I had picked a beautiful day to visit my daughter Amie, her husband, and my three grandchildren, five-year-old Bailey, three-year-old Gavin and baby Carson.
Their dad was at work, but the sun was shining, and the kids, Amie and I spent the morning out on the back deck.
“Nice day to be out,” Amie’s neighbor said, popping over from doing some yard work. Indeed it was gorgeous outside.
But the kids got tired and we went inside the house. “Mind babysitting while I run to the grocery store?” Amie asked me. Of course I didn’t!
Bailey dragged me upstairs to her room. I carried Carson. Gavin toddled behind. I tried to keep an eye on all three of them at once, but Bailey commanded my attention. “Watch this trick, Grandma!” she said, rolling into a somersault.
Then I heard a yell, coming from outside. “Kathy!” I didn’t recognize the voice. Who’d called my name? I turned.
Gavin was on the ledge of the open window! I darted across the room, grabbing him just before he fell. Thank God the neighbor saw him in time, I thought.
When Amie got back, we ran into the neighbor again. “Thank you,” I said, “for warning me about Gavin.”
“Warn you? Not me,” he said.
But if it wasn’t the neighbor, who could have called me? No one else in the neighborhood knew my name.
