Lots of Love
His son-in-law drove. His daughter sat in the front passenger seat. He sat in the back seat behind her. His wife was next to him. “Good thing Brent is driving,” he teased his daughter. “I remember times riding with you. In my state I can’t afford to take any unnecessary chances.”
“I was always careful when I drove you, Pops,” she said, reaching back to touch his hand.
“Dunno. Maybe. But I remember when I had that, what was it…vertigo thing back in…whenever it was. You went around corners, and it felt like you were doing sixty-five. Felt like a roller coaster. Although maybe I’d recovered from the vertigo and didn’t know it, and you were doing sixty-five around the corners.”
“I’ve ridden with her too, Dad,” said Brent, “and I know what you mean. But, really, she never takes corners over sixty-three. I’ve clocked her.”
“Over there, hon—up on the second floor—the tree in the window,” his wife said. “You like that kind.”
Centered in the window of a second-floor apartment shone a small tree with all green lights.
“That’s pretty. I like trees with the lights all the same color. Sometimes. For our own tree, I like all the different colors. But I’m glad some people put up all one color. It’s a nice change.” He spoke slowly, laboringly.
“Want me to stop so you can look at it longer?” Brent asked.
“No, no, keep on driving, Brent. It’s fine. There’ll be lots more.”
“You warm enough back there, Pops?” Jennifer turned and reached her hand toward her father again.