Page 5 of Home for Justice
Tyler swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, his eyes turning back to his grandfather’s quiet form, willing himself to accept what he knew was true. “Thank you,” he managed quietly. “I appreciate all you’ve done.” He still wrestled with the choking sensation lodged deep in his throat. Memories flashed of a time on the battlefield, when an enemy’s strong hands squeezed around his neck before a teammate came to the rescue. Yet even that suffocating moment paled in comparison to this aching helplessness gripping his heart. “Is there anything I can do for him?”
The doctor offered him a compassionate look. “Talk to him. Hold his hand. Tell him you love him. Share stories—thegood ones you carry with you. Tomorrow morning, the hospice coordinator will meet with you to help guide you through everything you might need.”
Shaking the doctor’s hand firmly, Tyler nodded, gratitude thick in his chest. He turned back toward his grandfather’s bed, pulling the chair closer again. For the next few hours, he spoke softly until his voice became raspy and hoarse, memories flowing as freely as his tears.
He recounted summer vacations spent in Montana, where long, lazy days were spent fishing by sunlit ponds, learning to ride a horse with his grandfather’s strong hand steadying him as he found his balance. He reminisced about mountain trails they’d explored, as his grandfather taught him to climb higher, step carefully, and always respect nature’s majesty.
Tyler’s voice softened further as he remembered his grandmother, thinking of warm days when the kitchen had been filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies and apple pies, treats unmatched by anything he’d ever tasted since. His chest tightened as he recounted how quickly and resolutely his grandparents had stepped in after the devastating car crash that took his parents from him while he’d been far away on a mission, their unconditional love becoming his anchor amid overwhelming grief.
He talked quietly, weaving stories of short visits while on leave, precious snippets of time where he’d swing through Montana just to feel that reassuring hug from his grandfather, sit on the porch sipping coffee, and hear wisdom softly imparted with patience and love.
A gentle noise from the door drew Tyler’s gaze, and he turned to see Tina padding into the room. She smiled softly, fatigue evident in her expression. “I’m getting ready to leave and just wanted to say goodbye.” She paused, tilting her head gently. “Take my advice and go get a few hours of sleep. The hospitalwill call you if you’re needed. But something tells me your grandfather will hold on for another day or so. You’re going to need rest to handle that.”
Tyler hesitated, the thought of leaving causing fresh knots of anxiety to tighten in his gut. Yet he knew she was right. He glanced at the clock on the wall, calculating the distance to his grandfather’s home. He could shower, rest briefly, and return ready to face whatever awaited.
Slowly, stiff muscles protesting, he stood and stretched his back, wincing at the ache. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered, voice rough from hours of quiet talking.
Tina chuckled softly, appreciation lighting her tired eyes. “I’ll take you up on that offer. My husband will be mighty glad I’m not heading into that parking lot alone.”
They moved quietly through the corridors, the muted hum and rhythmic beeps of medical equipment fading behind them. Outside, the cool night air greeted them gently, contrasting with the heavy emotional fog that had enveloped Tyler for hours.
He watched protectively as Tina climbed into her vehicle, waiting until her headlights illuminated the darkened lot and she pulled safely away. Only then did he head toward his rental SUV, inhaling deeply, letting the fresh air soothe some small part of the turmoil raging within him.
Sliding behind the wheel, he stared through the windshield, hands gripping the cold leather tightly. Grief and worry churned inside him, raw and aching. He knew sleep wouldn’t come easily, but the logical part of his mind understood it was necessary to face the inevitable days ahead.
With one last heavy sigh, Tyler started the engine. Emotions still swirling, he pulled slowly from the hospital parking lot, heart heavy but determined to find the strength he’d need.
3
Tyler pulled into his grandfather’s long driveway, stopping in front of the house. It was too dark to see anything, but his memory could see it all clearly. The older home had a wide front porch and a large deck in the back. His grandfather had built the house for his bride almost seventy-five years ago. It sat on the land that Charles Marconi had inherited from his father. At one time, his grandfather owned almost 150 acres, but he had sold a 20-acre plot to a man in town almost twenty-five years ago to build a house for his family. That family became Gramp’s closest neighbors. With all the land between them, that neighbor’s house could be seen in the distance, but it wasn’t too close. It still allowed his grandfather to feel as though he had the world at his feet.
The view he’d see from the back deck tomorrow morning would be of the nearby mountains. When he visited during the summers as a child and teenager, and in recent years on leave, he would enjoy the vista while sitting with his grandfather.
The house was silent and dark when Tyler arrived, not even the porch light burning. Pulling out the key his grandfather had given to him years ago, he opened the screen door, smiling at the familiar creak before unlocking the front door.
He stepped inside, flipping on a lamp near the entrance. Warm light spilled into the room, illuminating the neat but aged furnishings. The house was solidly built, carrying the quiet dignity of the past. His grandfather had never seen a need to chase trends or modernize, so there was no open floor plan. Tyler secured the door behind him before walking into the living room.
His grandmother’s rocker was still tucked neatly in the corner just as she’d left it, even though she’d died almost six years ago. Tyler’s throat tightened painfully at the vivid memory of her, seated comfortably by the window, knitting needles softly clicking as she crafted scarves and blankets. Beside her, he and his grandfather would wage friendly battles over checkerboards or intricate chess matches. His parents would sit on the sofa, and laughter mingled with the low murmurs of a family evening. Those family vacations back in Montana were some of his most cherished memories.
Swallowing the emotion welling in his chest, Tyler placed his bags gently onto the floor and moved farther into the house. He passed through the old-fashioned dining room, where the massive oak table was still polished to a warm shine beneath the light, and entered the spacious kitchen that stretched generously along the back of the house.
This room was his grandfather’s one indulgence, modernized years ago for his grandmother with a sturdy butcher-block island in the center, and new appliances that stood in stark contrast to the rustic charm of the handmade wooden cabinets.
He heard bleating from outside and remembered the goats Gramps had.Goats and chickens. I wonder who’s been taking care of them.He hurried outside, hoping they hadn’t been starving.
He pushed through the back screen door, the hinges creaking in protest, and jogged toward the old wooden fence thatsurrounded the small pen next to the small barn. The goats trotted forward eagerly, their curious eyes wide and hopeful. Relief swept through him as he saw the water trough still held enough to keep them going, and scattered remnants of grain suggested someone had tossed feed over at least once recently.
A glance toward the coop reassured him further. Even though slightly disheveled, the chickens scratched contentedly around the dusty enclosure. Someone had definitely stepped in to help, and he'd need to figure out who deserved his gratitude.
Back inside, he opened the refrigerator door, relief flooding him at seeing it well-stocked. His grandfather had been taking care of himself, though the subtle pang returned at the acknowledgment that the older man likely wouldn’t be returning home to finish any of this food himself.
Tyler made a simple sandwich and heated a bowl of canned soup. Though he typically possessed a robust appetite, his stomach was too knotted to manage more tonight. The long flight, coupled with the emotional strain of seeing his grandfather in such a fragile condition, robbed him of his hunger.
After rinsing and carefully drying his dishes, he glanced out through the kitchen window into the quiet darkness of the backyard. He saw lights glowing softly from the neighbor’s house in the distance, across the gentle slope of grass and low, sparse trees.
Tyler flicked the kitchen light off and strolled toward the front of the house. Retrieving his bags, he climbed the staircase to the second floor, pausing briefly to peer into his grandfather’s room. Everything inside appeared untouched, waiting patiently for its owner’s return, a thought that twisted painfully in Tyler’s chest.
With a heavy sigh, he crossed the hall and entered the bedroom he’d always used. The upper floor comprised threebedrooms and a large shared bathroom. This room had forever been a place that held echoes of happier times. Days from childhood vacations, filled with laughter and family, rushed back. Later, brief visits after his parents’ tragic deaths and during military leaves were softer, quieter times, but still precious.
