My mother often told me, “Don’t sit on Grandpa’s lap.” I never understood why. One day, I didn’t listen to her and sat down anyway. Grandpa smiled, leaned close to my ear, and whispered, “Can you come sleep beside me tonight?”

“You did not.”

He whispered,

“Don’t tell your mother.”

Mom laughed from her mattress.

“I heard that.”

We all laughed.

And then, suddenly, Mom became quiet.

She reached across the space between us and took Grandpa’s hand.

He squeezed hers.

I watched them.

And that’s when I finally understood.

My mother wasn’t afraid of Grandpa.

She wasn’t trying to keep me away from him.

She wasn’t suspicious of him.

She was terrified that she might lose him.

---

The next morning, Grandpa told me the truth.

He was going to the hospital.

He needed serious heart surgery.

The doctors had been monitoring him for months.

That was why he had become weaker.

That was why Mom watched him every time he stood up.

That was why she didn’t want me climbing onto his lap anymore.

She was afraid I might accidentally hurt him.

And that was why Grandpa had wanted one more night.

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?”