I did my best not to sound alarmed.
“Did you take the box to her?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where is it now?”
“She carried it back to your room.”
“Where is it now?”
I gave a nervous laugh.
“Sweetheart, Grandma can’t walk.”
Ben looked offended.
“Grandma talks and walks when you’re gone.”
“Grandma can’t walk.”
I didn’t question him further.
He was seven, and I didn’t want him thinking he’d done something wrong.
Instead, I asked whether Grandma had told him why she wanted the box.
“She said she was making something, Mom.”
She wanted the box.
“What kind of thing?”
“A surprise.”
He pushed a piece of chicken around his plate.
“Are you mad?”
“No, honey.”
“Because she told me not to tell anyone.”
“Are you mad?”
I knelt beside his chair.
“You can always tell me something that’s worrying you. Even if somebody says it’s a secret.”
He nodded.
Then he asked for ketchup.
