“He pulled me aside at check-in,” she said. “Your mom and Denver had gone ahead with the bags. Russell said, ‘Mom, don’t panic, but I think I forgot your ticket.'”
“What exactly did Dad say?”
“What did he do next?”
“He said they’d miss the flight if he stayed. He said he’d fix it when they landed and to go home.”
She shook her head.
I grabbed the handle of her suitcase.
“Come on.”
“Maybe he really did forget.”
I looked at her. “Grandma, forgetting is leaving your phone charger at home. Not your mother.”
She winced because part of her already knew.
“What did he do next?”
***
I drove Grandma Elsie home, then grabbed my textbooks and clothes to stay the night. She just stood in her kitchen, still wearing her plane dress, staring at her closed suitcase.
I opened it.
The new shoes still had tissue inside. The phrasebook had a sticky note. The earrings were wrapped in a napkin.
“I feel foolish,” she whispered.
I drove Grandma Elsie home
I folded the blue dress across my arms. “You’re not foolish. You trusted your son.”
“That’s what makes it worse.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” I said.
“You have exams.”
“I do. But you have me too.”
That was the end of it.
“You trusted your son.”
***
The next morning, while Grandma Elsie barely touched breakfast, my phone buzzed.
Mom had sent a photo to the family chat.
Dad stood on a hotel balcony. The caption said, “Made it!”
My anger went cold.
“Grandma, do you have the withdrawal slip from the bank?”
She looked up. “Why?”
Dad stood on a hotel balcony.
“Because I need proof.”
Her hand shook as she pulled a folded envelope from her purse. “I kept it in case Russell needed it later.”
I took a photo of the slip, then texted Dad.
