Memento

Short fiction by K.C. Healy

Kelly was grateful that her grandmother had asked for her help. She was moving into assisted living and needed to pare down a houseful of objects into just a few boxes — whatever would comfortably fit into her new apartment.

As much as Kelly tried to repress it, she knew that her 85-year-old grandmother wouldn’t be around forever, and she was happy for any opportunity to spend time with her.

Even so, it had been a long week.

“I think we’re down to the last bit, honey,” June said, “let’s finish this up and I’ll get us a snack.”

Kelly opened the last of the boxes. It was dusty — it must have been in this basement corner for years. When she pushed some crumpled newspaper aside, she found a metal box. She set it on the table in front of June.

“Oh, I’d forgotten I still had this,” June said. She clicked open the clasps.

“Grandpa’s tackle box,” replied Kelly.

“You remember going fishing with us? You were just a little squirt.”

Kelly nodded. She had been only about eight when her grandfather died. But she did remember how much fun she had with the two of them, hiking and catching trout in small, out-of-the-way streams.

June picked a lure out of the tackle box and held it up for Kelly to inspect. It was about four inches long, with a red head, a white body, and a fierce-looking treble hook at its tail.

“Geez, that’s a big one. What is it?” asked Kelly.

“Oh, I don’t remember what it’s called.”

June’s memory was not quite as good as it had been in her nursing days.

She continued, “I know where we got it though.”

“Where’s that?”

“We took a big trip to Puerto Vallarta one year. Ed was bound and determined to try surfcasting. Of course, I didn’t really care much about that. Was happy to have an excuse for a beach vacation though!”

Kelly smiled.

“Puerto Vallarta? I didn’t know you had been there!”

“It was well before your time, honey. We left your mom — she must have been about three or so — with your great grandma. Kind of a delayed honeymoon. Mind you, it wasn’t nearly as touristy then as it is now.”

“How about this one?” asked Kelly, pulling out a yellow and red spoon.

Kelly and June took their time going through the tackle box, setting aside a few for June to keep. They decided that they’d frame the best of the bunch for June to display on the wall in her new apartment.

“Honey, I think we’re missing something. Would you mind checking that cardboard box again?” asked June.

“Of course not, Grandma,” replied Kelly.

She took the balls of paper out of the box one by one, pulling them apart to make sure nothing was hidden inside. Finally, at the bottom, she found a yellowed envelope. “June” was scrawled on its front.

Kelly handed it to her grandmother.

“Oh my. I haven’t seen this is a long time,” June said. Tears dotted the corners of her eyes. She opened the envelope and removed a letter. She read it and smiled.

“What is it, Grandma?”

“It’s private, child. It’s the note your grandpa wrote to me on our wedding day.”

June opened the envelope again and plucked out a small object.

“And this,” she said as she handed a fly to Kelly, “is what got us together.”

Kelly turned the fly over in her hand. “A caddis?” she thought.

Whatever it was, it looked like it had seen its way into a fish. The fur — or hair — on the fly was ragged and the hook’s barbs were flat. Kelly looked at grandmother and waited for her to continue.

“Ed went out fishing alone one day and got it caught in his finger. He couldn’t get it out. He drove all the way back into town that way. Can you imagine?

“It was a Saturday so he came to the hospital. I numbed up his finger and the doctor pulled out the hook and stitched him up. He came back the next day and asked me out.”

Kelly laughed with June and gave her a hug.

“Best meet cute story ever, Grandma.”