I grab it from below, sliding it over a bandeau strapless bra she also found at Walmart. “Thank you.” “So...” she sits on the bed, hands folded in her lap, “What does your father think you’ll be able to do?” “I don’t know. Watch?” “Don’t forget your sunglasses. And take my hat; it’s hanging on the front porch.” She shifts on the edge of the bed, straightening the blanket below. She’s not the lingering sort. “Is everything okay, Grace?” “I like having you here, Autumn.” “Thanks, I like being here.” She repositions a decorative pillow, her lips pressed firmly together. “But?” I know there’s more, Grace hates decorating. She is a kind woman-- with an opinion, and it’ll either come when I ask for it or when I don’t want it. “Does this have to do with my relationship with Colt?”
