Honey (Shooting Stars 4)

Mommy straightened her shoulders and gazed down at him with eves so fall of fire and strength, both Daddy and I were mesmerized.

"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid: and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together: and a little child shall lead them," she recited.

"You don't have to quote Scripture to me," Grandad cried, the lines in his face deepening as he stretched his lips in anger. His leather-tan skin looked as stiff as the crust of stale bread.

"Seems I do from the things you say. And," she added softly. "things you do,"

He looked at her and then looked away.

"Do what you want," he muttered, "but not with any money of mine."

It was still a secret. but Daddy was seriously looking into the greenhouse idea.

"Who taught you how to grow flowers so well. Uncle Simon?" I asked him as I worked with him.

He paused and looked toward the house as if he actually saw someone standing there.

"Your grandma." he said. "I worked with her in her garden. It was the only place and time she had any peace," he added, a shaft of embittered light passing through his dark eyes. He dug a little more

aggressively for a moment, and then his body relaxed and he went back to his calm manner.

I watched him, admiring how he drifted into a rhythm, how he and his work seemed to flow together, his face fall of pleasure and contentment. and I thought about what Uncle Peter had said about me and my violin.

The flowers play Uncle Simon. I thought, They nurture him. They rip the weeds away from him. They turn his face to the sunlight and the rain.

That evening, looking as clean and well-dressed as he could, he came to the house. Daddy gave him another present: his favorite aftershave lotion, which had a flowery scent. Mommy had prepared a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. It was as good as our Thanksgiving. Grandad Forman muttered about the cost of such a meal just for a grown man's birthday, but ate vigorously nevertheless. Then Mommy brought out the cake.

"I couldn't put all the candles on the cake. Simon," Mommy explained. "so I just lit the one to represent them all."

He laughed and blew it out. We all sang "Happy Birthday. ' Grandad almost moved his lips, but shook his head as if to deny his own inclinations. Afterward, we sat in the living room and I played my violin for Uncle Simon. As usual. I became lost in my melodies, feeling as though the violin was a part of me, as if my very being flowed into it and out in the form of music.

Toward the end of my little concert. I opened my eyes and looked at them all. What surprised and even put a titter of anxiety in my heart was the way Grandad Forman was looking at me. Gone from his face was any expression of disdain or disapproval. For a moment he looked like any warm and loving grandparent might, sitting there and listening to his grandchild perform. It confused me. but I was sure I saw something deeper in him. I wanted to call it love, but I was afraid to think that. Toward the end. I caught the way he glanced at Mommy and how that changed his expression, restoring his cold, impersonal manner.

"Time to go to sleep," he declared after Mommy, Daddy. and Uncle Simon gave me their applause. He rose and walked out of the room.

"Thank you," Uncle Simon said.

"Many more birthdays. Simon," Mommy told him and gave him a hug and a kiss.

Daddy patted him on the shoulder.

I walked out with him and stood on the front porch watching him cross the yard toward the barn. Daddy came out and stood beside me.

"How can this be enough for him. Daddy?" I asked. "How can he really be happy?"

"I guess it's a matter of finding your own way, making peace with that part of yourself that's usually demanding more, that lusts after thines others have and makes you discontented with what you have," Daddy said.

"You make it sound bad to want more, Daddy. Isn't it good to be ambitious?"

"Sure, but when it keeps you looking over at the next field, you never enjoy what you've accomplished, what you've grown on your own. That's too much ambition. I guess."

"How do you know when it's too much, when you should stop?" I asked.

He shook his h

ead.

"It's different for everyone, Honey. Something inside you has to cry out. enough!"