“Grandpa isn’t young anymore.”
But there was something about that explanation that never quite convinced me.
Sometimes I noticed the worried way Mom looked at him. And whenever Grandpa realized she was watching him, he would simply smile and change the subject.
That Sunday, our whole family was at Grandpa’s house.
After lunch, Mom went into the kitchen.
I saw Grandpa sitting alone in his armchair; I walked over to him and, without thinking, climbed onto his lap.
“Lily!” I heard my mother call out from the kitchen.
But it was already too late. Grandpa placed a hand on my shoulder, leaned toward me, and whispered very softly:
“Can you come sleep next to me tonight?”
I froze.
“What?”
He just smiled.
“Don’t tell anyone yet. Especially not your mother.”
At that exact moment, Mom came back into the room.
“What did he say to you?”
“Nothing.”
I don’t know why I lied. But on the drive home, I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Grandpa told me something.”
My mother was driving. Her expression turned serious immediately.
“What did he say?”
I repeated Grandpa’s words.
For several seconds, Mom said absolutely nothing. Then she pulled the car over to the side of the road.
Her reaction scared me more than Grandpa’s words had.
“Did he say exactly that?”
I nodded.
“And did he tell you not to tell me?”
I nodded again. Mom closed her eyes.
“Oh, God…”
“Mom, what’s happening?”
She turned toward me.
“You aren’t going anywhere tonight.” “You’ll stay by my side.”
When we got home, Mom called my aunt. From the hallway, I could only hear snatches of the conversation.
“…she told Lily…”
Silence.
