My father had sold the old motorcycle he had kept in his garage for almost thirty years.
The one my mother had made him promise never to sell.
It wasn’t worth a fortune.
But together with some money he had saved, he had managed to pay for the trip.
And that wasn’t the only thing he had arranged.
Three weeks earlier, he had personally come to the hotel.
He had spoken with the manager.
He told him about Lily.
He hadn’t asked for anything free.
He had only asked whether they could make the three days as beautiful as possible for her.
The manager discreetly wiped his eyes.
“Your father said he didn’t know how much time his granddaughter had left, but he wanted her to have at least one memory in which the hospital didn’t exist.”
I lowered the letter.
“Why didn’t he come with us?”
The manager didn’t answer.
But the letter did.
“There is something else I haven’t told you.
Recently, I had some tests done.
The doctors found a problem with my heart. This isn’t the time to explain all the details, and I don’t want this trip to become about me.
You once told me that you felt as though you were losing everything.
I don’t want you to lose the beautiful days too because you’re afraid of the ones that are coming.
So don’t come home early.
Don’t call me crying.
Take pictures.
Eat ice cream with Lily.
Let her stand in the water until she’s cold.
And give your mother’s necklace to her.
Your mother always said that the shell reminded her that you can carry the sea with you even when you’re far away from it.
Now it should belong to Lily.”
I could no longer see the words through my tears.
Lily touched my cheek.
“Is Grandpa sick?”
I took a breath.
“Yes, baby. But that doesn’t mean we have to be scared before we know more.”
She took the pendant in the palm of her hand.
“Did my grandma wear it?”
“Every day.”
“Then I’ll wear it too.”
That evening, I called Dad.
He answered on the second ring.
“Did she see it?”
He didn’t even say hello.
“Yes.”
His voice changed.
“And?”
I looked at Lily, who was standing by the window with the pendant around her neck.
“She said the sea doesn’t end.”
Dad started laughing.
Then I heard him crying.
“Dad, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you already have enough fear for one lifetime right now.”
“You can’t decide what I can handle.”
He was silent.
“You’re right.”
“How serious is it?”
“The doctors say the problem can be treated. But I need surgery and some additional tests.”
I closed my eyes.
It wasn’t the terrible news I had imagined while reading the letter.
But it was serious enough.
