She was quiet.
I continued.
"You could come to my house wearing your pajamas, a princess costume, or a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and I would still be the happiest grandma in the world."
I heard a tiny laugh.
"Even a blanket?"
"Especially a blanket."
She giggled softly.
Then her voice changed again.
"But I thought you didn't like my pretty clothes."
I swallowed.
"Whoever told you that was mistaken."
She was silent.
I continued.
"Your mommy loved pretty clothes. Remember how she used to put ribbons in your hair and let you choose bright colors?"
Lily sniffed.
"She liked yellow."
I smiled through tears.
"She loved yellow."
"And pink."
"Pink too."
My granddaughter took a breath.
"Vanessa said you'd be sad if I wore the new things."
I kept my voice steady.
"Sweetheart, I might feel sad sometimes because I miss your mommy. But that sadness belongs to me. You don't have to change your clothes to take care of it."
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she whispered, "Really?"
"Really."
I could hear her breathing.
Finally, she said, "I have a pink dress."
I smiled.
"I'd love to see it."
"It's sparkly."
"That sounds wonderful."
"It has little puffy sleeves."
I laughed softly.
"Then I definitely need to see it."
Lily hesitated.
"Can I wear it when you come?"
I looked toward Claire's photograph.
"Of course, sweetheart."
There was a long silence.
Then she said something I will remember for the rest of my life.
"I thought I had to look sad for you to know I remembered Mommy."
I covered my mouth.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
When I finally found my voice, I said, "Oh, Lily. You can be happy and still remember her."
She sniffed.
"Are you sure?"
"More sure than anything."
My granddaughter was quiet.
Then she whispered, "I miss her."
I wiped my cheeks.
"So do I."
We stayed on the phone for another ten minutes.
We talked about school, a new book she'd been reading, and the drawing of the green coat with yellow stars. She told me that her father had found the real coat and that she was allowed to wear it whenever she wanted.
When we finally said goodbye, she sounded lighter.
But I knew one telephone call couldn't undo the fear she had carried for months.