Lana Smalls Grandpa -

Silas didn’t say, “It’s okay.” He didn’t say, “We’ll buy another.” He picked up the short plank, turned it over in his gnarled, arthritic hands, and set it aside.

The wind battered her, trying to push her back into the safety of the house. The rain blinded her. But she thrust the lantern forward. The amber light carved a tunnel through the chaos. lana smalls grandpa

"I was terrified," she admitted, her voice cracking. Silas didn’t say, “It’s okay

He is a former lineman for the power company, a man who spent forty years climbing poles and restoring electricity to a frozen state. He has earned the right to hate the dark. Instead, he has befriended it. Every evening, just before dusk, he lights the kerosene lantern. He and Lana sit on the porch as the blue fades to black. They don’t talk about school, or boys, or the latest app. They talk about things . But she thrust the lantern forward