Sarah asks Che what she wants for her birthday dinner. "Calzone and French Fries," is the answer so we head across islands to Basils, a local favorite.
Everyone's delighted to learn the "The Salt Flat Pickers" are playing live bluegrass music.
At some point, Che grabs my arm and says, "It's your Dad's birthday."
Dad died years ago so her only frame of reference is hearing me occasionally talk about him, so I'm flabbergasted.
A few months ago, sitting on the sofa together, Che puts her arm around my neck, and whispers in my ear.
"Da, if I could bring anyone back, I would bring back your Dad."
"What?" I exclaim, stunned, still feeling her warm, wet breath in my ear.
"You miss him," she explained cuddling. "That makes you sad. I don't want you to be sad."
Now, months later, with no prompting or reminding, our now 7 year old, remembers the Grandfather she never met and reminds me to celebrate him.
Che points at the beer poured in my newly gifted University of Georgia "2001 National Championship" glass.
Back in the day, Dad and I would sneak off and share a pitcher of beer together, and visit, talk and joke.
You couldn't talk to my Dad without hearing jokes.
Since his death, I've toasted his birthday with a beer but have been so busy celebrating Che, I'd really not given him much thought.
My brother David had posted some old photographs earlier of Dad which gave me pause to celebrate the gift he remains to us.
Che points at my glass, which I hoist to my lips and softly say, "Hey Dad."
Sarah pats my leg under the table.
What a birthday it turns out to be, complete with a magic you don't see much anymore, and a Granddaughter reaching across time and space to touch a ghost, bringing him to the party one more time.
