She didn’t look at the rows of seats or search the chairs for her granddaughter.

She walked straight past the plastic sign marking the pediatric section and stopped right in front of Ethan.

“Get your things,” Sylvia said.

Ethan sat frozen on the vinyl chair, his phone still clutched in his right hand.

Sylvia reached down, grabbed his winter coat off the next chair, and shoved the heavy wool against his chest.

“I have the car running at the curb,” she said.

Ethan caught the coat in both arms, staring up at her with his mouth slightly open.