The Stroke of Winter(44)

Tess chuckled. “These sorts of places aren’t known for their culinary prowess,” she said. “But why? These folks should be getting the best food, if you ask me.”

“You know,” Wyatt said, “we could bust him out of here for lunch and take him to the brewpub on the main street. He’d love that.”

“I would, too.”

They walked through the doors, and Wyatt led her through the hallways to his grandfather’s room. When a quick knock didn’t get any answer, he tried the knob. It was unlocked. He pushed open the door, and they found his grandfather sitting on the couch, dressed in a crisp striped shirt that was buttoned up to the neck, a maroon cardigan, and tan slacks. His sparse hair was neatly combed, and his face was bright and alert.

“Wyatt, my boy!” he said, pushing himself up from the couch. A walker was nearby, but he didn’t use it. “Hello! Come in, come in! Who is this enchanting girl you’ve brought to my door?”

He shuffled his way toward Tess and reached out for her hand. She gave it to him, and he brought it to his lips.

“Welcome, dear lady,” he said, his eyes shining. Tess actually blushed. What a flirt.

“Pop, this is Amethyst Bell,” Wyatt said. “She goes by Tess. And Tess, this is my grandfather, Joseph Wharton.”

“I go by Joe,” he said to Tess. “My friends call me Joe.”

“Joe it is,” Tess said.

“How about getting some lunch at the brewpub downtown?” Wyatt asked. “We’ll bust you out of this joint for the afternoon.”

Joe’s face lit up. “Wonderful!”

Wyatt found his grandfather’s coat and boots and helped bundle him up as though he were a little boy. As Tess took in the sight, she found there was indeed a childlike innocence on the old man’s face. An almost vulnerable look of excitement and joy in his eyes. It made her own sting with tears. She turned and quickly brushed them away.

“Where’s my hat?” Joe asked.

Wyatt reached into the closet and found a wool herringbone cap that reminded Tess of something you might have seen on a Scottish golf course a century ago.

Joe popped it on his head and grinned. “All set!” he said. “Let’s go!”

“Do you want your walker, Pop?” Wyatt asked.

Joe waved his hand. “I’ve got you next to me. Don’t need that old thing.” He turned to Tess and said in a stage whisper, “The ladies will think I’m old if I use a walker.”

Tess chuckled.

Wyatt locked the door behind them, and Joe took his arm. The hallway was long, but the old man’s pace was surprisingly swift for someone in his nineties. When they got to the front desk, he smiled brightly at the woman sitting behind it.

“There she is!” he said to her.

“Where are you off to, Joe?” she said with a big smile on her face. Tess got the feeling that was how most people reacted to Wyatt’s grandfather. His positive energy was infectious.

“These two kids are taking me to lunch,” Joe said. The pride in his voice tugged at Tess’s heartstrings. “At the brewpub downtown!”

“I love that place,” the woman said. “They have great burgers.”

“I’ll sign him out, Connie,” Wyatt said.

She nodded, sliding a clipboard toward him. “And in, when you get back,” she said. “You know the drill by now, but every now and then people forget to sign in, and the staff has to go looking for a resident.”

“You don’t want anybody MIA,” Wyatt said, raising his eyebrows.

“No, indeed,” Connie said. “Have a nice lunch, Joe!”

Joe waved at Connie as Wyatt trotted off to the parking lot. Tess waited with Joe inside the vestibule. He watched intently as Wyatt made his way to the car.

“Here he comes,” Joe said. “He’s coming right now.”

“He sure is,” Tess said, patting Joe’s arm.

After Wyatt pulled up to the door, Tess helped Joe into the front seat and hopped into the back. The same arrangement happened in reverse when they reached the restaurant, just a couple of blocks away. Tess helped Joe out of the car and then stayed with him while Wyatt parked the car. It takes a village, she thought.

Inside, Tess saw that the pub looked like it might have been transported from old-world England. A huge wooden bar dominated the room with an intricately carved bar back, bottles gleaming on shelves above it. Booths with black-leather seats lined the walls, and heavy wooden tables and chairs with the same black leather sat in the center of the room.

Tess couldn’t remember ever having been there—with so many great restaurants in Wharton, she had never made the trip. She settled Joe at one of the tables, easier to get into and out of a chair rather than a booth, and hung up his coat, along with her own, on the close-by hook on the wall.

When Wyatt joined them, Joe asked, “Can I have a beer?”

“Hell yes, you can have a beer, Pop.” Wyatt grinned at him. “Two, if you want.”

Their server appeared and they ordered their lunches—split-pea soup for Joe, a burger for Wyatt, a French dip for Tess. When their drinks arrived, Joe held his aloft.

“Happy days,” he said.

“Happy days,” Wyatt said, clinking glasses with his grandfather and Tess.