I heard a rip, an exclamation, silence. Then the small voice of my six year old grandson. "This says I stole Memere's heart! I don't have her heart! I didn't steal it!" Then, with growing consternation, "Did I?"
He's big into policemen ("I'm a COP!" he announces as he approaches with plastic handcuffs. "You're under arrest!"). He loves the thrill of the chase and there's usually jail time involved in their big leather armchair. I thought he'd get a kick out of thinking he stole my heart. Apparently not.
"I'll let you go," I told my son. "And I'll let you explain." I hung up hastily.
I haven't spoken to them since Wednesday. I hope I don't have to do jail time on my next visit.