"My college is out there," he said pointing
toward the ocean with the fork.
"There's more to life than just fishing and
sailing, and there are wonderful places to visit on
land, wonderful things to see."
"I see enough here."
"I never saw someone so young act so--" "What?" he asked quickly. I swallowed back
the words and chose less painful ones. "Grown up." He nodded.
"Go on," he said. "If you want to call me
Grandpa, too, you can. I don't care."
"You're nothing like a grandpa."
He looked at me curiously for a moment. I felt,
since he was being honest, I should be. "But you're
too fixed in your thinking for someone your age. You
should have a more open mind about things." "Sure," he said. "And be willing to smoke dope
and drink and waste my time just like those other
jerks in school."
"They're not all jerks, are they?"
"Most are."
"You can be pretty infuriating," I told him. He shrugged and began serving the fish. "I don't
bother anyone and just ask they don't bother me," he
said. "Let's eat."
He made sure May had her meal first. The way
he took care of her, saw to her needs and happiness,
softened my frustration and anger toward him. "How hard was it for May when Laura died?" I asked him as we sat at the picnic table and began our
meal. "Real hard," he said.
"Poor thing. To have such a tragedy on top of
her handicap."
"She does fine," he said angrily.
"No one is saying she doesn't, Cary. You don't