Every senior turns in a form with the names of whoever’s walking her out.
Kaylee’s form said Jodi and Travis. I’d filled it out myself the week before. Without even thinking about it.
Mrs. Larson asked what name she should put instead.
“Duane Ostrem,” I said. “Her grandfather.”
There was a pause on the line.
“Oh, that’ll be nice,” she said.
And then, carefully, because it’s a small town and she wasn’t born yesterday: “Is everything all right at home, Jodi?”
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Kaylee asked for her grandpa.”
That was true.
It just wasn’t all of it.
Wednesday night after supper, I called Dad.
He picks up on the fourth ring. Every single time. The phone hangs on the wall in the kitchen, and his recliner is in the front room.
I told him all of it. Travis. Tuesday’s supper. Those words. Real dads.
