and
“Evie, you don’t mind, do you…?”
The only one who kept seeing me as a person was Luke. My nine-year-old grandson, who truly believed I knew the password to the sky. He called me Grammy Evie. That nickname was an anchor. It held me there.
After Christmas, which I spent alone with a plate of « leftovers for Mom, » I called my lawyer.
“This is Evelyn. I’d like to update my will.”
I had just hung up the phone when I heard the soft creak of the hallway closet. Daniel.
He stood frozen in the doorway for a second. Our eyes met. Then his gaze dropped to the phone on the table.
“Who were you talking to, Mom?”
“Oh, nothing important. Just updating some paperwork. You know me, I like things tidy.”
And even though he didn’t say anything else, the air felt different, like when a conversation ends, but the conclusions are already drawn.
