The boy saw his grandma walking up toward his front door.
“Granzo!” he shouted.
In his Spider-Man pajamas, Theo Maitland, 4, didn’t open the door. He didn’t fling himself into her arms. He ran, instead, to the little yellow fold-out chair in front of the screened window. His grandma set one down on the other side, 6 feet away.
He calls her Granzo. She calls him Theezy. Today, they skipped the hugs.
Once she was settled, Marilyn Maitland, 72, picked up a book from the stack she had lugged from her house, adjusted her glasses and began to read. The reading list included much of the Amelia Bedelia canon, some Care Bears, some Three Musketeers.
“‘I love sharing the holidays with my friends,’ said Share Bear,” she read.
It had been about a week since Theezy last saw his Granzo. They’d gathered around baked ziti and barely thought about coronavirus.
The next day, March 13, President Donald Trump declared COVID-19 a national pandemic. In Austin, Texas, where they live, the health department confirmed the county's first two cases. The day after that, Theo’s parents decided it best to stay inside. They learned that a woman who tested positive for the virus had been at Theo’s school. It was the last straw.
They ordered a freezer from Best Buy for the garage, stocked up on supplies and decided to stay home for two weeks. They have only gone out for bike rides or to play in their yard.
Eventually, they moved Granzo’s reading session to the front door – which has a glass storm door – so Theo could see the pictures better when Granzo held up the book.
They could sit closer anyway, with a solid barrier between them.
As Granzo read, Theo pressed his toes on the glass. The two inched closer and closer. Theo put his hand on the window.
Mom, Sarah Wilson, snapped pics. The scene reminded her of a criminal on death row, looking through glass. Happier though.
Theo sometimes asks his parents questions about the coronavirus.
“Does this make people die?”
Some people, yes. A lot of people, no.
“When can we go to Ama and Papa’s house?”
It’s going to be more than a few days.
It’s hard for Theo to conceptualize time. His parents measure time in soccer practices, which happen once a week. So, if something is two weeks away, they would usually say that it is “two soccers” away. But now soccer practice is canceled.
He does know when he can hug his Granzo again, though.
“When the sickness goes away.”
Eventually, Theo grabbed two books – “Good work, Amelia Bedelia” and “Strega Nona” – and began to read them to Granzo, winging it from the parts he remembered.
They read for almost three hours.
When it was time to go, Theo said bye and ran off to watch “Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood.” No hug.
Theo's dad, Keith Maitland, saw sadness in his mom’s eyes. He walked outside, where he stood 6 feet from her, talking about the homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream he and his family would make that night and how they could possibly get some of it to her.
He said he would try. He closed the door.
This story was produced in partnership with the Media School at Indiana University.