Chapter 7 - GRANDPA AT THE DOOR
Grandpa came to my house three weeks after the barbecue.
He did not call first.
He knocked hard, like the door owed him respect.
I saw him through the camera and did not open it.
He called my phone while standing on the porch.
“Naomi, open the door.”
“No.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“No.”
“Your mother is crying every day.”
“Lily cried too.”
Silence.
Then his voice hardened.
“You’re tearing this family apart.”
I looked through the screen at the man who had blocked paramedics from reaching my child.
“No, Dad. I’m refusing to hand you tape.”
He did not understand.
Or pretended not to.
“Carla is your sister.”
“Lily is my daughter.”
“She made a mistake.”
“You obstructed help.”
His face flushed on the camera.
“I did not obstruct anything.”
“I have video.”
That sentence became the wall he could not climb.
He lowered his voice.
“Videos don’t show context.”
I almost laughed.
That was exactly what videos do when people stop shouting over them.
They show who ran to the child.
Who held the skewer.
Who defended the adult.
Who stood in front of the gate.
“Leave,” I said.
“If you do this, don’t expect inheritance. Don’t expect holidays. Don’t expect—”
“I expected help when my daughter was crying.”
He stopped.
“I expected her grandparents to care more about her leg than Carla’s reputation.”
His jaw tightened.
I continued:
“Since expectations are being revised, let’s start there.”
He left after five more minutes of standing on my porch like stubbornness could unlock doors.
Lily watched from the hallway.
“Was Grandpa mad?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“No.”
She looked doubtful.
“At me,” I said. “Because I told him no.”
“Can adults be grounded?”
I smiled for the first time in days.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
May you like
I looked at the empty porch.
“As long as it takes.”
