That evening, back in our hotel room, I helped Sophie change into a dry dress for dinner.
There was a firm knock at the door.
I opened it to find the hotel manager standing in the hallway.
He was holding a large brown box in his hands.
His face was somber.
“Ma’am,” he said. “May I come in for just a moment?”
There was a firm knock at the door.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Not wrong.” He paused, choosing his words. “But there’s something about this trip you don’t know. I was asked to deliver this to you personally, once your daughter had seen the ocean.”
I stepped back and let him in.
Sophie sat up on the bed.
She tilted her head, watching the box.
“But there’s something about this trip you don’t know.”
“Asked by whom?” I said.
The hotel manager set the box gently on the low table by the window.
“By a gentleman who called us not too long ago. He mailed the box himself, with very specific written instructions about when to bring it up.”
My heart pounded in my ears.
“What exactly did he tell you?”
My heart pounded in my ears.
The hotel manager cleared his throat.
“He told me his granddaughter needed to see the ocean, and that when you got here, I was to bring this to your room. But he insisted that Miss Sophie had to see the ocean first.”
I stared at the box.
“Dad…” I whispered. “What did you do?”
Sophie climbed onto her knees on the bed.
“Grandpa sent us something?”
He insisted that Miss Sophie had to see the ocean first.”
The hotel manager smiled at her with tenderness.
“He sent you a lot of somethings.”
I pulled the box closer.
It was polished dark wood, heavier looking than a shoebox, tied with a decorative ribbon.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “He was making plans this whole time. He… he knew he wouldn’t make it here with us.”
The realization hit me like a train.
I pulled the box closer.
