Quiet.
Ashamed.
I knelt so I could look Noah in the face.
“Grandma needed a new place to live.”
“Did I make you leave?”
My heart cracked.
“Oh, sweetheart. Never.”
“Then why didn’t you say goodbye?”
“Because grown-ups sometimes make decisions too quickly.”
He accepted that in the simple way children sometimes do.
Then I reached into my bag.
“Do you remember this?”
I held out the rubber astronaut.
His face lit up.
“My space guy!”
“You gave him to me so I wouldn’t lose my keys.”
“Did it work?”
I smiled.
“It did.”
We spent two hours together.
Noah climbed.
Ran.
Ate ice cream.
Told me about a boy in his class who claimed his father knew a professional basketball player.
For those two hours, I was simply his grandmother.
