The Grandfather Who Was Lost

The pot of sapling slipped through Logan's hands and crashed into tiny, million pieces, the mud scattering on the floor. Logan staggered back and I watched him, my eyes wide in alarm. He looked startled, fidgeting with whatever his fingers could hold on. His forehead creased as his eyes swept over the broken pieces and I rushed to his side.

"It's your first week here and you already created trouble! How even did you manage to do that?" I asked accusingly and he scratched his neck. "Wait . . . Did you see a worm in there?"

"No!" he replied so quickly, afraid of being caught and then pinched the bridge of his nose. "No . . . I-I mean that there was no stupid worm."

"You aren't a very good liar, boy," I stated and my lips stretched into a wily grin. "You need to get over your fear for something as tiny as worms, it's really silly. Besides, you work here and now you'll see them every day. You have to toughen up. Thank God my grandpa isn't here or you'll be fired right away."

He didn't say anything and instead, quietly took the broom and dustpan to clean the area. He crouched down and started sweeping. I gazed at the door in trepidation, afraid that my grandpa would burst in any second.

"Hurry up, will you? Grandpa will be here any second," I hissed and he quickly gathered the mud and dirt in the dustpan to dispose it off in the bin.

"Put it in this plastic bag and then throw or else he might see it."

I could see him gritting his teeth and his dimples faintly appearing, obviously peeved at being ordered around by me. I suppressed my urge to giggle as he dumped the grungy plastic bag in the bin. We froze when the bell dinged softly, but instead of grandpa, an innocent customer entered to peruse through the flowers. I sighed and led him to choose a bouquet for his estranged wife.

Grandpa stormed through the door minutes later and observed Logan through narrowed eyes as if he could sense something was off. I quietly tied a big bow around the bouquet and helped the customer to write an apology letter. Logan pretended to help me by peeking over my shoulder and sporadically muttering a few words since there were no other customers to look after.

"Drag your scrawny ass up here son," grandpa barked and Logan obediently made his way towards him. "There's mud all over your sleeves, did you go around digging in pots?"

"No, sir," he replied as bravely as he could and I had to bite my tongue from intervening. "I was helping a customer carry the sapling and some mud must have spilled over me. It wouldn't happen again, sir."

"It better not," grandpa grumbled and went behind the counter to rummage through the supplies of fertilizers that were kept in the bottom drawer.

"That was a close call," I mumbled when Logan stood close to me. He frowned as if ordering me to shut the hell up before he would actually get caught.

It wasn't that the pot of sapling was expensive, but knowing my grandpa and the list of people he had fired so far, Logan would be sent packing to wherever he came from.

"What's the deal with you anyway?" I asked curiously, craning my neck at him. I noticed that grandpa had finally disappeared into the storage room, so it was safe to pry Logan for more information. "You didn't even show any résumé or give any information except for your address and phone number. So what's your deal? Like how old are you? Do you even go to school?"

"It's none of your business," he replied grimly and I could see how agitated he had become as his fingers twitched.

"No need to be so rude, I just wanted to know---"

"Stop," he cut me off coldly. "Stop pretending that you care. I don't care about you or your cancer story, so I expect you to return the favour."

"Well, I-I'm glad you don't care," I stammered, not knowing what else to say because nobody had bluntly ever said that they didn't care about me or my cancer story. Even when people were bored to know about how I was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia, my hospital trips and treatments, they cared or even pretended to listen politely. Nobody dared to be rude to a dying girl, afraid that somehow I would haunt them or ask God to punish them or simply they would die of guilt for not making my last days pleasant enough.

However, this awkward boy right here didn't care about the consequences and wasn't afraid to admit it boldly like he didn't fear death . . .

Or . . . he was just plain mean.

"JJ?" I heard grandpa's gruff voice as he emerged out of the storage room. I diverted my attention to him. "Everything alright dear?"

"Y-Yeah grandpa, all cool," I said reluctantly as his eyes swept over Logan like he was already suspecting something was wrong. Grandpa was extremely protective of me and couldn't see me getting hurt even though he would never admit that. "Mum needs me home so I got to go."

"Yeah, alright," he said and then turned to Logan. "You can take a lunch break kid."

Logan nodded as he grabbed his backpack and sauntered out of the shop to sit on the green bench right outside. I gathered my books which I had brought to read, gave a quick hug to my grandpa and exited the shop. Logan was hunched over his lunch box, stuffing Macaroni and Cheese in his mouth with a plastic fork. He had his earphones on as he ate and observed the cars passing by. He didn't seem to notice me standing right beside the bench so I tapped his shoulder and he looked up. I waved at him conveying a goodbye and he blinked as if I just woke him up from a deep sleep. Then, the realisation sank in him, he shook his head reproachfully and continued to dig the fork into his lunch box.

I laughed lightly and sat on my bicycle, not before strapping my books in the backseat. I was advised to limit the use of my bicycle because it would exhaust me, but my house was very close and I liked to feel the wind hitting my body. I started pedalling away slowly towards home when suddenly, I got a call. I stopped cycling and retrieved my phone from my jeans pocket. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion when I saw it was from grandpa.

"Yeah grandpa, what happened?" I asked when I picked up the call.

"Tomorrow you and that skinny kid need to come early JJ, we have a wedding to attend and send flowers for decorations. Do you remember, it's one of your friend from the support group? It's her sister's wedding?"

"Yeah, I do, I do," I said and paused. "How can I forget about the wedding? That girl has been blabbering about it since weeks."

"Alright, I see you tomorrow morning---"

"You're not coming home?" I interjected and I already knew his answer.

"Not today," he replied and quickly cut the call before I could protest. I knew where he would be going, to the abandoned lighthouse located at the protruding strip of the coast projected into the ocean. Nobody went there because the lower rooms were just rubbles and totally ruined, but nobody knew that the upper rooms were still intact. Nobody, except my grandfather and me.

I used to love listening to the stories about my grandparents ever since I was a kid and their love story was so ethereal. My grandpa was involved in the Vietnam war as a soldier and met my grandmother there, a shy Vietnamese villager from a middle-class family. There were many struggles and opposition they faced from her family and the army, but they made it work. She migrated into America as a war bride among other 8,040 Vietnamese war brides.

Most marriages had ended up in divorce, but fortunately, my grandparents' marriage was strong. At least, as long as my grandma lived. Grandpa was going to spend the night in the top room of the isolated lighthouse at the beach where the reminiscence of his love story played in his mind. The blissful days of his early marriage when they would be allowed to visit the lighthouse to look over the shore during sunset and sunrise because the lighthouse keeper was a close friend of my grandpa.

I sighed and furiously pedalled down the lane towards the coast, the salty wind tickling my bare neck as I hoped that someone would be there for my grandpa when my ashes would be a mere part of the vast ocean.