She’d kept a grief too heavy to speak, and a plan — a beautiful, generous, eighteen-year-old’s plan — to make sure that her death wouldn’t leave two grandmothers alone with their losses when they could have had each other, and a boy.
PART 4
My grandson came back from the car then, holding the card he’d made, and stopped when he saw two crying women on the bench.
“Grandma? What’s wrong?”
And I looked at Margaret, and she looked at me, and I made a decision my daughter had made for me ten years earlier and I was only now catching up to.
“Sweetheart,” I said. “Come here. I need to tell you something. And there’s someone I need you to meet.”
I sat my grandson down between us, and I did the thing I’d been unable to do his whole life. I answered the question.
