That afternoon I wrapped Emma’s drawing kit twice.

The first paper tore; the second looked crooked.

Eleanor had always done this job, humming as she folded corners into perfect triangles.

I finally tied a ribbon around the box and wrote a simple card: *For all the wonderful things you haven’t drawn yet.

Love, Grandpa.*

At six, I arrived at Mark’s house.

He answered wearing an expensive sweater and a smile that lasted precisely until he saw that I carried only a gift bag.

“Where’s the other envelope?” he asked quietly.