A girl climbed out wearing jeans, sneakers, and a blue backpack.

For a second, I didn’t know who she was.

Then she turned toward the house.

She had Margaret’s chin.

Emily.

I gripped the edge of the counter.

Daniel looked through the window at me.

He didn’t move.

Neither did I.

Rebecca walked around the SUV and spoke quietly to Emily.

Emily looked toward the house.

Then Rebecca pointed at the car again.

They got back in.

My stomach dropped.

The SUV backed out.

Daniel came inside.

“What happened?”

I asked.

“I don’t know.”

I looked through the window until the taillights disappeared.

Daniel said something else.

I didn’t hear it.

Five minutes later, my phone rang.

Rebecca.

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“Emily thought you were still there.”

I sat down.

Daniel stared at me.

I almost laughed.

Instead I said:

“Rebecca, I’m home.”

A pause.

Then, very quietly:

“I know. I panicked.”

I closed my eyes.

“Bring her back.”

Another pause.

“Okay.”

Twenty-five minutes later, I heard the front door open.

I stayed at the kitchen table.

Not because I wanted to make some kind of point.

My knee hurt.

Emily came around the corner.

Nine years old.

Almost ten.

Her hair was longer.

She was taller than I remembered.

There were braces on her teeth.

She stopped when she saw me.

I stood too quickly and had to grab the table.

Rebecca reached for my arm.

I waved her away.

Emily stared at the cane.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Just bruised.”

She nodded.

Then she looked toward the hallway.

I knew exactly what she was looking at.

She shifted the straps of her backpack.

“Grandpa?”

“Yeah?”

“Is my room still there?”

I looked at Rebecca.

She didn’t say anything.

She just nodded.

I turned back to Emily.

“It never went anywhere.”

Emily dropped her backpack.

She crossed the kitchen before I was ready and wrapped both arms around me.

I had imagined seeing her again hundreds of times.

In none of those versions did I remember what shampoo she used.

Strawberry.

I put one hand on the back of her head.

Rebecca walked out of the kitchen.

Daniel followed her.

Neither of them closed the door.

The Boxes Came Back Out

We never toured the assisted living facility in Dublin.

Daniel canceled the appointment.

Nobody made a big announcement about it.

He simply called the next morning and said:

“I told them we won’t be coming.”

“All right.”

“I can start doing the yard on Saturdays.”

“I have a lawn service.”

“Then I’ll do something else.”

So he did.

Sometimes he changed furnace filters.

Sometimes he brought groceries.

Sometimes he sat on my porch and complained about work.

Rebecca didn’t give me a long apology.

I preferred that.

She started bringing Emily over.

At first, she stayed.

Then she began leaving her for an hour.

Then an afternoon.

One Friday, Emily asked if she could sleep over.

Rebecca looked at me.

“Is that okay?”

“It’s her room.”

Emily ran down the hallway.

A few seconds later I heard:

“Grandpa!”

I followed slowly.

She was holding the pink coat.

“This is tiny.”

“You used to be tiny.”

“I was never that tiny.”

“I have photographic evidence.”

She laughed.

Rebecca stood behind us.

She reached for the coat, then stopped.

“We can donate it.”

Emily hugged it against herself.

“No.”

Rebecca looked at her.

“It doesn’t fit.”

“I know.”

Emily put it back over the chair.

That night, we ordered pizza.

Emily opened the telescope first.

Then the watercolor set.

Then the books.

Some of the toys were too young for her.

She didn’t care.

She wanted to know when I bought each one.

So I told her.

“Christmas when you were seven.”

Another box.

“Your eighth birthday.”

Another.

“Christmas again.”

She looked up.

“Did you think I was coming?”

I folded a piece of wrapping paper.

“I hoped you might.”

She nodded.

That was enough.

Rebecca had gone home earlier.

Before leaving, she stood by the front door for a long time.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

She looked down at her keys.

“Emily asked about you.”

I waited.

“A lot.”

I put my hand on the doorknob.

Rebecca swallowed.

“I told her you were busy.”

I looked at her.

“Why?”

She stared at the floor.

“Because I was angry.”

There wasn’t anything useful I could say to that.

She wiped under one eye.

“I kept thinking I’d fix it next week. Then another week passed. Then it got harder to admit what I’d done.”

I opened the door.

She looked at me.

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded.

“Drive safe.”

She gave a small laugh through her tears.

“That’s all?”

“For tonight.”

She hugged me.

Then she left.

The next morning, I woke a little after seven.

The house was quiet.

I made coffee and walked down the hallway.

Emily’s door was closed.

For three years, I had kept that door locked.

I had protected the room from dust, visitors, questions, and eventually my own children.

Now there was a sheet of notebook paper taped to it.

Emily had written on it with a purple marker.

GRANDPA, PLEASE KNOCK.

I stood there holding my coffee.

Inside, I could hear her moving around.

Wrapping paper covered the floor.

The old boxes were finally empty.

I raised my hand and knocked.