I saw the white porch rail, crooked number, and hydrangeas under the front window.
Blue and purple, exactly like the photographs.
I paid the driver.
Then I stood on that porch for a full minute with my jacket folded over one arm.
My heart was beating hard enough to make me feel ridiculous.
I could hear a television inside.
Then I knocked.
The door opened, and a boy stood there.
He was 17, maybe.
He wore shorts and a school hoodie but no shoes.
He had a phone in one hand.
“Is David here?” I asked.
The boy’s face changed.
He lowered his phone. “Oh no.”
Then he said my full name.
I gripped the handle of my suitcase. “Yes, that’s me.”
He stared at me.
“You’re really Helen?”
“Yes.”
He looked over his shoulder.
Then back at me. “You need to talk to my granddad.”
I almost sagged with relief. “He is your granddad?”
