“Whatever,” she says.

She’s apparently too tired to argue. One break.

“I’m sure we’re going to hear from your father soon,” I say. “And things will start to make a lot more sense.”

“Oh, you’re sure of that?” she says. “Wow, that’s a relief.”

Her sarcasm can’t mask it—how tired she is, how alone she feels. It makes me miss my grandfather, who would know exactly how to make Bailey feel better. He’d know how to give her the thing she needs, whatever that thing might be, to know she’s loved in a moment like this. To know she can trust. The same way he did for me. How many months after my mother left did he find me upstairs in my room, trying to write a letter to her? Asking her how she could desert me?

I was crying and angry and scared. And I’ll never forget what he did next. He was wearing his overalls and these thick work gloves—purple, and ridged. The gloves were a recent purchase. He got them made special in purple because that was my favorite color. He took the gloves off and he sat down on the floor next to me and helped me finish the letter, exactly as I wanted to write it. No judgment. He helped me spell out any words I was having trouble with. He waited while I figured out exactly how I wanted the letter to end. Then he read the entire letter out loud so I could hear it for myself, pausing when he got to the sentence in which I asked my mother how she could have left me behind. Maybe that’s not the only question we should be asking, my grandfather said. Maybe we should also think about whether we’d really want it to be different. We could think about whether she actually did us a favor in her own way… I looked at him, starting to understand where he was gently leading me. After all, what your mother did… it gave me you.

The most generous thing to say. The most comforting and generous thing. What would he say to Bailey now? When am I going to figure out how to say it too?

“Look, I’m trying here, Bailey,” I say. “I’m sorry. I know I keep saying the wrong things to you.”

“Well,” she says as she closes the bathroom door behind herself, “at least you know.”

Help Is on the Way