“Westley?” Grandma, again. Beside me, sitting now. Fidgeting with something in her palm.
I rub my eyes. Sit up straight and look at her. “Yeah.”
“Do you love her?”
I nod, without hesitation. “I do.”
Her eyes search mine. Though aged, they’re sharp with fierce personality, resonant with faith, and a green much like Jolene’s. “My husband passed, a few years before Jolene was even born. Much too young, much too soon.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.”
She nods, has a faint smile on her face. “He was the love of my life, and when he passed, I knew I’d never get over him. I’d never be with anyone else. And I haven’t.”
She opens her hand, revealing a simple ring on her palm; it’s a thin gold band with a tiny diamond. The gold is tarnished with age. The diamond can’t be more than a quarter of a carat.
“This is the ring my Jonathan gave me, fifty years ago. This week, actually. It would be our fifty-year anniversary this Friday.” She smiles at me. “It would mean the world to me if she were to wear it.”
I choke on my emotions, lodged thick and hot in my throat. “I…” a sigh escapes me. “Are you sure you want to part with it?”
“I’m not parting with it. I’m passing it on. It was given to me with love, and now I’m giving with all the love I have to my granddaughter. You love her, she loves you. This whole thing began with a proposal, did it not?”
I nod. “It did.”
“And you said you’d marry her.”
“I did.”
“Will you?” Her eyes are sharp and rife with intense meaning.
I take the ring from her—it has great metaphysical weight. It’s a tiny, light little ring. But the importance and meaning of it…it sits heavily in my palm.
“It would be my greatest honor,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
She shakes her head. “I was skeptical at first. I honestly disapproved. I thought it was a gimmick. A publicity stunt.”
I nod. “Understandable. I won’t hold it against you,” I say, smiling at her.
She gives me a faint smile in return, but the humor fades quickly. “I’m thankful to you, now. You’ve given her life and happiness of a kind I wasn’t sure she’d ever get to experience.”
My turn to shake my head. “Honestly, I’m the one who’s been given life and happiness. She’s…she’s taught me so much.”
A nod. “She’s like that. But anyway. Thank you for being with her. For being brave enough to take this journey with her.”
“The journey isn’t over,” I say.
She takes my hand in hers. “No, it’s not. The Bible commands us to pray without ceasing, and that’s what I intend to do, until she’s either healed, or the sweet Lord Jesus takes her home.”
A Spar of Hope
Jolene
Music.
Motes of nothing whirl, flecks of stardust flow like a river.
Darkness breathes.
And there is music.
