let me get that for you.”
He reached toward it.
Grandma’s hand shot out.
She slapped his hand away.
“Nobody touches that.”
The attendants froze.
Bryce immediately pulled his hand back.
“Okay.”
Grandma’s expression didn’t soften.
“I mean it.”
“I got it.”
“Good.”
I stared at her.
There was something different behind those words.
It wasn’t simple annoyance.
It wasn’t even her usual stubbornness.
There was something sharper there.
Something serious.
The suitcase remained strapped to the back of the wheelchair as we brought Grandma inside.
We settled her in the living room, where she could see most of the party.
Our relatives gathered around her almost immediately.
Everyone wanted to hug her.
Everyone wanted a photograph.
Everyone wanted to ask how she felt.
Grandma tolerated the attention with visible impatience.
“Yes, I’m alive.”
“Yes, I’m comfortable.”
“No, I don’t need another pillow.”
My mother kept hovering over her.
Finally,
