Page 2 of Perfect Satisfaction

I finally piece it together. “Grandma was your star.”

“Was? Is, son. Always will be.”

“But...” I don’t say what we both know, what we both heard tonight. Her light is flickering out. Her star is dying.

Finally, my grandfather sighs, “Arek, I’m getting old,”

Panic rips through me. I whirl and grab him by the shoulders. “Not you too.”

He grips my wrists. “If I could, I’d lie in the grave next to your grandmother, but no. I’m not sick anywhere except at heart.”

Marginally, I relax.

“There’s just something I feel you’re old enough to know. Something I tried to tell your father.”

“Which he completely ignored?” I drawl sarcastically.

“Pretty much.”

“What is it?” I ask eagerly. I’m all for learning something my father won’t. There isn’t anything the man won’t do for money or notoriety in an attempt to rise to a fame that’s not meant for him.

“There’s space in the bed for two of three—you, love, or pride. And sleeping with pride isn’t going to keep you warm.”

My lip curls. “Seriously, Gramps?”

“Kid, you’re going to fall in love.”

“If I do—and that’s a big if—that’s a long way off.”

“Who’s to say I’ll be around for it?” he reminds me pragmatically.

“No.” Refusing to accept the knowledge after my grandmother’s bomb, I throw myself into his arms.

He catches me easily, the way he’s caught me my entire life. That’s when he breaks my heart by murmuring into my hair, “You’re our new star, Arek Edward Ronan.”

“Gramps,” is all I can say. I’m completely undone by the emotion in his voice.

“One day, when you fall in love, you bring her here. I’ll tell her the story myself.”

“That means you have to be around to do it,” I caution him.

With a heavy sigh, he lets me go, save for an arm around my shoulder. “My time isn’t coming around for a long time.”

What’s left unsaid is, unlike your grandmother.

For the rest of the night, we sit in silence and lose ourselves in the grief we’ll never show her when we head back to Massachusetts.

I rip off my tie the minute I enter the house. My best friend trails at my heels. “I am sorry, Arek. She was a wonderful woman.”

I bob my head to acknowledge the person who came rushing home from New York the minute I called.

“How is Edward?”

“A wreck.”

“And your father?”

With almost maniacal laughter, I toss over my phone. “Take a look.”