We spent the following morning unloading the truck and settling in. That lasted until early afternoon when Grams’ “stories” came on. Then we were kicked out of the house and told to go find our own fun. Gabe and Kendall set off with their own agendas. My plan had been to check out the trail and stretch my artistic muscles—until I saw the mess that my darling brother left me.
While Grams’ house was always neat and tidy, the garage held the truth of her pack rat tendencies. I hadn’t realized how tightly Gabe wedged the front of my truck in amidst the clutter until I attempted to back it out. The wheels of my S-10 moved back an inch and a landside of knick knacks, boxes, and outdated furniture pelted down on my tiny truck.
Fan-freakin’-tastic.
I climbed out, shuffled my way through the mess, then stood back to survey the damage, turning my head to look at it from all angles.
“What on earth happened?” Grams exclaimed as she rushed out of the house. “Oh! Celeste! What the heck did you do?”
“Just thought I’d rearrange the garage by ramming my truck into stuff,” I grumbled.
Grams grimaced, “How bad is the damage?”
“I won’t know until I unbury it. But from the way that armoire is leaning, I’m guessing there’s going to be a nice dent in the side panel.”
“Let me go DVR my stories, and I’ll give you a hand.”
“No, that’s okay. Go back to your show. I caused the destruction; I can clean it up,” I said and gave myself a mental forehead smack.
If Gabe was home, I would’ve made him help. This was his fault. But he’d gone up to the high school to look into an assistant football coaching position Grams found out about. I would go it alone.
Another exasperated groan and I got started. I cleared a path to the armoire, righted it, and checked out the damage. Not too bad, just one dent where the corner of it impacted. I could live with that. I noticed a chunk of wood sticking out from under my tire and squatted down to investigate. A chair must’ve fallen in the avalanche and I backed over it. Shrapnel from the chair carnage impaled my tire. It was hissing its way flat. That I couldn’t live with.
Grams came back out toting an icy glass of lemonade. I snatched it, muttered a quick “thanks,” and downed it in one gulp.
“Ouch, that’s a bad dent.” Grams watched my face to gauge my reaction.
“It’s not that bad. But by any chance do you know how to change a tire?” I motioned toward the flat.
“No, sorry. It’s always been my feeling that the ability to change a tire is one of the reasons we keep men around.” She gave me a strained smile, trying to make light of a bad situation.
“Gabe does, but it won’t matter right now. I don’t have a spare.” I knew for a while I needed to get one but had failed to do so. It wasn’t an issue until this very moment.
“That’s not a problem,” Grams explained. “It’s a short walk to Hank’s place.”
“Hank?”
“He’s the only mechanic in town. He’ll loan you a spare. Gabe can throw it on. Then you can drive up to Hank’s, and he’ll get you all fixed up.” I pondered how I would get the spare home but quickly dismissed it. Small town like this, Hank probably did pick-ups and deliveries. I guess some good came from everybody knowing everyone.
“Sounds good.” I handed Grams back the glass and got back to work. I picked up a box that’s contents were scattered across my hood, and I glanced inside. “Whoa. Who’s this nasty-looking guy?”
“What’s that, dear?”
I set the box down and pulled out the item in question. Carved from one solid piece of wood was a creature I had never seen before. Its head and wings were that of a bird, but it had the body of a predatory cat. It stood assertive and proud—chest out, feet planted wide. Its head was thrown back as if in a roar.
“Hmmm…where did that come from?” Grams scooted up beside me to get a better look.
“You’ve never seen it before?”
“No, never. It must be an heirloom of Grandpa’s. I know what it is though. It’s the Gryphon. He’s supposed to be half eagle and half lion.”
I turned the sculpture over in my hands. Along the bottom, words were etched. “Protector of the Divine.” I read. “What does that mean?”
“The legend was that the Gryphon protected divine items from those with evil intent.”
“Divine items like what?”
“The Holy Grail…Noah’s actual ark…I’ve even heard a couple of these guys guard the gates of heaven.”
“So, he’s like a big, mythical guard dog?”
Grams chuckled, “Well, look at him. Who would want to mess with that?”
“Good point.” I flipped the mysterious sculpture over as I continued to examine it. Something inside of it clicked, followed by a faint whir. Before I could pull my hand away, a toothpick-sized wooden spike jutted out and pricked my finger. “Ow! Crap!” My blood dripped onto the sculpture, and I put my finger in my mouth to clean it off.
“Why the heck would anyone booby trap a wooden figurine?” Grams took the carving from me and set it down so she could inspect my injury. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
It didn’t hurt. Odd as it seemed, a liquidly warmth had spread through my hand. “I’m fine. It surprised me more than anything.” A succession of clicks, like a crank being turned, and the spike retracted itself. “It must be important to someone if they felt the need to protect it like that.”
Grams scoffed, “It’s so important it’s been sitting in my garage for God only knows how long.”
For reasons I couldn’t explain, I asked, “Can I have it?”
Grams’ penciled-in eyebrows shot up. “You want the booby-trapped artwork?”
Wordlessly, I nodded. I thought it best to refrain from telling her that as soon as my blood touched the sculpture, I felt a powerful draw to it. Or that the tingling heat from the spike’s impact had spread all the way up my arm.
Grams scooped up the sculpture and dropped it in my hands. “If you want it, it’s yours.”
Those simple words filled me with a sense of joy I couldn’t explain. Claiming the enigmatic item as my own felt right, and I had no idea why.