it. He was impulsive and he could be a real pain. There were times I wanted to give him a smack—and had—but he
was
okay.

“Before I go on, I need to ask
everybody
to agree to respect the terms of his will—
all
the terms of his will.”

“Of course we agree,” my mother said.

My aunts and uncles all nodded in agreement.

“Excellent,” the lawyer said. “Now, I need to have everyone except the six grandsons to leave the room.”

“What?” one of my aunts exclaimed, voicing the disbelief we all felt.

“Did you say that the adults have to leave?” Aunt Debbie asked.

Mr. Devine nodded. “Yes. Everyone except the grandsons.”

TWO

If it was eerie to be here to begin with, then it was even eerier to watch all our parents leave the room. My mother, the last to leave, hesitated at the door and we locked eyes.

“It's okay,” I mouthed to her.

She smiled ever so slightly and closed the door, leaving the six of us alone with the lawyer.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I'm assuming that nobody saw this coming.”

“Grandpa was always full of surprises,” Bunny said.

“So I guess because of that we're
not
that surprised,” Steve added.

“Interesting perspective,” the lawyer said. “The only way you would have been surprised is if he didn't do something to surprise you.”

“Pretty much,” my brother agreed.

“So if he'd done nothing, then you would have actually been surprised, which wouldn't have been a surprise. Sort of a Catch-
22
, don't you think?”

“Do you think, sir, that we could go on?” I said. “I believe we're all anxious to hear what you're going to tell us.”

“I'm sure you are,” he said. “But, actually,
I'm
not going to tell you anything.” He paused. “Your
grandfather
is.”

Instantly, a bizarre thought popped into my head: maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe somehow this had been some sort of—

“I'm going to play a video your grandfather made,” Mr. Devine said.

I felt my whole body sag. What else could it be? It was stupid of me even to think that he was still alive.

The lawyer walked over to a big cabinet that held a television. He turned to face us. “I was in the room when your grandfather recorded this. I think
all
of you will be at least a little surprised by what he has to say.”

He clicked a remote, and the
TV
came to life. First it was blank, and then there was Grandpa!

“I'm not sure why I have to be wearing makeup,” he said, turning to face somebody off camera. “This is my will, not some late-night talk show… and it's certainly not a
live
taping.”

A couple of unseen people laughed, and then Grandpa turned to look directly into the camera.

“Good morning…or afternoon, boys,” he began. “If you are watching this, I must be dead, although on this fine afternoon I feel very much alive.”

I looked at him closely, trying to figure out when the video would have been made. He didn't look any different or younger than when I'd last seen him, so it wasn't that long ago, and I could tell it was recorded right here in this office. Somehow that made it seem more real and less real all at once.

I recognized his striped sweater—my mother had knit it for him. And, as always, he was wearing his black beret. It had been strange seeing him in the coffin without it, but apparently it was a term of the will that it wasn't buried with him. I wondered where it was.

“I want to start off by saying that I don't want you to be too sad. I had a good life and I wouldn't change a minute of it. That said, I still hope that you are at least a little sad and that you miss having me around. After all, I was one
spectacular
grandpa!”

We all started to laugh.

“And you were simply the best grandsons a man could ever have. I want you to know that of all the joys in my life, you were among my greatest. From the first time I met each of you to the last moments I spent with you—and of course I don't know what those last moments were, but I know they were wonderful—I want to thank you all for being part of my life. A very big, special, wonderful, warm part of my life.”

He reached down and took a sip from a glass in front of him. His hand shook ever so slightly. His hands never shook; he was nervous.

“I wanted to record this rather than just have my lawyer read it out to you. Hello, Johnnie.”

“Hello, Davie,” the lawyer replied.

“Johnnie, I hope you appreciate that twenty-year-old bottle of Scotch I left you,” Grandpa said. “And you better not have had more than one snort of it before the reading of my will!”

The lawyer held up two fingers.

“But knowing you the way I do, I suspect you would have had two.”

The lawyer looked a bit embarrassed. “He did know me well,” he said to us.

“I just wanted—needed—to say goodbye to all of you in person, or at least as in person as this allows.” He took another sip from his glass. The hand was still shaking.

“Life is an interesting journey, one that seldom takes you where you think you might be going. Certainly I never expected that I was going to become an old man. In fact, there were more than a few times when I was a boy that I didn't believe I was going to live to see another day, never mind live long enough to grow old.”

From the stories he'd told us, I knew how close he'd been to death on many occasions. He had been shot down when he was a pilot in World War II, and then he'd flown all over the world after that.

“But I did live a long and wonderful life. I was blessed to meet the love of my life, your grandmother Vera. It is so sad that she passed on before any of you had a chance to meet her. I know people never speak ill of the dead—and I'm counting on you all to keep up that tradition with me—but your grandmother was simply the most
perfect
woman in the world.

“Her only flaw, as far as I can see, was being foolish enough to marry me. She gave me not only a happy life, but four daughters…four amazing daughters. I just wish she could have been there to watch them grow into the four wonderful women who became your mothers.”

My grandmother had died when our mothers were young—the youngest, Aunt Vicky, was only four at the time. My grandpa raised the girls on his own at a time when men didn't do that.

“I was always comforted by the thought that I believed she was watching them too. Sitting up there in heaven or wherever. I guess as you're hearing this, I have an answer to that question. I pray that I'm with her now.”

He lifted up the glass again and made a little toast toward us. I noticed his hand wasn't shaking anymore. He was getting more comfortable, more relaxed. More like Grandpa.

“Being both father and mother to my girls meant that I was always running fast to try and do everything. Sometimes the need to earn a living got in the way of me being there for my daughters. There were too many school plays, violin recitals and soccer games that I never got to. And that was why I made a point to be there for almost every one of your games and school events and concerts,” he said.

He
was
there for everything, always. Sitting in the bleachers screaming at the referees, or in the front row at the concerts, cheering and clapping, or right there by the bed when you woke up after having your tonsils out. He was just there.

“This was both a promise I made and a complete joy. You boys, you wonderful, incredible, lovely boys, have been such a blessing…seven blessings. Some blessings come later than others.”

Seven? He meant six. There were six of us. He must have been even more nervous than he looked. His voice caught over the last few words, and I thought he was on the verge of crying. He took another sip from his glass. A long, slow sip.

“But I didn't bring you here simply to tell you how much I loved you all. Being part of your lives was one of the greatest achievements of my life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything, but being there for all your big moments meant that I couldn't be elsewhere. I've done a lot, but it doesn't seem that time is going to permit me the luxury of doing everything I wished for. So, I have some requests, some
last
requests.”

We all looked at each other, questioningly.

“In the possession of my lawyer are some envelopes,” he said. “One for each of you.”

I turned around. Mr. Devine stood off to the side of the room. In his hand was a fan of envelopes.

“Each of these requests, these tasks,” Grandpa continued, “has been specifically selected for you to fulfill. All of the things you will need to complete your task will be provided—money, tickets, guides. Everything.”

Tickets and guides? What did he want us to do?

“I am not asking any of you to do anything stupid or unnecessarily reckless—certainly nothing as stupid or reckless as I did at your ages. Your parents may be worried, but I have no doubts. Just as I have no doubts that you will all become fine young men. I am sad that I will not be there to watch you all grow into the incredible men I know you will become. But I don't need to be there to know that will happen. I am so certain of that. As certain as I am that I will be there with you as you complete my last requests, as you continue your life journeys.”

He lifted up his glass.

“A final toast. To the best grandsons a man could ever have.” He tipped back the glass and drained it. He put down the glass and stared directly into the camera. “I love you all so much. Good luck.”

The screen went black. He was gone.

The lawyer turned off the
TV
. “In my hands are the seven envelopes. One for each grandson.”

“You mean six,” I said. “There are only six of us.”

“Well, as I said, there is a most interesting twist. There
is
a seventh grandson.”

THREE

I went up to my room and closed the door. I needed to be alone to process that last little piece of news. My grandpa had had another daughter—a daughter conceived, born and raised without his knowledge. That daughter, now dead, had a son named Rennie. My grandpa had only become aware of this extra grandson a few months ago. So there weren't six of us, there were seven. It was strange how this news had disturbed me but seemed to amuse Steve. That was so much like him.

And in my hand, along with the envelope from my grandpa, was information about his extra grandson. Rennie was, almost to the day, the same age as me. There was a request from my grandpa, relayed through his lawyer, that we all contact Rennie so he'd feel more a part of our family. I'd do it, because Grandpa had asked me to, but not right now. First things first. I had to look at my task.

I sat on my bed in my room, alone. Alone was the only way to read this. I couldn't guarantee how I'd handle it, and I didn't want anybody to see me cry. I held the large manila envelope in my hand. It was thick, so obviously it contained more than a simple letter.

I turned the envelope around in my hands. My nickname—DJ—was typed on the front. Somehow it would have been more real if it was in his handwriting. Well, as real as any of this could be.

There was no point in looking at it any longer. Carefully I unsealed the top and looked inside. There was something soft and black—his beret! I pulled it out and couldn't help but smile. Pinned to it was a piece of paper with my name on it. He'd left it for me! That meant so much. Gently I placed it on my lap and then turned the envelope over and three smaller envelopes tumbled out. One said
1
—Read Now
in big letters, another
2
—Bottom.
What did that mean? The third had
3
—End
written on it. All three were in his handwriting. It was like he'd heard that I didn't want them typed. Slowly, deliberately, carefully, I opened up the first envelope.

Dear DJ,

I remember the first time I ever held you—my first grandchild. You were no more than fifteen minutes old when your father placed you in my arms. Soon to be followed by your brother. I'd never held anybody so young—I didn't even hold any of my daughters that soon. Things were a little different in my day. I know you won't make that mistake with your children—you'll be right there with your wife. That's the right thing to do, and I know I can always count on you to do the right thing.

That made me smile. I always prided myself on doing the right thing, and my grandpa appreciated that.

It may sound strange to talk to you about a wife and children, but life all happens so quickly. It seems like only moments ago that I was like you—a teenager. And then it all happened so fast, from boy to young man, to man, to father, to grandfather to, well, a memory. You'll have to accept my apology for sounding both morbid and philosophical, but death tends to do that to a man.

Death…he was dead. I didn't know when he had written this, but it was the last thing he'd ever written just for me. Well, I guess technically the second and third letters would be the last, but still, I could appreciate being philosophic. I'd done a lot of thinking about life and death over the past few days.

I don't know what I expected the first time I held you, but it wasn't what I got. There was no crying or squirming from you. You were so calm—calmer than I was. You looked up at me, eyes wide, and I got the feeling you were studying me, trying to figure out who this old man was and what was going to happen next. And even stranger, I got the feeling that you almost had it figured out.