The parking lot was empty.
A single red balloon bounced against a corner of the tattered wooden sign.
Carl threw open the car door and staggered to his feet. Shot a watery gaze left to right, up and down.
They were all gone.
It had been so long since he’d driven to Owing Park. Maybe when Petey was still a boy. Certainly before Margaret died.
The route had changed, Carl was sure of it.
The traffic had been terrible.
Had that stoplight always been there as you drove into town?
Carl didn’t think so. It was a menace, at any rate, and it had caused him to miss everything.
Mary was going to be mad.
“Don’t be late, Dad,” she had said the last time they talked on the phone, just the night before.
“I’m never late,” he had said.
“Pete only graduates from high school once, Dad.”
A loud crack jumped Carl out of the replay in his mind. He jerked his head toward the park entrance.
The balloon had popped, draping over a corner of the sign, blocking the first letter.
“wing Park”
Carl collapsed onto a bench and gazed out over the pond, evening sun glowing orange across the water. Just like all the evenings he and Petey spent in the park when the boy was little.
“I’m sorry,” Carl sobbed.
“You’re right on time,” Margaret’s soft voice said in his ear. She slipped her arm around Carl’s shoulder, squeezing him, holding him up.
They had always called it “lending a wing” when she was alive.
He knew she wasn’t there.
“I’m late,” Carl gasped in a whisper. “I let him down,”
The squeeze grew tighter.
“No, Grandpa,” Petey said. “You’re right on time. The sunset is perfect, just like always.”
Carl leaned into his grandson’s wing.