“Take care of the place.”
I nodded.
“I will.”
He smiled.
“And fix that gutter over the garage.”
I laughed.
“It’s already on my list.”
He looked toward Bri.
“I hope you two are happy here.”
She smiled through tears.
“Thank you.”
When we reached the house that afternoon, it was empty.
The rooms looked larger without furniture.
Sunlight fell across the living-room floor.
The kitchen window overlooked the backyard.
Bri stood beside it.
Then she turned toward me.
“Brendan, it’s ours.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
She laughed.
Then cried.
I hugged her.
For several minutes, neither of us said anything.
We simply stood in the kitchen of the house we’d spent years saving to buy.
Later, we discovered Dana had removed several light bulbs before leaving.
Nothing serious.
Just enough that the rooms were darker than they should have been.
I stood in the hallway holding an empty socket cover.
Then looked toward Bri.
She began laughing.
I laughed too.
After everything that had happened, I wasn’t interested in turning a few light bulbs into another family argument.
Hoody arrived that evening carrying a box from the hardware store.
He looked around.
“Nice place.”
I nodded.
“Thanks.”
Then I showed him the empty fixtures.
He stared.
Then shook his head.
“Well, that’s one way to leave an impression.”
Kevin arrived carrying our toolbox.
He looked toward the ceiling.
Then said, “We brought bulbs.”
Hoody turned toward him.
“That’s three sentences this month. You’re getting talkative.”
Kevin shrugged.
We spent the evening installing light bulbs, checking the garage, and making a list of small repairs.
Bri ordered pizza.
We ate sitting on the living-room floor because our furniture hadn’t arrived.
I looked around the empty room.
Then smiled.
It reminded me of something Grandpa had once said.
A house doesn’t become yours when you get the keys.
It becomes yours when you start taking care of it.
The following weekend, I drove to Grandpa’s house.
He was sitting in his recliner beside the window.
I walked in carrying the new key ring.
“Grandpa?”
He looked up.
“Brendan.”
I placed the keys in his hand.
For a moment, he simply stared at them.
Then he lifted them toward the light.
The metal caught the afternoon sun.
He smiled.
“Well, look at that.”
I sat beside him.
“We bought our first house.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
I swallowed.
“And you helped.”
He looked at me.
“That’s what I said I’d do.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Grandpa reached beside his chair.
He brought out a small envelope.
I shook my head immediately.
“Grandpa, no.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You’ve already done enough.”
He looked toward the keys.
Then back at me.
“I wasn’t offering more money.”
I laughed.
“Sorry.”
He smiled.
Then set the envelope aside.
“I want something else from you.”
I leaned forward.
“Name it.”
“A patio.”
I frowned.
He continued.
“Out back of your new house. Facing west so the sun goes down in front of it.”
I smiled.
“Okay.”
He pointed one large finger at me.
“And I want to be there when you pour it.”
I took a breath.
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned back.
“Good.”
Then he looked toward the window.
“I’ve watched you pour concrete since you were sixteen. I’d like to see you pour something for yourself.”
My throat tightened.
I nodded.
“You’re going to get the best seat in the yard.”
Grandpa smiled.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
We started preparing the patio in May.
The backyard faced west, just as Grandpa wanted.
There was a level area behind the kitchen where we could build an eighteen-by-twenty-four-foot slab.
I measured carefully.
Set the forms.
Checked the drainage.
Then called Hoody and Kevin.
They agreed to help.
Bri brought sandwiches and arranged a place where Grandpa could sit in the shade.
Dad drove him over that Saturday morning.
Grandpa climbed out of the car slowly.
He wore a blue work shirt and an old cap from the grain elevator.
When he saw the forms, he smiled.
“That’s a good size.”
I nodded.
“Big enough for a grill, a table, and a couple of chairs.”
He studied the slope.
“Water going away from the house?”
I laughed.
“Yes, Grandpa.”
He nodded.
“Just checking.”
We poured the concrete.
Hoody handled the finishing tools.
Kevin worked the edges.
I kept checking the surface.
Grandpa sat in his chair watching every move.
Every so often, he’d call out a question.
“How’s the mix?”
“Good.”
“Forms holding?”
“Perfect.”
“That young fellow know what he’s doing?”
Kevin glanced up.
“Yes, sir.”
Grandpa laughed.
“Good answer.”
As the slab began setting, Bri came outside carrying lemonade.
She handed Grandpa a glass.
He looked toward her.
“Happy with your house?”
Her eyes softened.
“Very.”
He nodded.
“Then I’m happy too.”
When the surface was ready for the final finish, I walked to my truck.
Inside, beneath the passenger seat, was the old coffee can Grandpa had given me fifteen years earlier.
The label had faded.
The metal was scratched.
And there weren’t many wheat pennies left.
I opened it.
Then searched through the coins.
I found one dated 1944.
I carried it back to the patio.
Grandpa looked up.
“What’s that?”
I held out the penny.
“Your turn.”