Her mother’s expression tightened.
“He isn’t here to care what they said.”
“I care.”
“I know.”
Sophie’s eyes filled.
“He taught me to check everything twice.”
“He would say, ‘Don’t blame the machine because you were too lazy to listen.’”
A tiny smile touched her mother’s face.
“That sounds exactly like him.”
“He used to make me put every socket back in the right spot.”
“You hated that.”
“I still hate it.”
Her mother laughed softly.
The sound faded.
Sophie whispered:
“What if he knew somebody was after him?”
Her mother’s smile disappeared.
“What if he knew and didn’t tell us because he thought he was protecting us?”
Her mother looked toward the bedroom door.
That thought had clearly already occurred to her.
Sophie continued.
“What if that’s why he stopped coming over every Sunday before the crash?”
Her mother frowned.
“He didn't.”
“Yes, he did.”
“No.”
“Mom, he used to come every Sunday.”
“Then he started saying he was busy.”
Her mother went still.
Sophie remembered because Sundays had meant pancakes.
Grandpa always made pancakes too large for the skillet, then blamed the skillet.
Three weeks before his death, he canceled.
Then again.
Then again.
Her mother had been irritated.
“He’s getting old,” she had said.
“He has his own life.”
At the time, Sophie had believed her.
Now her mother whispered:
“He called me the night before the crash.”
Sophie sat upright.
“What?”
Her mother immediately looked regretful.
“I shouldn't have said that.”
“What did he say?”
“Sophie.”
“What did he say?”
Her mother looked toward the notebook.
“He asked whether the garage key still worked.”
Sophie’s heartbeat increased.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I told him yes.”
“He said good.”
“That was it?”
“No.”
Her mother swallowed.
“He told me if anything happened, I shouldn’t let anyone clear the garage until I’d gone through his papers.”
Sophie stared.
“You never told me.”
“I forgot.”
“How do you forget that?”
Her mother flinched.
Sophie regretted the words instantly.
“I’m sorry.”
Her mother shook her head.
“No.”
“You’re right.”
She stared at her hands.
“The police called me from the hospital.”
“Then everything became arrangements.”
“Funeral.”
“Insurance.”
“His house.”
“Your grief.”
“My grief.”
“Everybody telling me he probably took that curve too fast.”
Her voice cracked.
“I wanted the garage empty because every time I walked in, I expected him to be sitting there.”
Sophie leaned against her mother.
Her mother put an arm around her.
“I thought clearing it would help.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
“Nothing did for a while.”
They sat quietly.
Then Sophie asked:
“Why would he ask about the garage key?”
Her mother whispered:
“Maybe because he knew someone might come looking for the records.”