Something changed in grandmother. She began to panic over him, speaking rapidly, except the words coming out of her mouth were neither English nor Mandarin nor Shanghainese. I clung to a hope they were Japanese or Taiwanese, languages she might have picked up years ago, though deep down I knew that they were gibberish, as she patted grandfather’s coat down and pleaded with him.

Grandfather nodded placatingly. It clearly was not his first time hearing her speak this way. I ran back into the house for something to clean his hand. When I reached the bathroom, I gripped the sink, and all I could do was stand there telling myself to stay calm. Grandfather was allowed to falter. He was not young. Yet until right then, I had not even considered it a possibility. He was the stable one, the one with the successful career that allowed us to never worry about money, the one who delayed his retirement after my mother and father left, the one who was supposed to be around to help with grandmother as she faded. I shrank into myself, wanting nothing more than to remain in place, to freeze time before things got any worse. But we had a doctor appointment to get to. I reminded myself that grandfather was barely hurt and grandmother would snap out of it soon.

When I returned, grandfather was standing again. I helped him clean his scraped hand. Grandmother was still panicking. We reassured her that we were just going to see the doctor for a routine visit, and that we would be home soon. Her Chinese returned. I almost wished it hadn’t because she begged and begged:

“Don’t take me away from home.”

“You love Dr. Wu,” grandfather said in his most soothing voice. “You offered to send Monica to her office to fix her computer, remember? And she asked you all about Monica and the two of you talked forever and you didn’t even notice all the tests she was doing on you. Afterward you said you couldn’t wait to see her again. And she is a very busy person. It is difficult to reschedule an appointment with—”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Grandmother was trembling, holding her head in her hands, trying to turn back toward the house. I held her arm, enough to keep her in place. With my free hand, I called a ride share since we had missed the bus.

I attempted to reason with her, but I was even less successful than grandfather. In the end, she fell against him and pounded weakly at his chest, crying.

“They’ll find us. Even here. Torou . . .”

Grandfather held her until she went limp in his arms. I stood there, useless, not knowing how to help and too scared to even try. To our relief, by the time the ride share pulled up, grandmother had worn herself out.