He adjusted his heavy gold wristwatch.

“But I appreciate the thought.”

I carried the box into the kitchen and set it on the granite island.

The counters were spotless.

There were no school papers, no mail, no sign of a seven-year-old girl living a busy life.

Emma sat at the small kitchen table.

She wore a red sweater and stared down at a blank sheet of white paper.

“Hello, Grandpa,” she whispered.