A nurse named Gloria walked me down a long hallway that smelled like lemon cleaner and canned peas. She stopped at the last door on the left.
“He’s in good spirits today,” she said. “He usually is in the mornings.”
I went in.
Grandpa was sitting in a chair by the window with a newspaper in his lap. He was thinner than I remembered. Older. His hair had gone completely white. There was a crossword on the table next to him, half done, in pen.
He looked up.
And he looked at me for a long time.
My heart was pounding. I thought, He doesn’t know me. Of course he doesn’t. It’s been twelve years.
Then his whole face changed.
“Emmy?”
I couldn’t speak.
“Emmy. Is that you?” His voice cracked. He grabbed the arms of his chair and tried to stand up. “Look at you. Look at you. You’re a grown woman.”
