Shaun held the framed photo of his grandfather and traced the image with his finger.
“He was such a great man.”
Granddad had died four years ago, but the rawness of grief still gnawed at Shaun. He’d lost the man who had raised him when his own parents couldn’t—or wouldn’t.
And here he was, reviewing plans for his wedding, his fiancée at his side. Erin would never meet the person he owed his life to.
“I see where you got your good looks,” Erin said. “Too bad I never knew him. My own grandfather died when I was just a baby, so I never knew him either.” She paused, and looked down at her notebook. “Maybe we can honor your grandpa in some way at the reception?”
She launched into an update on the guest list, the bridal party, and other wedding details he honestly didn’t have an opinion on. They were getting married, and that was enough. If only Granddad were here . . .
Once again he touched the photograph, taken when his grandfather was Shaun’s age, his eyes sparkling in laughter, his ever-present Tilley hat pushed to the back of his head. In the background, the surf at Brigantine crashed onto the sand, a gull winging overhead. Shaun had framed the photograph after he reached adulthood and went out on his own. He wanted to be reminded of how far he’d come, thanks to the man.
Erin continued her updates, and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he was standing on a beach, with the waves rolling in below a clear sky. Gulls cried above him, and a briny breeze flowed off the ocean. Erin was looking at him, her mouth agape.
“Where are we?” she squeaked.
“Not sure,” Shaun said. “The Jersey Shore, I think.”
The beach was deserted except for a man walking toward them—the guy definitely had them in his sights. As the man drew closer, Shaun knew who it was, but not how or why.
The face was younger but unmistakable. “Granddad?”
In the warm summer sunshine, the man wore jeans and a tee, his head topped with his usual brimmed hat. His smile enveloped Shaun, and he followed that with a bear hug.
“Shaun, my boy,” the man said. “Good to see you.” He turned to Erin, shock still etched across her face. “And this must be your fiancée.” He extended a hand. “A pleasure, miss. You’ve got yourself a real catch in Shaun.”
Erin slowly put out her own hand, and the man covered it with both of his.
“But how . . . ?” Shaun said, his voice trailing off until the roar of the surf absorbed it. “You’re young—my age. And you’re here. It’s impossible.”
“Not impossible, but complicated,” his grandfather said. To Erin, he said, “You can call me Paul. I’ve known Shaun for years.” He offered his arm to her and winked. “I think it’s time to take a walk on the beach. Beautiful day for a stroll, don’t you think?”
For the next few hours, that’s what they did, talking and laughing as the waves tugged at their feet. With every step, Shaun tried to make sense of what was happening. Erin, trading jokes with Paul, was at ease as if she’d known the man for years, not just an afternoon.
Finally, Paul came to a halt and turned to Shaun. “You’ve done well, grandson. I’m proud of you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. “Take this. When the time comes to say your vows, this will stand in for me, since I can’t be there.”
Shaun took the coin, felt the smoothness of the metal, its unyielding strength.
“Thank you,” he said, content to remain in this must-be-a-dream state as long as he was allowed.
The wind gusted, sending up spray from the surf. Paul grabbed hold of his hat and settled it on the back of his head.
Erin, still at Paul’s side, reached up and adjusted it. “There, that looks better,” she said, smiling. “And it keeps the sun out of your eyes.”
Shaun shaded his own eyes in the brightness, closed them briefly—and he was again in his living room, the framed photo of his grandfather back on the side table where he kept it.
His right hand still gripped the silver dollar, and he opened his palm. The coin was real enough; he hadn’t dreamt that.
Erin shook her head, her eyes dazed. “What just happened?”
“I’m not sure,” he said.
He glanced at his grandfather’s photograph. It was the same, and it wasn’t. The Tilley hat perched on the back of his grandfather’s head was now straightened, and his lips curved in a friendly smile.
-
Shaun held the framed photo of his grandfather and traced the image with his finger.
“He was such a great man.”
-
The clock read fifteen minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve, and the party had descended into arguments instead of winding up for the big calendar change.
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Today was her birthday, but her closest friends were busy, so Nicole took herself out to dinner. The Purple Potted Plant was her favorite restaurant for special occasions, and this year qualified as one: her fortieth.
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The post promised an autumnal birding phenomenon not to be missed. Steph wasn’t really a birder—she could never tell one sparrow from another—but she did like birds.
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An overnight stay at a small New England inn proves a challenge when the guests in the next room launch their own plans for the evening.
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