I get back to the shop
with the bagels and coffee.
Grandpa’s there with the loupe over his eye,
holding a watch.
Etan, I am so behind.
Thank you for the coffee.
I sit at the workbench.
Grandpa, Malia is singing in the talent show.
I slide the red paper over to him.
Next Tuesday at 4!
He examines it.
She agreed to this?
Kind of?
But there might be a baseball game.
He stops what he is doing,
sets everything down.
Etan, I noticed
when you talk about your friend,
your words come out just fine.
I nod.
It’s just that her skin is getting worse,
and she is always scratching until it bleeds.
He puts down the loupe, sips coffee.
Tell me more.