Prominent Western Cape physician arrested for contravening COVID regulations. I could just imagine the potential headlines. Even the sky was red that morning as I pulled up in my Jeep. My mother and dear grandfather were waiting on the sidewalk outside her cottage, Irene draped in a bright sarong and Oliver stooped over his cane. Irene had painted her lips scarlet as if we were going out to a nightclub and not the beach. A ponytail pulled back thinning grey hair. Her lined face lit up in expectation.

Where were the compulsory masks? Could that woman not do anything right? I sighed as I got three surgical masks out of the glove compartment and added them to my beach bag in case anyone else was up at this hour.

“Happy birthday, Grandpa,” I said as I kissed my ninety-year-old grandfather. At least ten days of self-isolation had given me that.

“How do you like my birthday present?” He did a slow spin, looking jaunty in his new multicolored trunks and floppy hat.

“Great, Grandpa. You look well.”

“I have missed you so much, my girl,” he said, examining my face.” You’ve lost weight.” He gave me a long hug.

“Are you OK, Kate?” said my mother as she put a beach umbrella and chair in the hatchback. “I’ve been so worried.”

I turned away and settled Grandpa in the front seat of the Jeep. Irene climbed in the back with his walking stick, and I drove the 300 meters to the far end of Robberg beach.

“This will be easy peasy lemon squeezy,” said Irene.

Grandpa looked at me anxiously as I helped him out of the car. He knew that this upbeat version of my mother that had emerged eight years ago from a cocoon of rehabs was hard for me to take.

“We’ve been having such a great time together, Kate,” he said. “Irene has been taking me to the forest. It is so good to be out in the fresh air. I love watching her paint.”

“It has been fun, hasn’t it?” Irene patted his arm.

We made our way slowly over the boardwalk and stood on the steps overlooking the bay. It was a perfect Plett day, unending blue sky and sea, the acrid smell of gorse, the white surf breaking on the sand, every ripple reflecting the sun in a shimmering display. Seagulls screamed overhead. The mountains on the bay’s far side looked like a child had painted the backdrop, sharp silhouettes with the peaks getting smaller and smaller until they were no longer visible. The waves, the color of amazonite, rolled in, and the gentle breeze was enough to blow spray backwards, an intricate dance between water and air. A Cape otter turned to survey us before scurrying into the undergrowth. I had never seen one here before; the empty beaches must have encouraged its appearance. We made our way down the steps, Grandpa leaning heavily on the railings while I held his free arm. Irene followed, trying to balance a beach umbrella and chair.

“It smells delicious.” Grandpa inhaled the salty air, threw off his hat and kicked off his sandals. I insisted on putting on his swimming shoes as he leaned on Irene for balance.

“The clamshells will cut your feet and cause an infection.” I struggled to get them over his arthritic toes. “And I hope you put on sunscreen.”

“Yes, yes, bossy boots,” said Grandpa affectionately, rolling his eyes at Mom.

“And just keep a watch out for the police.” I put on my own beach shoes. “I can’t believe we are disobeying the beach ban.”

“What hard-hearted policeman is going to arrest an old man on his birthday.”

“It’s their job, Grandpa. We are behaving like every fool that thinks the COVID rules don’t apply to them, causing chaos for me in the ICU.”

“We are here now,” said Irene as she stretched out her arms. “You only live once. Let’s not waste the moment and be thankful we woke up on such a beautiful day.”

“Really, Mom, you can be lucky that Grandpa did wake up on this beautiful day. Taking him out of his nursing home two months ago wasn’t the cleverest move. And here we are, breaking the law.”

“Shh, Kate, that’s enough.” Grandpa touched Irene’s shoulder, giving her a warm smile as she set up the beach umbrella with the chair in the shade. “I just had to come to the beach today.”

Irene walked to the water’s edge in her bare feet to test the temperature.

“It’s lovely and warm.”

Oliver took off his shirt, revealing his thin body, vertebrae sticking out of white skin covered with age spots. The three of us made our way into the clear water, linking arms. He was going to drown or at least break a hip. Grandpa, unconcerned, was looking for pansy shells on the ocean floor as a school of mullet dodged between us. We maneuvered through the white water until an enormous wave barreled down. Grandpa wriggled free and dove under it as if he were a teenager. Mom and I were left spluttering on the wrong side of the breakers. We ducked under the next one to join him in the smooth swells. He was lying on his back and chortling, his toes breaking the surface.

“The water is like champagne,” he said, with the biggest grin on his face. “Ooh, I have missed this.”

Mom looked smug. Grandpa made a few lazy kicks lying with his back to the waves.

“Pity we had to come so early,” he said. “Callum would’ve loved this.” I looked at Mom quizzically, swimming closer.

“Oh, Callum is the neighbor’s little boy,” she said, avoiding my glare. “His poor mother is working from home, and Callum needs help with his online school work, so he comes over to us. He loves Grandpa.”

“Mother, I’m sure he does,” I said. “But you’re exposing Grandpa to even more risk. What’s the point of me isolating so that I can be here today?”

“Enough, Kate,” said Grandpa. “Don’t spoil my birthday with talk of risk. I have wasted a year imprisoned in that nursing home and can’t afford to waste another minute. And anyway, so much for your promise of the vaccine. I see they have stopped distribution of the AstraZeneca one.” Trust Grandpa to be up with the latest. The media release was only last night.

“I would never get a vaccine,” said Irene, tossing her head as she trod water. “They are untested and will affect your genetic make-up.”

I couldn’t believe she had just said that, but I was too tired to argue.

“Very scientific, Mom. Both of you watch the waves. I am going for a swim.”

“Do you remember me teaching you how to body surf?” Grandpa called.

I swam away, enjoying the rhythm of freestyle. Of course I remembered. My grandfather had been my only stability in a chaotic world of divorce, an alcoholic mother, and an absent father. Grandpa was a busy family physician, but he always made sure that I came to see him on a Sunday. The two of us and his golden retriever, Sally, had had many adventures. The sea was a favorite, but we had also hiked for hours in the Outeniqua forest and swam in mountain streams. It had been a lifesaver for a lonely child who otherwise sought refuge in books.

I looked up to orientate myself and then continued swimming parallel to the shore. I always knew I wanted to be a doctor. My work as an internist was deeply satisfying until the pandemic hit. I turned and started swimming back. I could see they were still floating lazily. My mother’s laughter drifted over the water, a sound from early childhood full of warmth and love.

I caught a perfect wave back, angling my body just slightly so it carried me to them. Grandpa had decided to grab a breaker to shore with Mom close behind. The sea left him stranded in lacy foam as it pulled away.

He licked the salty water off his lips and beamed at us both. He dug his hand into the wet sand, dropping globules one by one. We gently pulled him up, and Mom rinsed the sand off his legs as the next wave came in. He was puffing, and although I wanted to get off the beach, he needed to catch his breath.

“I’m good, Kate. Don’t worry,” Grandpa said. He settled in his chair while we sat on beach towels on either side. He stroked my hair as I leaned against his knee.

“You must be bone-weary, Kate, working such long hours and being alone?”

I closed my eyes and listened to the pounding surf. I couldn’t begin to explain the mind-numbing exhaustion. Without family responsibilities, I just worked and worked; so many lonely deaths. All my expertise seemed useless against this virus. The ten days leave of absence had done nothing. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t concentrate on the latest articles. My mind kept replaying the death of my colleague, wondering how I could have done more. It was as if the layers of protective clothing had disconnected me from anything normal.

“Look, look, dolphins, Dad, a whole school of them playing in that shaft of sunlight,” said Irene, but Grandpa had nodded off. She returned her gaze to the sea. “I owe him everything; he never gave up on me.”

I watched the curved backs glide through the water.

“You seem good now, Mom.”

“I have my painting and my little cottage.” She was drawing patterns in the sand. “Your grandfather has a great sense of humor. I’m happy. I know you don’t want to know, but I worry about you.”

“I’m OK.”

“I am always so thankful and proud that despite the childhood I gave you, you developed into such a beautiful, strong woman.”

We could hear gentle snoring, then Oliver exhaled deeply and was still. I looked over. His face, hanging over his chest, was blissful but empty. I got up and felt his pulse, already knowing that his spirit was free. Mom searched my face.

“He’s gone,” I said, looking at her.

“No, he can’t be,” she said, getting up on her knees. “Kate, check again.”

“It’s what he wanted. It’s almost as if he planned it.”

She laid her cheek on his arm, gasping for air.

“I have seen too many patients die alone and afraid.” I held her hand. “You gave him what I couldn’t—a happy final two months and a peaceful death. I’ll be forever grateful, Mom.” All my worries seemed to wash away with the tide, leaving a profound sense of calm. I put my arm around her shoulders, unable to say more.

A red quad bike made its way towards us through the early morning haze.

“Here come the police. They’ll help us. Just put on this mask.”

Alice Shaw is a retired gynecologist living in Knysna, South Africa. I always enjoyed listening to my patients’ stories and now have started writing my own. I have had a short story published and have been shortlisted in a short story competition.

Photo: Longnook beach Truro by Jim Wojno