The clinic smelled of disinfectant and warm plastic.
Mason sat in a chair beside me while Lily was examined.
I answered the questions I could and admitted when I didn't know something.
The staff took her symptoms seriously and explained what they were checking.
I listened closely.
I had learned long ago that fear could make a person hear only the words he expected.
I wasn't going to make that mistake with Lily.
When the clinician finished the assessment, she explained the findings and the care instructions.
She also told me which warning signs would require immediate medical attention.
I wrote everything down.
Lily watched me from the examination bed.
"Grandpa, are you mad?"
I lowered the paper.
"Mad at you?"
She nodded.
"No, sweetheart."
"Because I called you?"
I pulled a chair closer.
"Listen to me, Lily. Calling someone when you're frightened or sick is never something you should feel guilty about."
"But Dad says I shouldn't bother people."
I took a slow breath.
"Sometimes adults are busy, and sometimes they need time to do things. But when you're sick or scared, you should ask a trusted adult for help."
She looked at the floor.
"I didn't know if you would come."
That hurt.
Not because she had doubted me.
Because she had apparently spent enough time wondering whether anyone would come that the question had become familiar.
I reached for her hand.
"I'm glad you called."
She squeezed my fingers.
I stayed quiet after that.
There was no speech that could undo whatever had made an eight-year-old girl hesitate before asking for help.
All I could do was make sure she didn't regret asking this time.
After the appointment, I arranged the next steps with the clinic and made sure I understood the instructions.
I also asked about the proper way to handle follow-up care if Daniel remained unavailable.
The staff explained what documentation and authorization might be needed.
I wrote that down too.
Mason waited beside the door, his backpack resting between his feet.
When we were ready to leave, he reached for Lily's hand.
She took it without looking at him.
They walked close together through the hallway.
I followed a few steps behind.
Outside, the sunlight was brighter than it had been when we arrived.
I opened the car doors and helped them settle into their seats.
Before starting the engine, I checked my phone.
Daniel had still not called.
There was a message from an unfamiliar number, but it turned out to be a routine notification.
I put the phone down.
I wasn't going to let the absence of an answer become the only thing I paid attention to.
The children were with me.
Lily had been assessed.
I had the care instructions.
Those were facts I could work with.
On the drive, Mason asked if we could stop for breakfast.
I glanced at him in the mirror.
"Are you hungry?"
"A little."
"What would you like?"
"Toast."
"Toast I can manage."
He thought about it.
"And maybe eggs."
"That sounds reasonable."
Lily remained quiet in the back seat.
I checked on her at a stoplight.
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired."
"That's understandable."
"Can we go to your house?"
I hesitated only long enough to choose my words carefully.
"We can go somewhere comfortable while I work out the arrangements. I need to speak with your dad and make sure everything is handled properly."
"Does that mean we have to go home?"
"I haven't decided that yet."
She looked out the window.
I could see she wanted a different answer.
I wished I could give her one that settled everything.
But I had no legal authority to make permanent decisions simply because I was frightened or angry.
And I wasn't going to confuse protecting my grandchildren with pretending the rules didn't matter.
We stopped at a small diner near my house.
I ordered toast and eggs for Mason and something simple for Lily.
She ate only a little.
I didn't pressure her.
Mason dipped his toast into his eggs and occasionally looked up to make sure we were still there.
At one point, he dropped his fork.
He froze.
I picked it up and handed him another one.
"It's all right, buddy."
He stared at me for a moment.
Then he went back to eating.
I wondered how many ordinary mistakes had begun to feel dangerous to him.
I wondered how long Lily had been carrying worries she didn't know how to explain.
I also wondered how much of what I thought I knew about Daniel had come from hearing only the parts he wanted me to hear.
I had always considered him a capable man.
He worked.
He paid bills.
He spoke confidently about the future.
But capability in one part of life didn't guarantee responsibility in another.
I finished my coffee and called him again.
This time, I left a message asking him to contact me about the children's care and immediate arrangements.
I told him Lily had been assessed and that I had followed the clinic's instructions.
I also told him I needed a direct conversation.
I didn't accuse him of abandoning his children.
I didn't tell him what I thought he might be doing.
I didn't know.
I wanted to hear from him before deciding what his silence meant.
After breakfast, we went to my house.
I prepared a comfortable place for Lily to rest and made sure Mason had something to do nearby.
He chose a box of building blocks I had kept in a cupboard.
I hadn't seen them in years.
He emptied the box onto the living-room rug and began constructing a garage for his dinosaur.
Lily lay on the couch with her purple blanket.
I kept the care instructions nearby and checked on her regularly.
For a while, the house felt almost peaceful.
Then Mason stopped building.
"Grandpa?"
I looked up from the kitchen table.
"What's up?"
"Can I tell you something without you getting mad?"
I set down my pen.
"Yes."
He glanced at Lily.
Then he moved closer to me and lowered his voice.
"Sometimes Dad goes away and doesn't tell us when he'll be back."
I didn't interrupt.
"Sometimes he says he'll come back before bedtime, but he doesn't."
My first instinct was to ask how often.
I resisted it.
I didn't want to turn his words into an interrogation.
"That must be hard," I said.
Mason shrugged.
"I just tell Lily he's busy."
"Why do you tell her that?"
"Because she cries."
I looked toward the couch.
Lily's eyes were closed, but I couldn't tell whether she was sleeping.
Mason rubbed the dinosaur's head with his thumb.
"I don't want her to be scared."
I nodded slowly.
"That's a kind thing to worry about, buddy. But you don't have to handle everything for your sister by yourself."
He looked unconvinced.
"Who else will?"
The question left me without an immediate answer.
I thought about the previous night.
I thought about the phone call, the fever, the locked closet, and two children trying to make sense of a situation they hadn't created.
I wanted to tell Mason that everything would be fine.
Instead, I told him something I could stand behind.
"The adults in your life need to do a better job of taking care of you. That includes me, and it includes your dad."
Mason studied my face.
"You're not going to make us keep secrets?"
"No."
"Even if Dad gets mad?"
I took a breath.
"We don't need to hide the truth just because somebody might be upset about hearing it. We'll talk about things honestly and make sure the right people know what they need to know."
He looked down at his dinosaur.
Then he placed it on the rug beside the blocks.
"Okay."
I let him return to his game.
I didn't ask him to tell me everything.
I didn't want to reward his fear by making him believe that every conversation with an adult would become a test.
A little later, Lily woke and asked for water.
I brought her a glass.
She drank slowly and looked toward the front window.
"Is Dad coming?"
"I haven't heard from him yet."
She pressed her lips together.
"Are you going to call him again?"
"Yes. I'll keep trying."
"Will you tell him I called you?"
I sat beside her.
"Yes, sweetheart. I won't pretend you didn't ask for help."
She seemed to think about that for a while.
Then she leaned against the pillow and closed her eyes.
I sat with her until her breathing settled.
Outside, a delivery truck passed the house.
Inside, Mason rebuilt his garage because the first one had fallen over.
I watched him fit the blocks together.
The structure was crooked.
One wall kept slipping.
He didn't throw it across the room.
He tried again.
I found myself hoping the adults in his life would learn to do the same.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Call I Had Been Waiting For
The Phone Rang Before Two in the Morning, and the Little Girl on the Other End Was Too Frightened to Tell Me What Was Wrong
Part 10 of 20
