“I don’t know, Letty, looks like we’re missing some pieces. We should probably call the company for a refund,” I said, trying to find a way out of finishing the puzzle.
“Well, damn.” Letty once again looked at the box lid, which displayed the complete Eduardo, minus his man parts, which were covered with a disturbingly large black censor box.
As I slipped another piece in my lap, a Nerf dart hit me in the side of the head, followed by “BZSHOO!”
I turned to see Grub in position behind a chair, reloading.
“Fire!” yelled Blackjack as Mary Santos rolled him into view.
“BZSHOO!”
“Hey, watch the friendly fire.” I stood to pick up the two Nerf darts as bits of Eduardo spilled from my lap to the floor.
“Aha!” said Letty, pointing as they fell.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Hi, Mary.” I gave Blackjack a quick salute, which he returned. Grub was still partially hidden behind a chair.
“Hi, Zeus,” said Mary. “These two have had quite the time today,” she said, motioning to Grub and Blackjack. “Blackjack got to telling some stories even I’ve never heard. They’ve become real comrades lately.” Then she leaned in so only I could hear. “Blackjack’s having one of his good days.”
I gave a quick nod of understanding. Over the past week, Mary and I had each talked to Grub regarding Blackjack and the nature of his illness. We’d explained how Alzheimer’s not only affected Blackjack’s memory, but how it could also confuse him or alter his mood. And though Mary often marveled at Blackjack’s improvement since befriending Grub, she still cautioned that on bad days, Blackjack needed to be alone.
I smiled at the old man. “How are you today, Sergeant?”
“Me? Never felt better. Let me tell you, this brother of yours is smart as a whip,” he said in his slow, deep voice. “I think he knows more about the war than I do. Isn’t that right, soldier?”
Grub stepped out from behind the chair, and Blackjack beamed at him with pride.
“He talks about you all the time,” I said. “He loves hearing your World War II stories.”
“Well, I sure enjoy his company.”
“Sergeant Porter and I went on a mission,” said Grub, chiming in.
“A mission, huh?” I said.
Mary gave me a grin. “I let your brother push Blackjack around the staff lounge while I finished my reports.”
“Sounds like a very important mission,” I said.
“He’s teaching me how to sneak up on the enemy,” replied Grub.
“Yes, and they like to pretend I’m the enemy,” said Mary, laughing. “Isn’t that right, Blackjack?”
“You want to be our ally, Mary, then stop foisting that tapioca pudding on us. We like butterscotch, woman. How many times we gotta tell you?”
Blackjack shot Grub a wink then. Grub giggled.
Mary smiled and patted the top of Grub’s army helmet. “You two are incorrigible. But now it’s time for Sergeant Porter’s nap.”
The comrades exchanged salutes, and Mary wheeled Blackjack away. “Glad you and Rose had fun at the polka festival last Sunday, Zeus,” she called back to me.
“Polka festival?” Letty asked, rising from under the table where she’d been retrieving Eduardo’s man parts. “Taube County?”
I waved to Mary, then turned to Letty. “Yep. Rose and I went on Sunday.”
Letty dropped the pile of pieces in the empty center of the puzzle and began assembling them, to my horror. “You probably saw half my damn family there.”
“Oh yeah? I was telling my friend Dylan about you the other day and he said he hangs out with two of your great-grandkids.”
“Kid, you can’t fart in this town without a Kowalczyk walking through the cloud. Which ones?”
“Axl and uh—”
“Novie.”
“Right, Novie. They play in a band together.”
Letty harrumphed. “Sure, they have a band, and my ass isn’t saggy. They make plenty of noise, I’ll give you that.”
I tried not to picture her ass. “They’re twins, right? I hear Axl plays bass and Novie plays—”
“Loud. That girl’s been beating on pots and pans since she fell out of her mother.”
“Drums, that’s right,” I said, not sure of the appropriate response.
“Their mother, Christy—that’s my granddaughter, of course—everyone calls her Crash.”
“Why’s that?”
Letty laughed to herself. “She had some wild years. I’ll let you fill in the blanks. Anyway, she owns the Beauty Saloon downtown. Half bar, half beauty salon. Very clever name, I’ll give her that. Can’t say the same for those poor kids of hers.”
“I’m actually getting together with them to jam at Dylan’s house tomorrow night.”
“Jam? You mean make a racket?”
“Something like that. I’ve been learning guitar.”
“Have you?” Letty eagerly grabbed my hand. “Do you know any Tom Jones?”
“Sorry, not yet.”
“Damn. Well, as soon as you do, you get in here and play it for me.” She released my hand and gave it a soft pat, then turned back to the puzzle. “Here we are. Eduardo’s almost a man now.”
“No!” I shouted as Grub approached the table, a now fully formed (minus one important piece) Eduardo smiling back.
“Here’s a map of the battlefield,” said Grub. He opened a piece of paper the size of a newspaper across the table, covering Eduardo.
I gave Letty a playful stink eye. “That was close.”
Letty shrugged. “It’s like I always say, kiddo—enjoy today, you might be dead tomorrow!”
It was true. She did always say it. And I’d decided it wasn’t necessarily bad advice. Ever since Rose had told me she might be moving to New York City in August, the countdown in my head had begun. I kept telling myself to not think about it, to focus on the time I had with her here and not worry about her living there.
It didn’t always work though. I moped a lot when I wasn’t with her. But what good did that do?
Letty was right.
Enjoy today, you might be dead tomorrow.
Maybe I’d make that my new mantra.
Grub spent the next several minutes showing us locations on the map of enemy bunkers, watchtowers, and traps.
“Well done, kid, well done,” Letty said when he was finished. “You run a tight ship. They ought to put you in charge of this place instead of that stick in the mud, Ms. Muffinstuffer.”
Grub, pleased by the compliment, went back to his map. I said a quick prayer of thanksgiving that Ms. Stouffer was across the room and Rose was playing a particularly upbeat show tune.
“So how are things going with your cutie-patootie over there?” Letty asked, tilting her head toward the piano.
“Great,” I replied. “Thought I might take her to a movie this week, but I’m not exactly loaded and I hear the old theater seats downtown are ground zero for head lice and ringworm.”
“And back injuries. Not to mention that floor is stickier than a motel mattress. You know what you should do?” Letty said, snapping her fingers at me. “You two should come to movie night here instead. Every other Thursday, which is tonight. They’re always needing volunteers. It’s free, and we get ice cream cups!”
She almost had me at “free,” but I wasn’t so sure. Rose had been a great sport about the polka festival, but movie night at a nursing home? That had to rate a zero on the romantic scale.