Waiting for Hubby
“Aren’t you cold out here, Grandma?”
“No.” She stared out at the monochromatic sea, ruffled by a chilly breeze. “I’m just waiting for my husband. He should be here soon.”
Poor Grandma. Her mind was adrift, like a ship becalmed on a foggy sea. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Grandpa was ten years gone and buried.
I was just leaving when the sea erupted in spray and a huge man emerged.
Grandma caught my look of shock. “My first husband . . .”
She laughed. “That water lily? No, this is Njörðr.”
Good on you, Grandma. Good on you.