Phyllis was at the local market. Phillip was on the back patio sweeping and whistling some forlorn tune when the door opened. He smiled at Timothy, then frowned at the stranger.
“This is my new friend Eddie,” Timothy said. “Eddie, this is my grandpa Phillip.”
They exchanged a greeting.
“I think I found Jason’s replacement,” Timothy said proudly.
Phillip was an old codger of nearly seventy years, stick-thin and a bald head with precious few gray hairs clinging to the age-spotted dome. Old folks can be divided into two categories: mean old bastards, and sweet as pie. Timothy once heard someone say that the mean old bastards were those who made the wrong decisions earlier in their lives and spent the rest of their lives in regret, which turns them bitter. Sweet as pie people made the right decisions in early life and not having those regrets makes them agreeable, sweet people. Phillip and Phyllis were emphatically the sweet as pie types. Phillip smiled and extended his palsied hand out to Eddie, who shook it with both hands, bright eyes conveying his gratitude for the opportunity about to be bestowed upon him.
“Praise be to the lord,” Phillip said. “And not a day too soon. I’m sorry, son, but I can’t offer you the position until my wife returns from the market. We agreed to make these decisions jointly.” He looked to Timothy, and in his expression was uncertainty, apprehension, which Timothy interpreted and felt compelled to bring to words.
“It’s okay, Grandpa. Eddie knows about Grandma. He’s like us. He’s not hateful.”
Phillip grinned at Eddie and nodded, patted his shoulder as he walked past him, and said, “Let’s have a seat at the table. The missus should be home any minute now.”