“GRANDPA!” she’d shout, and Jim would brace himself for impact, laughing as she slammed into him.
She adored him. The old baseball cap he let her wear. The card tricks. The way he pretended not to notice when she cheated at Go Fish. She called him her “favorite person,” and he’d roll his eyes like it embarrassed him.
So when she came to stay for a week and refused to hug him goodnight, something inside me went still.
It started small.
For the first few days, everything felt normal. Pancakes in the morning. Lily perched on a stool narrating Jim’s coffee routine like it was a cooking show. First you scoop. Then you pour. Then you wait. Then you don’t drink it because it’s yucky.”
Jim winked at me. “I’m raising a critic.”
But by the fourth day, Lily grew quiet.
At dinner she pushed peas around her plate. When Jim asked if she wanted to play cards, she said, “Maybe later,” without looking at him.
That night, as always, he waited by the couch for her hug.
