They were going to the pool; she was wearing her bathing suit, no socks, and sneakers.
“You remembered my name!”
Molly’s grandfather chuckled and then grew quiet. He focused on the breeze blowing across the top of his head in his ‘65 Ford Mustang convertible.
“Can you sing louder, Molly?”
She shook her head.
“Because it’s weird singing to one person.”
“You want to be a whatchamacallit and you’re shy?”
“A songwriter, Grandpa.”
“Well. I know you like to write,” he was thrilled over recalling how she loved to scribble in that little notepad she kept in her pocket. “So sing.”
Molly looked over at him, smiling. She reached for the knob on the radio to turn the volume up. “It has to be loud,” she explained.
They drove on. It was getting darker. Molly reminded her grandpa to turn the headlights on. A few minutes later she asked, “Are we almost there?”
Her grandfather paused. “Where?”
Molly sat back and stared ahead.
Her grandfather looked over at her profile. She looked exactly like his daughter. He knew she was his granddaughter. He knew they were going somewhere. He turned his head at the street corner, searching.
Molly lowered her eyes. She hated that her grandfather was changing. She glanced over at him. He smiled and nodded. Yes, he remembered.
“You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t try, right? Chase your dreams, Molly. You’ve got what it takes to be a successful singer. I believe in you.”
“Songwriter, Grandpa. I believe in you too.”
“Look at that,” he said, pointing to the side of the road. “There’s a shiny, new sign that tells us we’re heading in the right direction.”
The sun was setting on the passenger-side of the car as they entered the pool’s parking lot — the reason — Molly believed, that her grandfather kept turning to look at her, eyebrows raised, with a slight smile on his face.
Dedicated to my paternal grandfather who passed in 2004 due to secondary complications from Alzheimer’s disease. Sometimes when I’m feeling overwhelmed, there’s nothing like a mental ride in his Mustang to the neighborhood pool.