I was now 68, looking after three young children.
As time went on, things slowly got a little better.
I got up to warm Grace’s bottle, stepping around the puzzle Dolly had abandoned on the rug.
Behind the cookie jar sat a stack of envelopes I hadn’t opened yet.
- Electric.
- Water.
- The pediatrician.
I knew what they said without looking.
Things slowly got a little better.
« Grandma? » Dolly stood in the doorway, dripping, her braid heavy on her shoulder. I hadn’t even heard the screen door.
« Come here, sugar. Let me get you a towel. »
My granddaughter let me wrap her up, but her eyes stayed on mine. She had Abby’s eyes. Serious in a way an eight-year-old had no business being.
« Grandma, I was thinking. »
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