“Comes back from where?”

“Allison’s.”

“Then shouldn’t her clothes be with her?”

Rebecca pressed her lips together.

“Thomas, you have to understand, we’ve had a lot going on.”

I waited.

“Grace hasn’t been herself lately. She’s tired, she’s emotional, and the trip was becoming too much for everyone.”

There was something about the way she said everyone that troubled me.

“Has Grace seen a doctor?”

“She doesn’t need one.”

“Have you spoken with her today?”

Rebecca looked toward the church entrance.

“She’s being taken care of.”

It was the same phrase Daniel had used, repeated so often that I had begun to dread hearing it.

“Rebecca, can you tell me where she slept last night?”

Her face changed, not dramatically, but enough that I noticed.

“I really need to go.”

She returned to her car before I could ask anything else.

For a long while, I stood beside my truck holding the grocery bag, wondering why a woman would bring me a child’s pajamas when that child was supposedly staying safely with a relative.

That afternoon, I called Allison again.

This time, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Allison, this is Thomas Whitmore. I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to check on Grace.”

There was a pause.

“Grace?”

“Daniel told me she was staying with you while the family went away.”

The silence stretched.

“Thomas, I haven’t seen Grace this week.”

I sat down slowly.

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain. Rebecca mentioned she might need help with the kids, but she never brought Grace here.”

I thanked her and ended the call, although I could barely remember what I said.

For the first time, I knew that at least one of the explanations I had been given was untrue.

And I still didn’t know where my granddaughter was.

Part Five: The Bottle Behind the Oatmeal

I went back to Daniel’s house that evening.

The front door was unlocked, and I found Rebecca in the kitchen wiping a countertop that was already clean. Daniel was upstairs, moving luggage across the bedroom floor.

“I spoke with Allison,” I told her.

Rebecca stopped wiping.

“Oh?”

“Grace isn’t staying with her.”

She folded the paper towel carefully.

“Plans changed.”

“Then where is she?”

“She’s somewhere quiet.”

“Rebecca, she’s eight years old. I need you to tell me where she is.”

Her eyes moved toward the hallway.

“Daniel should explain it.”

I was about to call upstairs when I noticed the amber medicine bottle again, still partly hidden behind the oatmeal box.

The label faced the wall.

“Whose prescription is that?” I asked.

Rebecca reached for the box.

“Mine.”

“Daniel said the same thing.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Then why do you keep hiding it?”

She lifted the bottle and placed it inside an upper cabinet.

“I’m not hiding anything.”

I watched her close the cabinet.

“Has Grace been taking anything for her cold?”

Rebecca didn’t answer immediately.

“We gave her something to help her rest.”

A cold feeling settled in my stomach.

“What did you give her?”

“Something the doctor recommended.”

“Which doctor?”

She turned away.

At that moment, Daniel came downstairs carrying a suitcase.

“Dad, why are you here again?”

I faced him.

“Allison says Grace hasn’t been at her house.”

He stopped halfway across the room.

Rebecca looked at him, and something passed between them that I couldn’t interpret.

“We were going to explain,” Daniel said.

“Then explain now.”

He lowered the suitcase.

“Grace has been having a difficult time adjusting. Rebecca arranged for her to stay somewhere she could get some peace.”

“Where?”

He hesitated.

“With someone who knows how to handle children.”

I felt my voice becoming unsteady.

“Daniel, you have a daughter, not a piece of luggage you can move around whenever your plans change.”

He looked wounded by that, and I regretted the sharpness of my words, but not the question behind them.

“Give me the address,” I said.

He wouldn’t.

I left the house knowing I could no longer wait for him to tell me the truth voluntarily.

Part Six: The Call I Had Been Waiting For

At 1:58 the following morning, my telephone rang.

I was asleep in the recliner because I had been unable to settle in bed, and when I saw Grace’s name on the screen, I answered before the second ring.

“Grandpa?”

Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Sweetheart, where are you?”

“I’m at home.”

I sat upright.

“At Daddy’s house?”

“Yes.”

“Are Daddy and Rebecca there?”

“No.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

“Is Ethan with you?”

“He’s here, but I can’t get him to open the bedroom door.”

I heard her breathing, uneven and tired.