to get some paperwork from their car. They never came back.”
I called my father, Arthur.
Straight to voicemail.
Then my mother, Wendy.
Same thing.
I drove 190 miles with both hands locked around the steering wheel.
When I arrived, Grandma was sitting beside a single brown suitcase and a grocery bag filled with medications.
She was still wearing her church coat even though the lobby was warm. Her gray hair remained carefully pinned, and her face wore that calm, stone-cold expression it always took on whenever she was furious.
