The diamond earrings from our twenty-fifth anniversary. The sapphire pendant he had given me when Rebecca was born.
The tennis bracelet from our last Christmas together before the Alzheimer’s took too much of him. “They are so pretty,” Alice breathed, eyes wide as I opened each box to show her.
“They are special memories,” I corrected gently, tucking the boxes into my large handbag, “and memories should be protected.”
We continued our expedition, Alice growing increasingly enthusiastic as our treasure collection grew. She did not question why we were gathering these items or where they would go.
In her mind, we were simply having an adventure together, a special secret between grandmother and granddaughter. When we had collected everything on my mental inventory, I glanced at my watch.
Nearly five, just enough time for the next phase. “Alice, how would you like to have dinner at the bistro tonight?”
Her eyes lit up. The bistro was her favorite restaurant, a treat usually reserved for birthdays and special occasions.
“Really? Can we have the chocolate lava cake?”
“Absolutely,” I assured her. “But first, we need to take our treasures somewhere safe. Do you think you can help me with that?”
She nodded solemnly, clearly taking her role as treasure guardian very seriously.
“Where are we taking them?”
“To a special vault,” I explained, using terms she would understand from her adventure books. “A place where important things are kept protected.”
The vault was, in reality, a safety deposit box at my bank, one that Rebecca and Philip knew nothing about. I had opened it years ago to store certain documents my husband had wanted kept separate from our home safe.
This morning, I had called ahead to arrange access after regular hours, leveraging my fifty-year relationship with the bank’s manager. Alice was suitably impressed by the bank’s security procedures, the verification of my identity, the dual keys needed to access the vault area, the hushed tones of the manager as he escorted us to a private room.
To her, this was better than any pretend game of spies or explorers. This was real adventure with real treasure.
“This is where we will keep everything safe until the right time,” I told her as we carefully arranged the items in the large safety deposit box. I had already placed the most crucial documents there earlier.
Copies of the recordings, the new will, photographs of the financial records showing discrepancies.
“When will we come back for them?” Alice asked, carefully placing her grandfather’s paperweight alongside his watches.
“When everything is settled,” I said, smoothing her hair. “Don’t worry, these treasures are not going away forever. They are just waiting for the right moment to come home.”
As we finished and the box was secured, Alice looked up at me with those clear eyes that saw too much. “Is this because of what I told you about Mom and Dad’s trip?”
My heart skipped. I had underestimated her understanding of the situation.
“What makes you ask that, sweetheart?”
She scuffed her shoe against the polished floor. “Because you have been different since I told you. Not sad exactly, but thinking a lot. And now we are hiding treasures.”
I knelt to her level, meeting those eyes. “Alice, sometimes grown-ups need to protect the things that matter. That is all I am doing, protecting what matters, including you. Always you.”
She seemed to accept this, nodding with a solemnity beyond her years. “I am glad you are not sad anymore, Grandma. You smile more now, even if it is a different kind of smile.”
Out of the mouths of babes. She was right.
Something fundamental had shifted in me since that bedtime confession. The fog of grief and complacency that had enveloped me since my husband’s death was burning away, replaced by a clarity of purpose I had not felt in years.
“Let’s go get that chocolate lava cake,” I said, taking her hand. “I think we have earned it.”
Over dinner at the bistro, Alice chattered about school and friends, the conversation thankfully shifting to lighter topics. I listened attentively, memorizing her expressions, the way she talked with her hands like my husband always had, her infectious laugh when the waiter performed a small magic trick with her napkin.
This child was what mattered. Not the money, not the house, not even the principle of the thing, though that certainly fueled my resolve.
To see the full cooking instructions, go to the next page or click the Open button (>) and don't forget to SHARE it with your friends on Facebook.
