“He’s the man who helps Mom.”
“Helps her with what?”
“Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
She hesitated, twisting the hem of her T-shirt between her fingers. I could see that she was uncomfortable, and I regretted asking the question as soon as it left my mouth. Whatever was happening between Derek and Sabrina, I didn’t want my granddaughter to feel that she was being recruited into it.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” I said gently. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Emma nodded, but she didn’t move away.
After a moment, she leaned closer.
“Grandma, is Dad going to be sad again?”
There are questions a grandmother can answer with a cookie and a reassuring smile. That wasn’t one of them.
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