"Well, what am I supposed to do, Dixon?"
The guilt of my eavesdropping started to sink in so I went back to sit on the couch. When I sat down, I couldn’t help but glance at the papers again. I saw something about a mortgage and a past due notice, along a letter with a lawyer’s letterhead.
Dixon emerged about twenty minutes later; fully dressed, but his mood wasn’t the same.
"Dixon we don’t have to go."
"Oh, don’t get me killed, Aidan. If the harpy down there finds out I skipped the game she will rip off my balls and feed them too me. She’s vicious when she’s angry."
He smiled lightly, but not the normal Dixon smile. Sighing, he led the way to the door.
Monday arrived again. I got into my office with my grandfather sitting at my desk and immediately knew what kind of day this was going to be. He was going to be relentless and brutal. His first attack was to grill me on the different things going on with the company. His test to make sure I was paying attention. The second attack was to start criticizing the different deals that we had on the table with multiple media outlets; another one of his tests to see if I could argue a case for each deal. Third was the usual attack on my personal life. This was the lecture of marriage, an heir, the Iverson name and having a purpose in life. I just couldn’t grasp why he thought that marriage was what anyone needed for ‘purpose’ in life. It didn’t make sense to me. Once he was finished, I got my usual half hour alone in my office before being ushered into meeting after meeting.
It was Wednesday and I was just walking in the door when my cell phone rang. I hit the silent button and threw myself onto my bed. It had been a brutal day and it was ten at night. I was beat. My cell rang again. I sighed, ready to mute it again when I saw it was Vi.
"Hello?"
First, I heard the sobs. Panic seized my lungs of air but finally released, allowing me to rush through an array of questions.
"Vi! What’s wrong? Is it Liam? Maggie?"
"No," she sobbed. "Aidan, it's your grandfather."
This time it wasn't panic seizing my lungs. Terror stilled my body, yet churned in my gut long enough to bring nausea. Without saying goodbye, I dropped my phone and was out of my apartment. Before I realized my surroundings, I was in the car speeding through New York.
No matter how much we disagree and argue, Grandfather was dear to me. To lose him felt as if a piece of my soul would be torn from my body.
Arriving to Grandfather’s mansion, I rushed through the door. Most of the family was gathered downstairs crying. I ran to Viola and wrapped my arms around her.
"Oh, Aidan, he had a heart attack when he got home," she sobbed. "Mrs. Giles found him when she went to offer him his nightcap." She sobbed louder.
"Is he—?"
Liam entered the room. I looked to him. His face carried deep lines of stress, reflecting his age.
"Is he...?" I couldn’t choke out the word. It was so final.
"He doesn’t have much time left. He —"
Liam didn't have a chance to finish. I flew up the stairs.
Grandfather had been a tough man and hard to love. But, for how much he had done and given me, he held my respect and my love. I rushed to his side.
"Grandfather," the whisper fell from my lips.
"Aidan," he croaked. "My son," He coughed.
"Don’t talk…just get some rest." I knelt to the side of his bed.
Afraid to touch this unusually fragile man before me, my hands gripped the edge of his mattress. Tears rolled over my cheeks. His skin was ashen and glistening with sweat, as if each word was an effort for his body.
"No crying." He tried to demand but his ragged cough stole from his stern intention. As much as I hated his reprimands and disapprovals, it broke my heart that he couldn't yell at me—swear at me—like he used to. Closing my eyes, I tried to hold in my tears.
When his hand landed upon the fist I was making in his bed sheet, I jerked my head up to look upon his face.
"I get to see my Isobel again." His raspy sigh ended with a weak smile. Then, he was gone. Gone. The grip of his hand loosened on my fist and slid to the mattress.
I buried my head in the softness of the bed and cried. I cried like the night I lost my parents—like a part of my soul was stolen.
~
I sat with Uncle Liam and Aunt Viola at yet another family funeral. It felt like only yesterday that I was sitting in this exact spot listening to the priest say the same heartfelt words about my parents and listening to traditional Irish harps play behind us.