She was the person who could stare down a dentist after a painful procedure and say,
“Are you sure that’s all you’ve got?”
But now she looked like she was trying not to cry.
So I promised.
On the drive home, Mom barely spoke.
The car was unusually quiet.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Is Grandpa sick?”
Her hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you keep looking at him like something bad is going to happen.”
She didn’t answer.
“Is he sick?”
A long silence.
Then she said,
“Grandpa has some health problems.”
“How bad?”
“Lily…”
“How bad?”
She sighed.
“Pretty serious.”
My stomach twisted.
“Is he going to die?”
She immediately pulled the car toward the side of the road.
The tires stopped.
For a few seconds, she just sat there.
Then she turned around.
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“No, sweetheart. We’re not talking like that.”
“But you look scared.”
She closed her eyes.
“Because I am.”
That answer frightened me more than anything else.
That evening, Mom called my aunt.
I was upstairs, supposedly doing homework.
I wasn’t.
I was sitting on the top step listening.
“I don’t know what to do,” Mom whispered.
Yes next please