“Margaret said he couldn’t even feed himself.”
“He looks… fine. He looks completely fine.”
In the front row, on the left side, my mother stood next to my father. She was smiling the big bright smile she wears for the foundation photographs. But her knuckles were white around her little beaded purse.
Paige and Lauren stood next to them with their husbands. Lauren was whispering something to Paige, and Paige was nodding.
Right behind them, in the second row, sat Harold Benning. He was the chairman of the bank where the foundation kept its money. He also sat on the foundation’s advisory board. Next to him was Reverend Collins’s wife, and next to her, the editor of the local paper, the one who wrote the Christmas stories about my parents’ generosity.
Tap, step. Tap, step.
We were halfway down the aisle when Grandpa stopped.
Just stopped. Right in the middle.
