nodded.
My heart jumped.
“Where?”
“I don’t know the name.”
“How did she find you?”
Ava wiped her cheeks.
“She came to Dad’s car.”
“At the clinic?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That she was Grandma Dorothy.”
“How did you know it was her?”
“She showed me pictures.”
“What pictures?”
“Mommy. You. Me when I was a baby.”
That could have been anyone with access to our family photographs.
“What happened next?”
“She said I had to come with her because bad people were coming.”
“Did you?”
Ava nodded.
“She drove me here.”
“Why didn’t she come inside?”
“She said she couldn’t.”
“Why?”
Ava hesitated.
Then whispered, “Because you might not forgive her.”
My chest tightened.
Before leaving the room, I kissed Ava’s forehead.
“Lock this door.”
“Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“The lady downstairs isn’t bad.”
I paused.
“How do you know?”
“She was crying.”
Children sometimes understood people better than adults
