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said.
    “I hear that,” I said. Then, noticing the sketch pad sticking out of his backpack, I asked, “Can I see what you’re working on?”
    He took out the pad and laid it on the table. “Let me get rid of this,” he said holding up his backpack. Then he went to his bedroom.
    My grandson and I had spent many hours together drawing. I’d learned early on that it was the best way to get him to open up to me. It was his comfort zone, and I hoped that he would always have it and that it would always be something that we could share.
    When he pulled out a chair, I sat down on the one next to it. After he got comfortable, he flipped the notebook open.
    “Wow, so you’re into pencil now. Last time I was here, it was colored markers. Big bold pictures with lots of super heroes.”
    He nodded. “That was years ago, when I was a baby.”
    It was only last winter, but who was I to argue?
    I held the picture closer, admiring the extraordinary details he’d obviously worked on for hours. “It looks justlike this kitchen. Every tile in the floor, so exact. You have a remarkable sense of proportion, Cam. I can read the labels on every spice jar in the rack on the wall. It’s almost like a photograph. You have all the cabinets and knobs, every magnet on the refrigerator. Do you realize how talented you are?”
    He looked up at me, and when our eyes met, he smiled. It was a glorious moment to feel so connected to him.
    “But what’s up with the ceiling?” I asked, scrutinizing the sketch again. “Why does it have birds and branches on it?”
    “It’s a convertible ceiling, like in Dad’s car. You can open it up and see the sky and trees that hang over the roof.”
    “What made you think of that?”
    “I wanted it to be easier for Dad to come see us. He’s always so busy, on a plane going somewhere else. I just thought if he looked down and saw all of us inside, waiting for him, that he’d want to come here more. And maybe if he saw how much we miss him, he’d never want to leave.”
    My heart was breaking as I realized how much the divorce was affecting him. “I think that’s a great idea. Maybe every house should have a convertible ceiling.” I tried lightening his mood but it wasn’t working.
    “It would also make it easier for him to fly away when he’s done with us.”
    I leaned over and hugged him. “Your father will never be done with you. You know that, don’t you?”
    “I guess. But it still makes me feel bad.”
    “Do you and Chloe ever go visit him?” I asked.
    “Sometimes. But his apartment’s real small and we don’t have our stuff there.”
    “Maybe, when you’re older, you can go on a trip with him. That would be exciting, wouldn’t it? You’d always have your mom here at home, making sure your things are safe in your room. And she’d always be here to welcome you back. But you’d also have a dad who takes you on adventures. Maybe a safari in Africa, or a boat ride down the Nile. That way you’d have the best of both worlds.”
    Cam shook his head. “He doesn’t like me sometimes. I can tell. He wouldn’t want to take me on any kind of trip.”
    “Oh, that isn’t true.” I wanted to cry but kept a stupid smile plastered across my face. “Why would you think such a thing? Has he ever told you that?”
    “He doesn’t have to. I can feel it.”
    Cam had always been the quietest kid in any room and the most sensitive one.
    All I could do was hug him tighter.
    “You know your father loves you and Chloe to pieces. He’s just not like you and me. He’s a very practical, serious man. He has to know procedures and medicines . . . lots to remember. It’s all very important work. If he messes up, his patient might die. Not like us artists. If we mess up, we can just paint over our mistakes or erase them.”
    He sat up and smiled. “I know. But, Grammy, why does everything have to change?”
    “You know, Cam, I was wondering about change myself today. It’s never easy, is