PART 4 – Why did my son tell my grandkids i didn’t want to see them

….“Mom, I was going to bring them back.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

He glanced at the toolbox on the floor. “The floor jack. The socket set. The compressor. A few other things from the garage.”

“Those were your father’s things. I would have talked to you about them.”

“I know. I should’ve asked.”

“You should have.”

He did not argue that time. The children were still standing beside the couch, close enough to hear every word. I wanted them to see that I was not sending them away, and I also wanted Kyle to hear that being their father did not mean he could decide what I had said.

“Are you going to bring everything back?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, then added, “I will. I’ll bring it all back.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, after work.”

I didn’t make him swear. I didn’t promise him the matter was settled. I said, “All right. Tomorrow.”

He looked at the key in his hand. He’d used it to come in, and I had let him keep it because he was my son. Until then, I hadn’t thought about what that permission meant when he was using it to enter while I was gone and carry out things that mattered to me.

“Give me the key, Kyle.”

He stared at me a second. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trusted you with it. You came in without asking and took your father’s things. You can come when I’m home.”

He looked toward the children. “Mom, I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“I know you weren’t planning to hurt me,” I said. “You still did.”

He took the key off his ring and put it in my palm. I closed my fingers around it. It was an ordinary key, but I had to ask for it back. I didn’t like that. I asked anyway.

Birdie came closer. “Can we stay for a while?”

“Yes,” I said. “You can stay as long as you want.”

Kyle glanced at me. “I should take them home.”

“Do they want to go?”

Neither child moved. Kyle nodded, as if he understood the answer.

“I’ll come back tomorrow with the rest,” he said.

“You’ll knock,” I told him.

“I will.”

He left without taking the toolbox. I stayed with the children. They asked about the old garage, then about the tools Ryder remembered holding. I answered what I could. I didn’t tell them their father had taken anything until they asked. They already knew the toolbox had been in his hands.

When Kyle came back the next day, he brought the floor jack, the socket set, the air compressor, and the other things he’d taken. He carried them into the garage while I stood there and checked that they were back. He didn’t ask for the key.

“I should’ve asked first,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I shouldn’t have told them that about you.”

“No.”

He looked as if he wanted me to say more. I didn’t. He had to be the one to tell his children the truth, and he had to live with the fact that he’d made them believe I did not want them.

That Sunday, I called Kyle again. He answered, and Birdie was nearby. This time he handed her the phone.

“Grandma?” she said.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

“Can we come over next Saturday?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

Ryder’s voice came from somewhere beside her. “Can I see Grandpa’s wrenches?”

“You can,” I said. “We’ll be here.”

Kyle was quiet in the background. I didn’t fill the silence for him. I had spent a year trying not to make a fuss, trying to be reasonable, trying not to ask what I already needed to know.

The children came the following Saturday. Kyle knocked before they came in. We sat together, and Ryder asked about the tools. Birdie stayed close to me. It wasn’t the old routine back all at once, but it was a visit, and no one had told them they weren’t wanted.

I kept the key.

THE END.