Dad went completely still.
For several seconds he didn’t speak.
Then he asked:
“Those exact words?”
“Yes.”
“And did he tell you not to tell me?”
My silence was enough.
Dad closed his eyes.
“George…”
I had almost never heard him call Grandpa by his first name.
“What is happening?” I demanded.
Dad grabbed his car keys.
“You’re not going there alone.”
“Then there IS something wrong!”
He looked at me sharply.
“Emily, I never said that.”
“You’ve spent years warning me about him!”
Dad rubbed both hands over his face.
“I was trying to protect—”
He stopped.
“Protect who?”
He wouldn’t answer.
Twenty minutes later, we were driving toward Grandpa’s house.
Neither of us spoke.
My imagination became worse with every mile.
When we arrived, Grandpa was waiting at the door.
