My 8-year-old adopted granddaughter was left at home while my son and his wife took their biological son. She called me at 2:00 AM crying, ‘Why Grandpa?’ I booked last-minute tickets and within 12 hours we crashed their vacation!

She mentioned that her father had called her dramatic, which was a word often used by adults to silence the pain of a child.

“You are not being dramatic because you were alone and scared, and calling someone who loves you was the right thing to do,” I insisted.

I asked her if the doors were locked and if the alarm was set, and she confirmed that everything was secure.

“I am going to make some calls and then I will call you right back, so keep your phone beside you,” I instructed her.

I told her that I loved her, and her voice almost disappeared as she said she loved me too.

The call ended and I sat in the dark for a moment with the phone still pressed against my ear.

By ten minutes past two, I had already called my old friend Arthur who lived right next door to me.

Arthur was a retired aircraft mechanic who answered his phone as if he had been waiting for it to ring all night.

“Grant, tell me what happened,” he said immediately without any unnecessary greetings.

I told him that I needed him to watch my dog, Buddy, for a few days or perhaps even longer.

“Is this about your granddaughter in Asheville?” he asked with a tone of genuine concern.