Chapter 2 - EMILY GETS TO LEAVE
I did not interrogate Frank at the fair.
Neither did I let him follow us.
He gave me his phone number.
I gave him nothing.
That felt cruel for perhaps three seconds.
Then Emily vomited beside the parking lot.
Everything became simple again.
Hospital.
My son Andrew met us at the emergency department with his wife Claire ten minutes behind him.
Emily had a bruised thigh.
Minor abrasion.
No head injury.
No fracture.
The pediatrician said she was lucky.
I hated the word.
Luck suggested fairness had participated.
The ride accident had been mechanical.
The county safety inspector would deal with that.
Our family had another problem.
Andrew sat beside Emily while Claire and I spoke outside the room.
“You’re sure he said Diane Mercer?”
“Yes.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“That’s her.”
“I know.”
Andrew came out.
“What exactly happened?”
I told them.
Every letter.
Every year.
Frank kept them.
Andrew’s face hardened.
“Why?”
“He said protection.”
“From us?”
“From something.”
Claire looked toward Emily’s room.
“She knows Diane is her birth mother.”
“Yes.”
“We have never lied.”
“I know.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That Frank may be biologically related.”
“Grandfather?”
“I did not use the word yet.”
Good.
Biology does not get to arrive with a title already attached.
Andrew paced.
“Do we call the agency?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
He stared at me.
I pointed toward Emily.
“Tonight she needs dinner, ice, and somebody to convince her carousel horses are not assassins.”
That made Claire laugh once.
Good.
We went home.
Emily slept at my house because she had been supposed to anyway.
Before bed, she asked:
“Is Frank my real grandpa?”
There it was.
I sat beside her.
“He may be your biological grandfather.”
“What does biological mean?”
“You know how Mom and Dad adopted you?”
“Yes.”
“The woman who gave birth to you is Diane.”
“I know.”
“Frank says Diane is his daughter.”
“So he’s her dad.”
“Yes.”
“So he’s my grandpa.”
“Biologically, probably.”
She frowned.
“But you’re my grandma.”
“Yes.”
“Can there be two?”
I smiled.
“If you want.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then nobody gets to force a title.”
She nodded.
Then:
“Did Diane want me?”
My heart cracked.
“She chose adoption because she believed another family could raise you safely.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Seven-year-olds are ruthless with adult euphemism.
“Frank says Diane tried to contact your family later.”
“Then she wanted to know me.”
“Maybe.”
“Why didn’t he send letters?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Emily hugged her stuffed fox.
“Is he bad?”
“No answer tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because people can do bad things without the whole person fitting into one word.”
She considered.
“That’s annoying.”
“Very.”
Then:
May you like
“Can we never go on a carousel again?”
“That request I can approve immediately.”
