Not because he wanted something from me.
Because he wanted to keep a promise.
A silly promise made by a five-year-old girl who believed shooting stars could hear wishes.
I looked at him.
“Were you scared?”
Grandpa thought for a moment.
“Yes.”
I wasn’t expecting that answer.
“Really?”
“Very.”
“But you didn’t look scared.”
He smiled.
“That’s because I had you looking at me.”
I hugged him.
Carefully.
Very carefully.
Mom laughed through her tears.
“That’s why I told you not to sit on him.”
I looked at her.
“You could have just told me!”
She shook her head.
“You were nine.”
“So?”
“So you would have asked me seventy-three questions.”
I thought about it.
“That is true.”
Grandpa laughed.
“She’s definitely your daughter.”
The surgery lasted more than five hours.
I remember sitting in the hospital waiting room beside Mom.
She kept looking at the clock.
Every few minutes, she’d stand.
