He remembered looking up, ever up, at the people in his life. He remembered a sun so bright it drowned the blue sky; and out of it, a tiny red box, held in an overlarge hand. As he reached up to take it, he saw a woman on it, framed by another sun, this one very yellow.
"They're good. Try one," said a voice far above.
It would be years before he acquired a taste for raisins, but that memory never failed to warm him.
The scene played in his mind as he took the exit ramp off the highway. He didn't know what he would see at his grandparents' apartment, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant.
"It's spread so fast," his cousin said.
"It's not Dad," Aunt June had said to his mother, not realizing the patio door was open.
"His doctor completely missed it."
"It's too late to operate."
"Now there's barely room for food to pass."
Voices in his head. He felt the tension building around his eyes, in his throat. Deep breaths, he thought. You don't know what you'll see.
"Slow down! Where's the race? Wally Brown through and through, you are. Eatin' like your backside's on fire," his mother said.
His dadda - never grandfather when he was younger - leaned in conspiratorially, "No race, eh. They're just a bunch of slowpokes," he said with a wink.
Brian was still smiling as he pulled into the parking lot.
"Yes?" the intercom crackled.
"Hi Nanny, it's Brian," he said.
"Oh, O.K. Just a sec," she said.
The door latch buzzed.
The rocking chair creaked slightly each time Dadda pushed off. Brian didn't know the tune he started humming, but he didn't even trouble to look up from his dinkies. This was an emergency, after all. Those people in the Corvette needed an ambulance!
"Yeah, I helped your dad install that water heater when you were just a wee one," he said, pointing to the blocked off corner of the rec room.
Brian's head came up momentarily. He remembered the odd sound that paneling had made when he and his brother had accidentally tumbled into it last year. He'd thought they'd broken something for sure.
He opened the door after a quick knock. "Hello," he said.
"Hi Brian, sweetie," came Nanny's voice from the bedroom. "We're in here."
The smell held him up before he even got his shoes off. Nanny always kept the apartment smelling like the aftermath of a lavender bomb, but there was something else under it; like the good kids crawling in that fire safety blurb. Maybe some flowers had gone bad.
He took off his shoes and headed back to the only bedroom. There was a hippo on his chest, and he couldn't make out the murmured words over the pounding of his blood.
"Hello, sweetie. How are you?" Nanny asked, meeting him at the bedroom door with a hug.
"I'm fine, Nanny. How're you doing?" he replied automatically, instantly regretting it.
He knew how she was doing - all he had to do was look at the figure on the farthest bed. His first thought was to wonder who it was. Then he was rushing to him, hugging him, to hide his contorted face. It took all his energy to hold back the tears. His mouth opened noiselessly as he gently held the body, afraid this jigsaw puzzle might fall to pieces.
"Hello m'boy," it said.
"Hello Dadda," he said, after too long a pause.
He'd sometimes get a lump in his throat, listening to his father-in-law talk. Such a mild-mannered man, he'd never met anyone so like his late grandfather. Or he'd see a box of Sun-maid raisins at the grocery store and smile. Those days were worth holding on to, and he'd talk about them to anyone who'd listen.
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