My grandson had carried the same little green backpack around my house for two months: to breakfast, to the park, to movie nights.
Once, I moved it three feet so I could vacuum, and nine-year-old Ben appeared beside me before I’d even plugged the vacuum in.
« I’ll take it, Grandma. »
I’d laughed then.
« I’ll take it, Grandma. »
***
The morning he went home, nobody was laughing.
My son, Adam, and his wife, Tara, had driven four hours to pick up Ben and his seven-year-old sister, Sophie.
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