Built one.
He sanded every edge until the wood felt like glass.
When I asked why he was being so obsessive, he ran his hand along one of the rails.
“Because my great-granddaughter is going to put her face against this thing at some point, and I refuse to be responsible for her first splinter.”
I laughed.
He didn’t.
He was completely serious.
Grandpa came to almost every prenatal appointment.
Whenever he waited outside, he sat reading fishing magazines he had probably already read twenty times.
When the ultrasound technician told us I was having a girl, he cried.
Then immediately denied crying.
“My eyes are dry.”
“They’re literally wet.”
“Hospital air.”
“Grandpa.”
“Very aggressive hospital air.”
He had been waiting to meet Ivy ever since.
During her thirteen days in the NICU, he sat on his porch almost every afternoon, even though he knew I wouldn’t bring her home without calling first.
So when I turned onto his gravel driveway, I knew exactly what I would see.
The rocking chair.
The old coffee mug.
Grandpa watching the road.
He saw my car and jumped to his feet so quickly that his mug fell from the porch rail and shattered.
He didn’t even look down.
“There are my girls!”
My eyes immediately filled.
I parked, climbed out, and carefully lifted Ivy’s carrier.
Grandpa hurried toward me.
“Let me see her.”
I smiled.
“You’ve waited thirteen days. You can wait five more seconds.”
“That seems unreasonable.”
I unfastened Ivy and lifted her against my chest.
Then I placed her carefully in his arms.
“Meet your great-granddaughter.”
Grandpa looked down at her.
His entire face softened.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
His voice cracked.
I had expected tears.
What I hadn’t expected was fear.
Grandpa shifted Ivy slightly so the afternoon light fell across her face.
His smile disappeared.
His eyes locked on hers.
One blue.
One dark brown.
Then he noticed the cleft in her chin.
Every bit of color drained from his face.
“Grandpa?”
His hands began to shake.
I moved closer.
“Are you okay?”
He looked at me.
