Death Benefits

"He's impossible, Marta," she says. "Absolutely impossible. Doesn't have any friends. Sleeps all day. Watches TV all night. Never showers. Refuses to cut his hair. Pushes his dirty dishes under the bed or stuffs them in drawers with his dirty underwear. I'm at my wit's end." I want to leap into the kitchen and say, "Hey! It's only two o'clock. I'm up. I've had a shower. I'm dressed. And I never put dirty things-dishes or underwear-in drawers. I leave them on the floor. And when were you in my room anyway?" I have standards. Low ones, but still. Royce is having a bad year. His mother has dragged him away from his friends and right across the country in order to be close to her aged father, once a celebrated cellist. A bout with mono has left Royce feeling isolated and lonely, and he spends his time watching TV and plotting ways to get back to his friends in Nova Scotia. His plans are foiled, however, when his grandfather has a stroke and he is pressed into service as the old man's caregiver. Looking after a ninety-five-year-old-especially one as cantankerous, crafty and stubborn as Arthur-is a challenge. But as Royce gets to know the eccentric old man-who loves the Pussycat Dolls, hates Anderson Cooper and never listens to the kind ob music that made him famous-he gradually comes to appreciate that his grandfather's life still has meaning. Even if Arthur himself seems to want it to end.