And she hung up.
I lay awake for a long time after that. Sarah asked me what was wrong, and I told her I didn’t know. She put her hand on her belly, the way she’d started doing ever since she hit five months, and said, “Maybe she’s visiting an old friend.”
“At seven in the morning? Twenty-eight miles away?”
“Maybe it’s a very good friend.”
Now Grandma climbed into the passenger seat, shook the rain off her umbrella, and set the yellow envelope carefully on her lap. She folded both hands on top of it. Like she was protecting it.
“Buckle up,” I said.
“I know how a seatbelt works, Daniel.”
I pulled out of the driveway. The windshield wipers thumped back and forth. The streetlights were still on. The whole world was gray and wet and half asleep.
I glanced over at the envelope.
