Before I was fully conscious, I grabbed the cell phone from the table next to me and tried to remember the emergency number. I was sure the steps belonged to the same intruder who’d gone through my desk. Then I remembered—I had no evidence that there had been an intruder. I couldn’t recall a time when I’d entertained so many strange fantasies and half dreams. Late-night visitors were taking their toll, especially those connected to homicide. I needed to get more sleep. The very real footsteps got louder. “Grandma, we got worried,” Maddie said, tramping in with her heavy athletic shoes, which were nothing like the flimsy white sneakers I’d worn to gym class in the Bronx. Not content with simple white laces, both Taylor and Maddie owned shoes with colorful Velcro tabs, blinking red lights, and shiny wheels that surprised me every time Maddie rocked back on them and wheeled herself around me. Henry was close behind Maddie. “Your garage door is still open,” he said, sounding worried that someone might have walked in and stolen me away.
