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“Is Gramma out of her surgery yet?” he asked.

“I don’t know, sweetie. The doctor is supposed to let us know when she comes out.”

He nodded, and then pointed one of his action figures at the big monitor.

“And that’s where we’re going to talk to the doctor?”

I nodded, and picked him up to set him on my lap. I could tell he was feeling a little bit in need of comfort.

He leaned against me and briefly sucked his thumb. Sometimes he did that when he was really stressed out. The pediatrician said it was normal, though my mom kept saying she was going to cover his thumbs in hot sauce. I figured that would probably just lead to Damon having a spicy foods addiction later in life.

That’s what had happened to me, after all.

I looked over my shoulder, past the back of the sofa at the eat-in kitchen. Michael stood near the fridge, fingers tapping furiously on his phone. He was texting only and not making phone calls because he was waiting on the doctor. His broad shoulders were tense, rigid, his jaw set hard. Michael was worried about my mother, I could tell.

Michael’s phone rang, and it startled all of us, me maybe the most of all. He put the phone to his ear after the first ring and spoke.

“Hello? Yes, yes, just a moment.”

He ended the call and came into the living room.

“That was Doctor Claremont’s office. We are to expect an imminent Zoom call from him.”

As if on cue, the big screen monitor flashed. Using his phone, Michael accepted the call. A middle-aged man with green scrubs appeared on the screen. I tried to judge from his posture whether or not the surgery had been a success, but he was almost as inscrutable as Michael.

“Well, Doctor?” Michael said. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Sorry, I was waiting to make sure the connection was secure and we could see and hear each other.” The doctor cleared his throat. “The operation was a complete success.”

I collapsed back against the backrest in a slow topple. Damon squirmed off of my lap so he could run around the room in circles, pumping his fist in the air.

I felt the pressure of the last few days melt away. Now that I didn’t have to hold myself together and be stoic for the world, I sort of broke down. I started crying, only a little at first, but I couldn’t stop.

Damon stopped running around the room and came back to the sofa. He climbed up onto the cushion beside me. Damon wrapped his arms around me in a warm hug.

“Why are you crying, Mommy?”

“Because I was scared,” I said, trying to pull myself together. “I was scared that something would happen to Gramma.”

“I wasn’t” he said simply as if that explained everything. “I knew she was gonna be okay.”

I gave him a long look.

“How did you know that it was going to be okay?”

I half expected him to say an angel told him or something. It turned out I was quite wrong about that.

“Because Michael told me that it would be okay. He promised me.”

“Oh, he did?” I turned to Michael and cocked an eyebrow. He answered with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

Michael turned to the screen and faced Doctor Claremont.

“What’s next in the treatment plan for Mrs. Malone?” he asked.

“Well, she is going to have to remain in our care here at the clinic for at least a week, most likely two. We need to monitor the implant as well as have a team on hand twenty-four-seven to deal with any post-surgical complications that might arise due to her advanced age.”

“How did the surgery itself go?” Michael asked.