I sat in school pickup lines with gas-station coffee cooling between my hands because I had already worked eight hours and still needed to stay awake long enough to help with homework.

Her father, Royce, worked hard too, but money never seemed to stay in our house for long.

The water heater broke.

The transmission failed.

Caroline needed braces.

Somebody always needed something, and I became the person who figured out how to provide it.

That habit did not end when Caroline grew up.

It simply changed shape.

Instead of school shoes, there were apartment deposits.

Instead of field trips, there were hospital bills, preschool tuition, truck repairs, and emergency grocery runs.

I loved helping her.

At least, I had always believed I was helping.

Memorial Day weekend was supposed to be another favor.

Caroline and her husband, Wade, wanted to travel to Hilton Head with another couple from his firm.

They planned to leave Friday afternoon and return Monday evening.

They wanted me to keep four-year-old Hudson and eight-month-old May for the entire trip.

Hudson was bright, funny, and fast enough to disappear from one room while you were still answering his question in another.

May was still waking for bottles during the night, and she wanted to be carried whenever she was tired.

I loved both children more than I knew how to explain without sounding foolish.

There was nothing I enjoyed more than Hudson leaning against my arm during a picture book or May falling asleep with one tiny fist curled into my shirt.

But my cataract surgery was scheduled for the Tuesday after Memorial Day.

My preoperative appointment was Saturday morning at seven.

The clinic had been clear about what I should avoid before and after the procedure.

Rest my eyes.

Avoid unnecessary strain.

Do not spend the weekend repeatedly lifting a baby and chasing a preschooler.

I told Caroline that I could not safely keep both children for three days.

I suggested that she call Wade’s mother.

I suggested moving the trip by one week.