It was sweet.
At first.
Then Tyler began sleeping outside her bedroom.
The first morning I discovered him curled up in the hallway, I nearly tripped over him.
His pillow was tucked beneath his head, and his dinosaur blanket was wrapped tightly around his legs.
“Tyler?”
He blinked himself awake.
“What are you doing out here?”
He rubbed his eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your bed?”
He looked toward Mom’s bedroom door.
“I just wanted to be close.”
I assumed he was scared.
He had watched Grandma change from the woman who could carry three grocery bags at once into someone who now needed help simply walking downstairs.
So I hugged him.
“Sweetheart, Grandma is safe. I’m right across the hall.”
“I know.”
“Then sleep in your bed tonight.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t.
That was also around the time my brother, Jason, began coming over almost every day.
Jason is four years younger than me. He runs a small contracting business and has always been charming, impulsive, and completely convinced that he can fix almost anything.
After Mom’s surgery, he seemed determined to make himself useful.
He changed a light fixture I’d been ignoring for six months.
He brought groceries.
He repaired the loose railing on the stairs.
Whenever I needed to leave the house, he would say, “Go. I’ve got Mom.”
I even gave him a spare key. With Mom recovering under my roof, it seemed practical to have another member of the family who could get inside quickly if something happened.
I remember feeling grateful.
Then I began noticing something strange.
Tyler had started following him.
If Jason went upstairs, Tyler followed him upstairs.
If Jason sat beside Mom’s bed, Tyler suddenly needed to show Grandma a drawing.
