“I don’t intend to cause anything.”
“I intend to ask questions.”
“Go home.”
“No.”
“Anthony doesn’t need this.”
“This is not about what Anthony needs.”
She hung up.
I saved the recording.
The plane landed at 7:58.
I rented a car.
Then I drove directly to Anthony’s house.
Skyla ran to me before I reached the porch.
Mrs. Patterson had barely opened the door before that little girl came flying out.
I dropped my bag.
Then I crouched.
She hit me so hard around the neck that I nearly lost my balance.
“Grandpa.”
“I’m here.”
“You came.”
“Of course I came.”
She clung to me.
I could feel how tense her body was.
I held her until she loosened.
Then I looked at her.
She had slept in yesterday’s shirt.
Her hair was tangled.
Dark circles sat under her eyes.
Not severe.
But wrong on a child.
“Did you sleep?”
“A little.”
“Did you eat?”
“Mrs. Patterson made pancakes.”
I looked at the neighbor.
She nodded.
I mouthed.
Thank you.
Skyla took my hand.
“Are Daddy and Mama mad?”
That question told me too much.
“Why would that be the first thing you ask?”
She looked down.
“They called.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“What did they say?”
She hesitated.
“Skyla.”
“What?”
“You’re not in trouble.”
