“Sweetheart,” I said, “can we talk about Grandpa?”
Lily’s eyes widened. “Is he okay?”
“He’s going through something hard,” I said.
“Sometimes his brain gets mixed up.
That makes him sad.”
Lily stared at her hands. “So he cried.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And it’s okay.”
She looked up. “Is he still Grandpa?”
“He’s still Grandpa.
He just might need more help sometimes.”
Lily swallowed. “Did I do something?”
“No,” I said. “Never.”
“Can I see him?” she asked.
We walked into the living room.
Jim looked up like he’d been holding his breath all day.
“Hi, kiddo,” he said, voice shaking.
Lily stood a few feet away.
Then she said, plain and brave, “Grandpa, you were crying.”
Jim’s face crumpled. “I was,” he admitted.
“I’m sorry you saw that.”
“Are you mad?” she asked.
He shook his head fast. “Never.
I was sad.
But I’m still me.”
Lily took a step closer. “You’re still my favorite.”
Jim made a broken little sound and knelt. “I’m lucky, then.”
Lily hugged him.
Tight.
Then she pulled back and said, very seven, “No more secrets.”
Jim glanced at me, eyes wet.
“No more secrets,” he promised.
After Lily went to bed, Jim and I sat at the kitchen table.
“I thought if I pretended it was small,” he said, “it would stay small.”
I took his hand. “We don’t get to pretend,” I said.
“We face it.”
He swallowed. “Are you scared?”
“But I’m more scared of you doing it alone.”
He nodded, and his grip tightened around my fingers.
“Then I’ll let you in,” he said. “Even when I don’t want to.”
Two days later Erin picked Lily up. Lily hugged Jim before she left, steady and serious.
He handed her the old baseball cap and she put it on without a joke, like it mattered.
“See you soon,” she told him.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
When the house emptied, I drove to the cemetery.
I didn’t know exactly why. I just needed a place that didn’t ask me to be strong.
The wind was sharp.
The sky was too bright.
I sat on a bench and let the fear come. Then I made myself stand and walk back to the car, because my husband meant the world to me and I wanted to be there for him.
When I got home, Jim was in the kitchen with his book.
He looked up.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded.
“No,” I admitted. “But I will be.”
He gave a small, tired smile. “Me too.”
I walked to him and wrapped my arms around him.
He held me back, solid and warm.
For now, he was still here.
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