He knew his grandchildren were scared of him. Or had been. He’d been big and loud. He hadn’t liked their gum chewing or their back talk. He felt sorry now for all the times he’d told this one her hair was too short, that it was bad enough she called herself Charlie. But sometimes direction was what children needed.

There was a chair by the window. He pulled it closer and sat.

“This is your grandfather, Charlotte. I’ve come down by myself to see you. I want you to wake up now. You’ve gotten everybody too worried about you.” He remembered his wife telling him not to say anything negative and added: “You’re a very good actress but come on now.”

There was a loud cracking noise, like something hard and brittle splitting in two. He saw the wide mouth of a tube resting on her collarbone. He recognized the contraption from his last operation. It pumped into the air fifteen percent more oxygen, and it had made him feel safe. It didn’t seem to be rubbing against anything but the wash-cloth underneath. Her jaw shifted and there was another crack. It came from inside her mouth.

“Hey, don’t do that.” He put his hands on her cheeks. Her skin was slick with sweat. Beneath his fingers, her chin swayed once more from one side to the other, releasing the terrible sound. He was frightened he’d find every tooth in pieces, but when he pried open her mouth, they were all fine. They were even familiar. She’d spent a whole summer with him, the summer her older sisters went to camp and her parents divorced. She was eight and all her teeth seemed to be falling out or growing in. Nearly every night, she showed him the latest developments. She’d been a nervous child, but she’d grown into a bold, confident young woman. Overconfident, perhaps. All his grandchildren were overconfident. When he complained of this, of their aggression and recklessness, he was laughed at. The pot calling the kettle, they said.

He’d seen a picture of the trail she’d fallen on. “I wouldn’t have gone down that slope. It was too steep and too icy and you could see the rocks were bare. It was a foolish thing.” He didn’t care. She needed scolding. She was probably sick of people coming in cooing and mooning and pitying her. She needed a firm hand. “A very foolish, stupid thing.”

On a whiteboard facing her bed, facing the sign about her skull, her sisters had written in Magic Marker: “Good Morning, Charlie! It’s Saturday Feb. 15. You’ve had a skiing accident. We’re all at Dad’s and will be back soon. Can’t wait to see you!” All over that wall were photographs, posters, drawings, poems, and letters. There were red roses and a slew of valentines on the radiator.