Plus, with the problems he had with his knee, a joint that now was as good an indicator of impending bad weather as the best meteorologist, it was time to separate from the military.
Coming to the intersection, he looked out the windshield as the house came into view. Red brick with a dark green front door and matching shutters on the windows. Two stories with a third-floor bonus room and deck. His gaze dropped to the side and the chain-link fence around the neatly trimmed backyard. The familiarity of the view had memories rushing through his mind, and a smile slid over his face as his heart warmed.
Pulling to a stop just outside the front door near the corner, he parked and climbed out of the SUV. Stretching his arms over his head, he twisted back and forth, working out the kinks from the trip. Hurrying up the front steps, he slid his key into the keyhole, unsure if his grandmother was resting. Opening the front door, he was hit with the familiar scent of her kolachzi cookies and the sound of music coming from the kitchen.
“Babciu?” The Polish word for grandmother was the only word from the old world that had been passed down through the family, so familiar to him since that’s what she’d called her grandmother.
“Benjamin! Is that you?” came the cry from the back.
A wide grin spread over his face as he hurried through the living room, through the dining room, and into the huge kitchen where his grandmother was walking toward him, her cane in her hand but not leaned upon. Her soft, white hair, cut just above her shoulders, floated about her face. Her blue eyes were bright and her smile wide, deepening the creases emanating from her eyes. A red apron was tied about her waist, the bib protecting her bright yellow blouse and tan pants. She halted her progress as he moved past the counter and wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her into his embrace as the scent of her soft perfume wafted past. Her arms encircled his waist, and she patted his back, just like when he was much younger.
“I didn’t know when to expect you.” She leaned back to hold his gaze, her eyes searching over his face before narrowing. “Did you drive straight through from California?”
“Well, I stopped for food and sleep,” he laughed. His gaze took her in, carefully cataloging the changes since he last saw her. She was a little thinner, and her smile was slightly crooked, making him wonder if it was due to the stroke.
“Let’s sit down.” He wanted her off her feet, but she shook her head.
“I’ve got one more batch of cookies in the oven—”
“I’ll get them when your timer goes off. Come on, sit with me.” He hovered as she turned and walked toward the table.
When his grandfather renovated the two townhouses into one, he kept the front separated, creating a formal living room, dining room, and powder room on one side, and on the other side, a family den and sitting room. But in the back of the house, he combined the two kitchen spaces, making one huge kitchen with modern appliances, lots of counters, and a family table for everyday eating. A full bathroom and laundry were just off from the kitchen. A sliding glass door opened to the backyard, allowing sunlight to pour into the space. It was Ben’s favorite room in the house, and even now, over twenty years later, he reveled in the comfort.
Once she was settled, he grabbed the platter of cooled cookies and placed them on the table. He noted a cup of tea steeping on the counter and placed that in front of his grandmother as well. Grabbing a glass of milk from the refrigerator, he sat next to her, eagerly reaching for the first kolachzi he’d had in a couple of years. Biting into the buttery-sweet cookie, he groaned as the strawberry jam hit his taste buds.
“Oh, Babciu, this is amazing. I’ve missed your cooking.”
She smiled, patting his hand before taking a cookie herself, closing her eyes as she chewed. “Your grandfather always said kolachzi was one of my best recipes. It belonged to my babcia, you know.”
He nodded while stuffing another cookie into his mouth. His great-grandfather had immigrated to the United States from Poland as a young man, bringing his young bride. They settled into the Polish neighborhoods of Hope City. Anna was their youngest child, and she married Ben’s grandfather, a man whose grandparents had immigrated from Poland as well.
Swallowing his bite, he washed it down with cold milk before leaning back in his chair and heaving a satisfied sigh. “Grandpa was right, but then I’ve never had anything you cooked that wasn’t amazing.”
“Benjamin, I never expected you to visit when I called you, but you know my heart is singing with you being here. So, tell me, how long are you here for? Do I dare hope you can stay a week? If so, I promise to cook all my specialties to tempt you!”
He scrubbed his hand over his short hair, glad for the reprieve when the buzzer for the oven timer sounded. Jumping to his feet, he walked over and gloved his hand with her large oven mitt before opening the door. Taking the opportunity to stall for a moment, he set the last tray of cookies onto the stovetop. With her spatula, he gently slid them onto the cooling rack. Taking the tray to the sink, he looked out the window framed with sunny curtains in a checked pattern of yellow, green, and blue.
He remembered her telling him that the house directly behind hers had been empty for a while but now the grass was trimmed, and several toys were in the yard. Curtains hung on their kitchen window as well. Turning his back to the window, he glanced around to see what else he could do to busy himself, but her words cut through his thoughts.
“You’re stalling, Benjamin.”
He looked over at her, finding her peering at him through her glasses, her sharp eyes on his face. Sighing, he nodded and walked back to the table, slumping into the chair. “What would you say if I told you that I’m not going back in a week?”
She startled slightly and shook her head. “Oh, no, Benjamin. You’re not going to give up everything to stay here with me! I’m fine. The stroke was not serious, and I don’t need you to sacrifice your career for me. You help me find a qualified contractor, and then I can get this place ready to sell.”
He held her gaze then grinned sheepishly. “You never did let me get away with anything, did you?”
“Bah,” she chuckled, waving her hand. “What’s on your mind? What are you not telling me?” Leaning back, she added, “You’ll make me worry if I have to guess.”
“You missed your calling. You should have been an interrogator. You could make the most hardened terrorist want to spill their guts.”
Her mirth now poured forth as she laughed, her eyes twinkling. Finished stalling, he held her hand, noting the strength in her fingers. “It was time.” She said nothing, her patience allowing his story to come as it would.
“Your phone call didn’t start the change in my life. I was already having to make some difficult decisions. Fifteen years in the service… thirteen of those as a SEAL. I was lucky. I got to work with the best people doing a job I loved. But change comes to us all.”
“Your injuries.” Her plainly stated comment was soft and full of understanding.
“Yeah.” He sighed his acknowledgment. “The first knee injury involved physical therapy, but I was anxious to get back to my team, so I jumped in to do whatever I had to do to get cleared. The second injury of the same knee included surgery, followed by PT and rehab. And a stern warning about the joint being weakened.”