That night, I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through thrift-store listings, when Grandpa came in smelling of motor oil.
He sat next to me, glanced at my screen, and put an arm around my shoulders.
“Sweetheart, I’ll make sure you have the most beautiful dress.”
I shook my head.
“Grandpa, no. Please don’t touch your savings. I’m serious. Don’t worry about it. A thrift-store dress is going to make me perfectly happy.”
He sat next to me.
“You let me worry about it,” Grandpa insisted.
“I mean it. I don’t need anything fancy.”
He just kissed the top of my head and told me to finish my homework.
Something changed after that night.
***
Grandpa started coming home after 10 p.m. I would hear the front door click, then the living room door click behind him. Then came the soft sound of the lock until he emerged well past midnight.
Something changed after that night.
***
Once, I tried to peek in.
But when Grandpa heard the locked door’s handle move, he shouted through the door, “Go to bed, kiddo!”
I heard a faint mechanical clicking that I couldn’t place.
A steady rhythm, over and over, deep into the night.
I lay awake, guilt curling in my stomach, sure he’d picked up a third job because of me.
Once, I tried to peek in.
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