Upon her arrival, she was greeted at the door by Beverly Ember, who looked nowhere near her age, which was supposedly seventy-six. Her grandmother hugged her neck, her strong perfume nearly choking Alma, and swayed back and forth until finally letting go, leaning back to look at Alma’s face, and then going in for another hug. “You look so beautiful,” she said to her only granddaughter. “I get it from you,” Alma said back, smiling. It took little time for Alma to settle in, and she eventually got used to her grandmother’s constant questions and suggestions about what they should do or where they should go. Alma had decided, at the last minute, not to accept the fully paid scholarship offered to her by the University of Arkansas, and opted instead to attend the Savannah College of Art and Design, where she would finally stop talking about being a photographer and become one. All of this, of course, was afforded to her by Beverly Ember, who had, upon the death of her third husband, reached a financial status she’d never before thought possible.
