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"Papa! Papa!"
The gray-haired man jumped up from his chair and roared with delight as he swung the tiny girl up into a bear hug. "Hey there, Little Lady!"
He set her down amid animated babbling about what she did at preschool that week with a, "Yeah, yeah, great. Now go play," and stuck his head around the banister. "Hey, hey, hey! Don't scratch the walls with that thing!"
A well-mannered voice shouted from above, "We'll be careful, Dad!"
Helga practically kicked open the bedroom door and unceremoniously plunked the bags she was carrying onto the worn rug, shaking her head and mumbling, "… I don't even call him..."
Arnold was right behind her with an old battered suitcase, breathing heavily. "Are you sure she needs all this stuff?"
"Do you want to be the one who gets to talk to a panicked Bob and Miriam when they can't find Lockjaw or Abner?" She rooted in one of the bags and held up a stuffed turtle and pig, respectively. The tails of both looked like they had been repaired if not entirely replaced—despite the careful and uniform stitches of a practiced hand, the slightly mismatched fabrics gave it away. "Because I sure as hell—"
"Hello! Hey there, Tex." Arnold poked his face around his wife's side at the curious child in the doorway. She'd already found one of Miriam's many horse collectibles, its tail clutched in her hand, dappled torso swinging gently. "Aren't you excited to be staying in your Mom's old room?"
The question went unanswered. "Mimi!"
Miriam appeared and stooped for a sloppy kiss before straightening up and declaring, "Now, you two, everything is going to be just fine." She adjusted her glasses on her nose. "We have everything under control."
"Thanks, Mom—" but Miriam was already being enthusiastically pulled away by the hand.
"The alphabet already! You're my smart Little Girl!" Their mismatched footsteps faded down the hallway.
Helga sighed and rummaged through the suitcase, grumbling through a mental checklist. A pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders and warm lips brushed her neck, lingering slyly in the spot she liked just below her ear. "Come on, it'll be fine. And if we don't leave—" Arnold glanced at his pocket watch, which still boasted a fresh scribble of pink-markered (and uniquely-shaped) hearts on the back, "—five minutes ago, we're going to miss our flight."
"All right…"
Bob was sitting in the living room, his granddaughter laying on the floor, happily engaging horse and stegosaurus in noisy mid-air altercation.
"I'll go turn the car around," Arnold said as he slipped out the front door.
"Okay!" Helga enunciated loudly. She stood expectantly in the foyer, hands on her hips. No one answered. "We're leaving now…" Nothing. She rolled her eyes and pulled the door open. The latch slid with a familiar and solid clack into place behind her.
She was reaching for the handle on her side of the car when the front door burst open. "Have a wonderful time, honey!" Miriam was suddenly giving her a tight squeeze. Helga breathed deeply, keenly aware of her mother's perfume (and only perfume) and sighed, slightly guilty for the old habit but relieved nonetheless. Miriam was still waxing nostalgic, "And I know you two sure can cut a rug, but don't let that discourage you from taking a dance class—it's so invigorating—"
"Mommy!" Helga was now fully immobile, all limbs constrained by other people's arms.
"Be good for your Papa and Mimi." Helga's fingers found the top of her daughter's head and swept tenderly through the wispy bangs on her forehead.
"It's good to see you, Girl." A large hand gruffly landed on her shoulder. And now Bob was there, of all things. She vaguely registered Arnold's voice telling their daughter he loved her.
"Thanks, Dad." Why was she whispering?
"And don't forget to wear plenty of—"
"Sunscreen, we know, we know…" Now that she was halfway into the car, her voice was coming back to her.
"Got it right here—" Arnold waved a small bottle of it out of the window. "Kid-strength."
The horn beeped and they waved until their family was out of sight.