“Do you want some animal crackers?” I ask, tilting the open end of the box in his direction. He nods and takes the box from me, the animal crackers making tink tink tink sounds in the quietness as they fall onto his plate.

I can’t stop staring at the bandage on his forehead.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, like he can sense all the questions swirling around my head.

The thing is, for the first time in my life I don’t know what to say to Gramps. Because all I want to ask him is about what happened at his apartment the night before, if he’s really okay. But I don’t want him to worry about me being worried, so instead I say, “Can you keep a secret?”

“Better than most,” he answers, bringing a lion to his mouth. “Shoot.”

“Well, there’s this dog.” I begin, and tell him the whole story, including all the details about her fur and her two different-colored eyes, because Gramps always likes to hear the details of a story. “And I was trying to get her to come back to the yard . . .”

“With a breadcrumb trail,” he finishes. “Well, animal cracker trail, in this case.”

“Exactly,” I say. “I was trying to get Mom to help me look for her, but she just wasn’t listening.”

“I know the feeling, kiddo,” he says, shaking his head. “I know the feeling.”

We sit like that while each of us finishes our half of the sandwich, and I start to think that maybe Gramps isn’t losing his mind after all. He’s not acting any differently right now. Maybe it’s that no one is listening to him either.

Just then, the kitchen light turns on and Mom is standing there in her pajamas. She crosses her arms when she sees us. “What’s going on in here?” she asks. “It’s almost midnight.”

Gramps looks at the time on the stove and says, “Yes, it is. That’s why it’s called a midnight snack.”

“Midnight snack, huh?” Mom says, giving a little grin. “Well, tomorrow is a school day, and we want to start the week off right, don’t we, Sadie?”

I shrug. “I wasn’t tired.”

Mom continues, “Come on, you know you’ve got to get a good night’s sleep or you’ll wake up late and not want to go to school in the morning, and—”

“Come on, Katie, it’s just a case of the Mondays.” Gramps waves his hand in my direction. “Let the kid finish her sandwich.”

Mom gives Gramps a look she usually reserves for Noah or me when we’re being difficult. “Dad, it’s a little more serious than”—she hooks her fingers into air quotes—“ ’the Mondays.’ Remember I told you about Sadie needing an IEP this year?”

“A who?” Gramps says.

“Individualized. Education. Plan,” Mom says, separating each word. “For her learning disability.”