Dean slammed the trunk shut and came to hug me.
“Call if you need anything,” he said. “Anything at all.”
“Go enjoy your trip,” I told him. “We’ll be fine.”
Nyla knelt and gave Damian a quick, careful hug, like she was posing for a photo.
“Be good for Grandma,” she said. “No fussing, okay?”
Damian didn’t answer. He never did. He just rocked slightly on his feet and stared at the patch of sidewalk between us.
After a flurry of last-minute instructions, they finally climbed into the car. I stood on the front porch and waved until their sedan disappeared around the corner, heading toward the interstate that would take them south.
When the taillights were gone, I looked down at my grandson.
“Well, sweetheart,” I said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “it’s just you and me for the next seven days.”
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