I’ve peeked at her a dozen times or more on the ride to the store this morning and each time she’s just humming along to the song on the radio and watching the passing scenery as we zip by. “Are you nervous?” I finally ask. “Nah,” she scoffs. “Nerves are for young people. I’m fine, honey. You?” “Hell yes, I’m nervous. I promised Noni that this would be the easiest way to start. I don’t want to be made a liar.” It’s a plea and a warning all in one. I trust Grams, I just don’t trust this situation. “It’ll be fine, Jo. It’ll all be just fine,” she reassures me in that way that only a mother can. It does the trick to settle my unrest. I nod. The rest of the ride to work is in silence. I take a deep breath as I walk around the SUV to help Grams out. I unfold her pimped out walker and secure the locking mechanism. She smiles and steps out of the Volvo. “After you, Grams,” I say, motioning forward. Grams oohs and ahhs over the store and I give her the world’s quickest grand tour before stowing her in the office with Hemingway and some wedding magazines.
