Page 112 of The Call She Made That He Never Answered
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." Her voice stayed calm, but her eyes held steel. "This is our home, Lucas. Grandfather's sick—we have to step up."
She paused. "I won't act like an outsider anymore, throwing tantrums."
I fired up the engine and pulled into the inner courtyard. Mrs. Hughes waited at the main steps with the staff, necks craned. When the door opened and Ella stepped out, Mrs. Hughes's eyes rimmed red.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Rockefeller." She bowed deeply.
Ella moved slowly getting out, still weak from childbirth. I circled around, hooked my arm around her waist, taking half her weight.
"How's the old man?" Ella asked.
"He's waiting for you, ma'am." Mrs. Hughes led the way. "He refused meds and sleep until he saw you safe."
We climbed the stairs. Ella gripped the railing tightly, each step careful. My hand stayed on her waist; I felt her tremble.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Just nervous." She said, "I left without a word last time. Facing Mr. Rockefeller... I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," I said. "He just wants to see you."
Grandfather's room sat on the third floor, catching the first morning light. We pushed open the heavy oak door; bitter medicine hit like a wave. The man who'd once ruled the world lay sunk in that massive four-poster bed, looking a full circle older than I remembered.
"Lucas." His voice rasped rough, but it lit up seeing Ella. "And my dear little Ella."
Ella hurried to the bedside, sat, and grabbed his withered hand. Her face crumpled with sorrow.
"Mr. Rockefeller, I'm sorry." She choked up. "It's my fault Lucas left, making you wear yourself out..."
"Don't talk nonsense, child." Grandfather lifted his other hand and wiped her tears slowly. "Think of it as a trip. You both needed a change, a new way to live. And look, it worked out, didn't it?"
"But your health..." Ella looked ready to bawl with guilt.
"These old bones were bound for this. If I can still give to the family, it's my honor." His cloudy eyes shifted, like he just remembered. "Where's my great-grandson?"
"He needs five more weeks in the incubator, but the doctors say he's strong, healthy—a tough little guy."
I pulled my phone from my pocket. We visited him daily, snapping photos and videos. I opened the album and handed it over. Grandfather's eyes sparked; he pushed up, and Ella stuffed fluffy pillows behind him.
He stared hard at the screen—the wrinkly, red little bundle. Silent for ages, but his breathing quickened.
"Looks like you, Lucas." He glanced up, eyes wet. "That stubborn spark in his eyes, same as you as a kid. But the mouth and nose? Ella's. Good thing. He'll smile prettier than you ever did."
Ella laughed, her first real smile today.
Grandfather handed back the phone, sank into the cushions, looking eased.
"Thank you, Ella," he said.
She blinked, confused.
"For what?"
"For bringing new life to this family." His voice whispered clearly.
My throat tightened. A bad feeling hit—his eyes too gentle, hiding finality.
