She came a lot. He said she was the granddaughter of an old friend of his from the teachers’ union, a man named Walter who’d had a stroke. Walter’s daughter worked long hours as a nurse, Dad said, and he helped out with the little girl sometimes. After school. Some weekends.
I’d met her maybe eight or ten times over the past two years. She was a quiet, sweet little girl with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. She liked to draw horses. She called my father “Grandpa Bob.”
I thought it was so kind of him. A lonely old widower, helping his sick friend’s family. I’d told my sister how sweet it was.
She was about seven too.
Last Christmas, I’d bought her a doll.
Dad had mentioned that Lily had been asking for one, a specific one with red hair and a blue dress and a little stuffed dog. I’d driven to three different stores to find it.
Lily had been at Dad’s house that Christmas afternoon, before dinner, before Jenna’s engagement. Walter’s daughter was working a double shift at the hospital, Dad said.
Ethan had been there too.
My stomach tightened.
I remembered Lily struggling with the doll’s packaging. Those terrible plastic boxes with the little twist ties. And I remembered Ethan kneeling down beside her on the rug to help.
When her curly hair fell across her face, he’d gently tucked it behind her ear.
I’d smiled at the time. I’d thought, He’d make such a wonderful father someday.
