1 - Just The Tip

He balanced the coin on its edge between his cast and the table and flicked it. It wasn’t even; it didn’t make an entire rotation before it toppled and rattled flat next to the napkin. It landed crown up. The face was worn but the thorns of the laurel could still be seen. It should’ve been in the lacquer box, in its red felt recess but he needed to have his hands on it.

“Hey, same as always?” Liz smiled with her hand leaning on the corner of the booth. She held her tray on her hip. The simple blue blouse and short black skirt looked incredible on her. Her nametag hung above her large breast. She had always liked him, though she needed a few moments to recall his name. He came in with his girl most every week. He tipped well and was as charming as he was harmless. She wondered about the girl not being there, but uncommon wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“I think just the beer for the moment.” He looked up. He looked more tired when he smiled. She was lovely, he decided. He picked up the coin again. It was just bigger than a quarter.

“Cool, Darlene’s already pouring it. Now, give me your hand.” She reached out with her left. He raised an eyebrow and reached out with his left for an awkward handshake.

“Not that one.” She shook her head. “Let me sign the cast.”

He chuckled and lit up. He laid the plaster on her palm. She tugged and he inched further out of the bench to meet her unspoken direction.

“How’d it happen?” She asked as she picked a thin tipped marker from her apron. “Let me guess, fight club?”

“Well, I can’t talk about the fight club.” He answered happy to have an easy joke to make. He crafted a warm smirk. “No, my senile grandfather closed his front door on it.”

“I hope you got him back.” She played along. “Good revenge?”

“Oh yeah, he’s dead now. I even have his pirate treasure.” He flashed the coin on the table. She stopped writing.

“Oh my God! I’m sorry.” She went white.

“No, it’s alright. He was a hundred and six.” He laughed. “It wasn’t painful. Plus he would’ve loved that joke.”

“Alright then,” she grinned. She finished her name by dotting the I with a heart. Darlene, the other waitress, a cute mid-twenties brunette with very attractive curves brought over a big glass of amber beer.

“Me next?” She asked as he said thank you. She pulled him from Liz’s hand and scribbled her name over the thumb. “Let me guess, fight club?”

“Yeah, fight club.” He answered. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Of course,” Darlene beamed. “You still haven’t got his order Elizabeth? He’s not really a difficult customer.”

“Nah, he’s easy.” Liz nodded. “Go on, the next table looks like big tippers.”

“Oh the Johnsons? And they brought the toddler? Yay, me!” Darlene kissed her name and returned his hand.

“You going to be waiting on your girl?”

“My what? Oh, Janice? The woman I’m usually here with? No, no, no. She’s my cousin. My only family in town really. She’s still out at my uncle’s place cleaning up after Grandpa.” He laughed. Maybe he was trying too hard to be upbeat?

“Cousin, huh? Well, I know someone will be happy to learn that.” She said, thinking of Darlene. He grinned feeling like she was flirting with him. He looked down on his wrist. Darlene had written: “To my favorite customer, Darlene.” That was sweet.

Liz had written, “If we don’t find you handy, we can at least find you handsome.” Her writing stutter was apparent in the word least. She signed her name Elizabeth. Heart and all. He was really certain she was flirting now. He was overestimating what was friendliness, genuine cheer, and customer service. She also loved dotting her i with a heart and had so few opportunities to do so anymore. When she was signing her name now, it was on a form. Sometimes for the government. Worst part about being an adult.

“Yeah, I was just given the box at the hospital getting my carpal bones fixed.” He waved the cast. “We were going to clean out his house but I was told four and a half sets of hands wouldn’t get the job done any faster than four. I got sent back. Still got the week booked off before work expects me though.”

“Nice! And the coins are cool. They worth anything?” She asked. She looked around. Her last table waved from the doorway as they headed out. She had a breather. She pushed off her chore list to keep talking with him.

“The appraiser said they’d be about a 180 bucks a coin.” He shrugged. “There’s twelve of them, but there’s eighteen more seats. Grandpa must’ve sold a few along the way.”

“They’re very cool. You going to keep ‘em or sell ‘em?” He let her roll the uneven circle of silver between her thumb and forefinger. The head side was an eroded Roman guy and the tails a roughed out bird. She laid it back into his left palm.

“Oh yeah. I just got to figure out what to buy with them.” He laughed at an inside joke. She smiled along with him at an aim for a better shift and a larger tip. She wasn’t totally mercenary, but she was a little morose he hadn’t commented on her classic Canadian reference.

“Well what are you missing? What do you really want?” She conspired.

“I think it’s more what I’m wearing out.” He waved his hand. “I’m clearly running this body into dust. I should get a new one. Yours looks good? You ever think about selling your bo ... dy...”

Realization hit him as the words came out of his mouth just after he figured out the double entendre. His face went red like it had back in high school. Her smile looked unsteady. As she thought of the words to turn down his little flirt, he blurted out his.

“Sorry, that was a bit crass.” He took a heavy drink of his beer. He managed not to awkwardly throw it down his throat and cough up a lung. He wasn’t used to drinking left handed.

“It was crass but it was sweet. Thank you so much, really brightened up my day.” She smiled as she prepared to tell him about her boyfriend. He shook his head.

“So, how about the usual and I wallow in awkwardness for a minute by myself?”

“You’re on.” She grinned. “Get better soon ... Owen.”

He picked up the coin again. Grandpa had been alive and spry this time last week.

“You just going to ignore her the whole trip home?” Janice asked. “Little divorced high school fling? Give her a bit of positive attention I bet she’d beg for a drilling and make you breakfast after.”

Owen laughed off his hippy free-love green-haired pot-enclouded cousin. He looked across the street where his old flame had moved back in with her mom. “I wouldn’t want to deal with that. Besides, I only flew back for Grandpa, you know?”

“Really? I never much cared for him.” Janice shrugged. “But I had company to travel with, so a Christmas back home didn’t sound too bad.”

The pair sat in silence, sipping hot chocolate on Janice’s parents’ couch. Owen’s Dad and Mom had arranged themselves a getaway over the holiday before Grandpa had called his grandson. It was strange. Owen had that house to himself. The boredom and loneliness and nostalgia had piled up. He had taxied over at midnight and slept right on the couch they were sitting. His uncle had a fridge full of beer and his aunt never left the stove all Christmas season. It was the right place to be.

“So I’m going alone?” Owen stood up. It was the day before new year’s. “Hard to believe a hundred years old and he’s still livin’ on his own.”

“You’re only as young as the woman you feel.” Janice sipped from her mug. “Last Grandma put him at what? Sixty?”

“About that,” Owen chuckled at the idea of calling the most recent of his Grandpa’s cycle of girlfriends Last Grandmas. Good on him, Owen truly believed. The old man had been a widower for twenty five years.

He carried his cup to the kitchen sink and rinsed it out. He kissed his aunt good-bye and drove the rental car up the hill to the three story home that hadn’t seen use of the top two floors in at least a decade. Owen walked in the side door. The front door was for unwelcome filthy knockers.

“Hey, Owen! Good boy.” Grandpa spoke sharp and loud. You knew to speak loud back. He grabbed his grandson and shook his hand. He wasn’t a hugger. The man was thin and old looking but his steps were quick and he only ever used the cane Owen’s mom had bought him to poke visitors out of his Lay-z-Boy. “You ever think of your inheritance?”

“Everyday, but this place doesn’t have a basement and you won’t go up the stairs anymore for me to push you down ‘em.” Owen joked. Grandpa let out a happy whoop.

“Nah, I ain’t going out a chump.” He snickered. “C’mon. I’m going to show you what’s yours. Can’t just hand it over blind, y’know?”

Owen followed him through the kitchen, beyond the living room turned master bedroom, and into the little library at the end of the hall.

“Most of the money’s in the house.” He said as Owen waited for him to go over to the old hickory desk in the corner. “Some of these books are first editions. Not the Cervantes, looks old but hardly any collector would be interested, but some of them are worth a penny. I figure Janny would be more into those.”

“Not unless the pages are good for rolling up ganja with.” Owen used his grandfather’s slur for cannabis. He liked poking at Janice, but she really would like the books.

“And now it’s gone legal.” The old man shook his head. “What’s next?”

“Probably magic mushrooms or ecstasy.” Owen shrugged. It was fun riling the old man up but Owen figured all drugs would be better off legal. Grandpa? He had old thoughts. Owen believed Grandpa was pissed that his eye doctor had prescribed him reading glasses let alone anything from a pharmacy.

“Well, shame I won’t be around for the world to burn.” He laughed. “Anyway, thing is, you might be wondering how I fathered your mom and Janny’s dad so late in age.”

“I just assumed you were a charming son of a bitch.” Owens mirked.

“That too.” He laughed. “That too.”

He shook his head. “I spent some time in Africa during WWII.” He announced. “Spent most of the time in Egypt. Had a gun on me every second of the journey. Never fired a shot. Lucky.”

“Yeah?” Owen didn’t want to ask him for details. He had never opened up before. As far as the grandson knew, Grandpa hadn’t fought for Canada or any of The Allies. He had never been a soldier.

“Yeah, I was tasked with looking out for this old guy. Hated the crass piece of shit. Scooped up them moslem girls like they were candy. I just got stink-eyes and threats.” He laughed. “Well he wasn’t so careful, and he wasn’t nothing like lucky.”

Grandpa lifted a lacquered wooden box out of the top drawer of the desk. “He used to hand these out. The girls would go wild and they’d bring ‘em back. Squirreliest shit I ever saw. Imagine, a woman paying you back?”