She patted my back.
“You’re making a scene.”
“You wrote the letter.”
“Years ago.”
“That’s worse.”
She laughed softly.
Then Lily reached for the box.
Naturally.
Her first target was a blue glass button.
“No,” three generations of women said at once.
Everybody laughed again.
We did cake 20 minutes later.
Grandma refused a full slice.
Then ate half of mine.
She stayed for less than two hours.
That was all her body could manage.
By the time my uncle wheeled her toward the gate, her face had gone pale again.
I walked beside her.
“Was this worth it?”
She looked at me like I’d asked the stupidest question of my life.
“Obviously.”
“The drive nearly killed you.”
“Everything nearly kills you at 101.”
“Grandma.”
She reached for my hand.
“I wasn’t going to sit at home because it was difficult.”
I swallowed.
“You could have gotten sick.”
“I could get sick in my own chair.”
