A Proper Wife

“This room is drafty. Let’s go into the library.”

Ryan rose to his feet. “Let me help you, sir,” he said as James put his hands on the arms of his chair. It was an offer he made each time he saw James struggling to stand. The response was always the same. “I’m not in my grave yet,” the old man would say.

But not tonight.

“Yes,” his grandfather said, “I suppose you’d better.”

Ryan’s eyes shot to the old man’s face, but it gave nothing away. He eased him to his feet, led him across the hall to the library where a fire blazed in the hearth despite the mildness of the fall evening, and settled him into a leather wing chair.

James sighed. “That’s better. Now pour some cognac.”

Ryan started to object, then thought better of it. Why not cognac? Compared to dinner, cognac was small change. He poured drinks, handed one snifter to his grandfather, then drew a chair to the fire and sat down.

“All right, Grandfather,” he said, “let’s have it.”

“Have what?” James assumed an air of innocence.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve pushed me as far as I’m going to go. Now I want some answers. What’s going on?”

“Why are young men always so impatient?”

“Grandfather...” Ryan said, his tone a warning.

“All right, all right. I suppose you know that my eighty-seventh birthday is fast approaching.”

“So you gave yourself an early gift? A meal that would make your doctors tear out their hair if they saw it?”

“This is my life, not theirs.” James’s eyes met his grandson’s. “Do you remember any of what you learned in Sunday school, my boy?”

“Well,” Ryan said carefully, “that depends.”

“I’m referring to the biblical injunction that a man is entitled to live three score years and ten.” James smiled. “I’ve done a bit better than that.”

Ryan smiled, too. “You always managed to get a good return on your investments, sir.”

“I went on that hideous no-fat, no-sugar, no-taste regimen seven years ago at the urging of my doctors. They convinced me that a man of eighty, who’d survived the sort of surgery that kills men half that age, might improve his lot by eating wisely if not well.”

“It was good advice.”

“It was—until now.”

“Come on, Grandfather. You’re not going to throw in the towel just because you’re turning eighty-seven in a couple of months!”

“I had my semiannual checkup last week.” James’s tone was brisk. “The doctors suggested I make certain my affairs were all in order.”

Ryan’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that not even a diet of pap can keep a man living beyond his time—which is as it should be. No one should take up room on this overcrowded planet forever.”

“That’s nonsense!”

“It is absolutely logical, and you know it. And before you ask... yes, I have sought a second medical opinion. It confirms the first. It’s time to tally up the books.”

Ryan felt his gut twist. He loved his grandfather fiercely. James had been his surrogate father and his professional mentor. He’d been everything, all the family Ryan had ever known. The years had passed—of course they had. Still, in a way that had nothing to do with rational thought, he’d expected to have more time.

“There’s no reason to look so bleak, boy. I’ve enjoyed my life. Truly, I have no regrets.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “What about seeing another doctor? A specialist?”