“I know now.”
She looked at him.
“Did you know the name?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you find me?”
“I tried once.”
“When?”
“Thirty.”
She stared.
“That was thirty years ago.”
“Hospital said records were archived.”
“Staff directory old.”
“Then life happened.”
Margaret laughed softly.
“That’s everyone's explanation eventually.”
Bear nodded.
“Pretty much.”
She finished half her soup.
Then pushed the bowl away.
Bear checked the instructions.
“You need fluids.”
Margaret glared.
“You have been my grandson for less than two hours.”
“You created this problem.”
“I revoke the appointment.”
“Too late.”
She drank water.
Bear smiled.
At four-thirty, Michael called from the hospital.
Margaret answered immediately.
“You okay?”
Michael said:
“I'm the one in a hospital bed.”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
“Head?”
“Hurts.”
“Wrist?”
“Hurts.”
“Everything?”
“Complaining.”
“Good.”
Michael paused.
“Bear there?”
Margaret looked across the kitchen.
“Yes.”
“Put him on.”
She handed over phone.
Bear answered.
“Hey.”
Michael said:
“Thank you again.”
“You already said that.”
“I'm saying it sober.”
“You were sober before.”
“Concussion makes everything philosophical.”
Bear smiled.
Michael continued.
“Grandma doesn't like strangers in her house.”
“I gathered.”
“She likes you.”
“Temporary brain damage?”
“Probably.”
Then Michael lowered his voice.
“Seriously.”
“I should've been there.”
Bear looked toward Margaret.
She was pretending not to listen.
“You were trying.”
“I know.”
“She thought you abandoned her.”
Margaret snapped:
“I did not.”
Michael heard.
“You absolutely did.”
Margaret grabbed the phone.
“I said you were coming.”
“You were worried.”
“I am allowed.”
Michael laughed, then groaned from headache.
“Stop making me laugh.”
Margaret softened.
“When are they releasing you?”
“Late morning if neurological checks stay normal.”
“I’ll come get you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Grandma.”
Bear reached for the phone.
Margaret slapped his hand away.
He laughed silently.
Michael said:
“You are not driving.”
“I can drive.”
“You fainted.”
“Once.”
“Yesterday.”
Margaret looked at Bear.
He held out his hand.
She reluctantly surrendered phone.
Bear said:
“I'll get him.”
Michael replied:
“Thank you.”
Margaret shouted:
“Traitors.”
Bear smiled.
“Family.”
She stared.
Then smiled too.
At five-thirty, the sky began turning gray beyond the kitchen window.
Margaret had finally gone to bed.
Bear sat in an armchair outside the hallway, boots off, alarm set.
He did not sleep.
He looked at the old photograph.
He had carried it so long that the image had become a symbol rather than a person.
Now Margaret existed beyond the frame.
Sarcastic.