called the next morning and said, “I saved you pie.”
She was the only one who never forgot.
When she died in October, my family suddenly remembered my number.
Not to comfort me.
To ask about the beach house.
Grandma’s beach house sat on a gray stretch of Maine coastline, with cedar shingles, blue shutters, and a porch facing the water.
Every summer, my relatives treated it like a free resort.
They left sand in the beds, wine stains on the rugs, and grocery receipts for Grandma to pay.
I
