Turquoise colors the early morning sky as a granddaughter and I leave the house for a doughnut run. We turn out of the neighborhood, zip past the strip mall, clear two stop lights, lean into a roundabout and begin cruising a lovely stretch of road bordered by magnificent estate homes with manicured lawns and swimming pools.

My backseat passenger asks how long the drive will be and comments that she has never been on this road. The implication is clear: These are not Grandma’s neighbors. Grandma could be lost and, most importantly, doughnuts could be at risk.

“I know exactly where we are. Look to your left up ahead,” I say. “There’s a house under construction that is so big you can’t tell where the front door is. Sometimes there are as many as 20 work trucks there at a time.”

She sits up tall, cranes her neck and says, “Whoa!” which is what most people say when they pass the house.

“Looks like they’re building a wall around the property,” I say. “They could be worried about people trying to break into their house. If I had that much money, I might be worried, too.”

“I’m worried,” comes a soft reply.

“Why are you worried?”

“Because I have a lot of money.”

“How much?”

“I have 40 dollars at home and 100 dollars in the bank.”

“That’s a lot of money for a girl who just finished kindergarten. I’m sure your money is very, very safe. You don’t need to worry.”

“OK. But I still worry.”

“About what?”

“I worry about my dog. I worry she might run away.”

“Your dog is never going to run away. She loves living with you and your family. She loves her dog bed, all the cuddles you give her, the tricks you’ve taught her and the bell she jostles to go outside. She would never run away. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Silence. She’s thinking.

“Want to hear me spell picnic?” she asks. “P-i-k-n-k.”

“It’s actually p-i-c-n-i-c,” I say.

“It’s the c,” she says with a sigh. “Sometimes it sounds like k and sometimes it sounds like s. Aren’t there some rules about c?”

Now I’m worried. Who knew worry was contagious? There are rules about c, something to do with the vowels that follow it, but even for $140 dollars I can’t remember them well enough to guarantee accuracy.

I spell picnic a couple of times; she spells it a couple of times, and the language arts crisis passes. Another worry left in the dust.

“Look at us!” I say. “We are taking an early morning ride in the car together under beautiful blue skies and puffy marshmallow clouds, and you’re about to pick out a doughnut. Today is a good day. We don’t have a worry in the world.”

Silence.

“Strawberry frosted with sprinkles!” she says.

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