“I’m heading to the learning center today.”
I looked up.
“With Frank?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything you’re not allowed to tell me?”
He smiled.
“Quite a lot, actually.”
“That’s fine.”
Then I pointed toward the kitchen counter.
“But there’s one thing you really should take.”
His medication bottle was sitting beside the coffee machine again.
Eliam laughed and slipped it into his bag.
A few days later, he sent me a photograph.
Frank was sitting at a table with his dinosaur lunchbox nearby.
His grandson sat opposite him, carefully writing something on a small piece of paper.
Frank leaned forward, concentrating on the words.
And a few feet away, my husband sat quietly.
Not interrupting.
Not supplying answers.
Simply waiting.
I could have enlarged the photograph to see what the little boy had written.
I could have called Eliam and asked what they were doing.
I could have demanded more details.
