I thought I had misheard him.
“Wesley, I haven’t slept in three days.”
“I know, but we’re busy here. Everyone’s exhausted too.”
In the background, I heard children laughing.
Then my grandson shouted something loudly enough for me to hear.
“Tell Aunt Corinne I get Grandpa’s truck!”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What did he just say?”
Wesley sighed.
“Mom, please. Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“Dad is gone. We all knew this was coming. You can’t make everyone responsible for your grief.”
For a second, the airport disappeared around me.
Edmund was gone less than forty-eight hours, and our grandson was already claiming his truck.
I whispered, “I asked for a ride home.”
“You can take a taxi.”
Then he ended the call.
I stood there holding the phone against my ear long after the line went dead.
I called Corinne next.
Surely my daughter would understand.
