I run to her. She turns to me, her mouth rounded in fear. “Lulu, what are you doing out in this cold?”

“We were looking for you.” I throw my arms around her. Her skin is icy to the touch. “You’re so cold, Gram.”

“Nonsense,” she says, patting my arms. “I’m from Moscow. We thrive in this weather.”

Dad walks up behind me. “Ma, what are you doing out here? It’s freezing. Let’s get you home.”

“I was taking a walk. No need for all the fuss.”

Dad shrugs out of his jacket and wraps it around her. I notice for the first time that she’s wearing only a thin nightgown. “You had us worried, Mom.”

She touches a hand to his cheek. “How sweet of you.”

“Why were you out this time of night?” he asks gently.

Gram doesn’t answer. She seems to shrink inside herself as we walk home.

Once we’re home, Dad turns to me. “Why don’t you help Gram to bed, and I’ll make us a snack so we can talk.”

I nod, tightening my grip on Gram’s hand so she doesn’t slip away.

“Lulu,” he bites out, then stops. He takes a deep breath and continues in a calmer voice. “I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t come to me.”

I make myself look at him. He gives me a half smile before bending down to kiss Gram’s cheek.

Gram pats his face. “You need a shave.”

He laughs and ruffles my hair before I lead Gram to her room and settle her in bed. “Gram, you can’t leave the house at night. It isn’t safe.”

She squeezes my hand a second before letting go. “I think I owe you a story, Lulu. Have I told you about my friend Jacob? He loved to play chess with me. But I always beat him.”

My smile freezes like the Russian lake in Gram’s story. I pull the covers up over her shoulders and fold them neatly. “Tell me tomorrow, Gram. Right now you need to sleep.”

Click. All the memories of Gram tucking me in. Each kiss forever accessible in the movie of my life. I take one out and let it play as I tuck her in now. I kiss her forehead as she always did with me. I mirror her actions back to her, and my heart cracks all over again.

“Good night, Gram,” I say softly before I close the door.

“Good night, my sweet girl,” she whispers.

The worry of what to do no longer seems like a problem I’ll never solve. Mom and Dad are in the kitchen. Their voices reach me, low but warm as they wait for me to join them.