I took a breath.
“Would you like me to call again when I know what's happening?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered.
“Yes.”
We ended the call.
I sat beside the truck for a long time.
Then I called Bishop.
He answered.
“Gravel?”
“My truck died.”
“Where?”
I explained.
Bishop cursed softly.
Then asked.
“You need a tow?”
“Already arranged.”
“What else?”
I looked toward the clock.
“Need to get to Holbrook.”
For a moment, he was quiet.
Then said.
“Call the rental place in the nearest town. I'll help find transportation if you need me.”
I nodded.
Then he added.
“And Ray?”
“Yeah?”
“You did the right thing telling her.”
I looked down.
“Doesn't feel like it.”
Bishop's voice softened.
“Being honest isn't always the same as making somebody happy.”
For several seconds, I remained quiet.
Then I thanked him.
The rest of the morning became a complicated series of phone calls, transportation arrangements, and changing plans.
The truck was taken to a repair facility.
I secured another vehicle.
And continued toward Arizona.
I arrived after the exhibition had begun.
By the time I reached the school, the first student presentations were over.
I hurried inside, trying not to look as exhausted as I felt.
The hallway smelled of construction paper and floor cleaner.
Children's artwork covered the walls.
Parents and grandparents stood beside colorful display boards.
Then I saw Rosie.
She was standing near her project.
Her yellow raincoat hung on the back of a chair.
She wore a pale-blue dress and had her hair tied back with two ribbons.
Evelyn stood beside her.
Rosie looked toward the doorway.
For one terrible second, she simply stared.
Then she ran.
“GRANDPA!”
I dropped to one knee.
She threw her arms around my neck.
I held her tightly.
“I'm sorry I'm late.”
She buried her face against my shoulder.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then she whispered.
“I thought you weren't coming.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
She pulled back.
Her eyes were wet.
“You missed my part.”
I nodded.
“I did.”
For a moment, I wanted to explain everything.
The truck.
The tow.
The rental.
The hundreds of miles.
But Rosie didn't need a transportation report.
She needed me to acknowledge what she'd lost.
I looked directly at her.
“I'm sorry I missed your presentation.”
Her eyes filled.
I continued.
“I know it mattered.”
She nodded.
“It did.”
I swallowed.
“I can't change that. But if you'll show me your project now, I'd really like to see it.”
For several seconds, she studied me.
Then took my hand.
“Okay.”
She led me toward the display.