“Yes.”
“Tell me more about her.”
So I did.
When the reception ended, Margot found me near the exit carrying her shoes in both hands.
“You gave a speech.”
“I did.”
“About me.”
“Partly.”
She considered that.
“Did it make Claire feel bad?”
I thought before answering.
“I think it helped her understand something.”
Margot nodded.
Then she asked,
“Grandpa?”
“Yes, peanut?”
“Am I the most important girl in your life?”
I crouched down until we were eye to eye.
My knees complained.
I ignored them.
“You are the most important person in my life. No conditions. No exceptions.”
“Even more than Grandma?”
“Your grandma would want it to be you.”
“Even more than Mom?”
“Your mom would want it to be you too. That’s what mothers do.”
She thought about it.
“Okay.”
Then she held out her hand.
“Can we walk to the car?”
“Of course.”
“My shoes make a good sound in parking lots.”
“Give them to me. You walk.”
She handed me the shoes.
We walked under the spring night sky.
Halfway across the parking lot, she looked up at me.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“I was in the pictures.”
“You were.”
“Right in the middle.”
“Yes.”
“You promised.”
“I did.”
“You were right.”
“I usually am.”
She gave me a sideways look.
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
The next morning, Claire apologized.
Emmett told me afterward.
“She got down to Margot’s level and told her she had said something wrong.”
“What did Margot say?”
“She said okay.”
I smiled.
“Then she asked Claire whether she wanted to see her shoes.”
I laughed.
“For twenty minutes,” Emmett added. “Claire now understands the different sounds made by patent leather, canvas, and rubber soles.”
“That’s important information.”
“With Margot, apparently it is.”
