Alone at 90 Foot by Katherine Holubitsky

nose. Hard.
    I’m surprised to see tears run down the wrinkles in Nana Jean’s face. The face that only ever shows one emotion — none. Now I’m crying for her, as well as myself.
    Jennifer looks all concerned. “Richard? That was your husband?” She takes Nana Jean’s hand in her own.
    Nana Jean is so sad, she can only nod. “He must have been a wonderful man for you to miss him so much.”
    â€œOh, he was,” Nana kind of wails. “So full of life. He was always joking. He really made me laugh.”
    Jenn pats her hand. “Tell me something about him. I’d like to know Ken’s dad.”
    Bingo! I don’t know if Jenn planned it, but shesure hit on the right question. It sets Nana Jean on a roll. She talks for half an hour straight about Grandpa. About how they met. About how they furnished their apartment with cardboard boxes when they were first married, while she worked as a secretary and Grandpa took engineering at school. About the places they lived: Saudi Arabia, Germany, Japan, as his job took him around the world. About Dad and Uncle Sean being born, then later, Aunt Andrea and Uncle Nick. About their happy times and sick times, the good times and the bad. About how Grandpa found something good in every situation. And oh, how he loved his kids.
    â€œWould you like to see a picture of Richard holding Ken just after he was born?”
    â€œYes, of course I would.”
    Nana opens the silver locket she wears around her neck. It holds a picture of Grandpa, looking very much like Dad does now, cuddling Dad as a baby on his lap. Grandpa has, like, this magnificent smile on his face.
    â€œOh,” Jenn coos, holding it closer so she can get a better look. “This is so sweet.” I don’t know if it’s too much dust in the air, or too much emotion, but Jenn dabs at her eye.
    â€œIsn’t it?” Nana dabs at her own eye again. “I have a whole album of them together if you’d like to see it.”
    â€œOh, yes, I sure would.”
    Jennifer sniffs a little until Nana returns. Together they look at the album. The one I’ve seen many times before. Pictures of Grandpa and Dad together, fishing and working in the shop. Pictures of Dad as he was growing up. The album is titled, “Richard’s Little Gaffer.”
    Nana sees Jenn looking at the title. “With the first one,” she explains, “you get a little silly. They usually get the biggest fuss.”
    Jenn is obviously touched by it. She is majorly touched by it. Personally, I think it’s the word gaffer that gets her all choked up. It’s one of those words she would relate to. I mean, more than anyone else.
    â€œLittle gaffer,” she splutters. “Isn’t that just sooo sweet?”
    I pass her the box of Kleenex. She passes it to Nana Jean. Nana passes it back to me. And although each one of us is doing it for our own reasons, we continue to snurf and snivel together. This is the state we are in when Dad returns from the garage. At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just gets this horrified look.
    â€œWhat on earth is going on in here?!”
    â€œIt’s alright, dear,” Nana begins to explain. “We were just having a little chat.” Sniff. Sniff. Dad looks past her, at Jennifer with her eyes all red
    â€œA chat!” He looks at me. “Pamela, would you like to tell me what’s going on in here?”
    I would, Dad. But it’s one of these women-knowing-women things that you really wouldn’t get. “Like Nana said. We’ve been having a little chat.”
    He is not happy with my answer. He expected me to tell him more. He looks back at Jenn. “Are you alright?”
    â€œOh, yes.” She blows her nose in this resounding sort of way. “Perfectly fine. Your mother is a wonderful lady. You’re very lucky, Ken.”
    Seriously baffled, Dad rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He