. . where is that key?” Mom dug deep into her duffel-bag-size lime-green purse while my sisters and I waited on the porch in front of our grandmother’s house. Mom ended up dumping the contents of her purse onto the padded seat of a wicker chair before she spied the elusive key to let us in. “Mother? Where are you?” “Rebecca, is that you? I’m in the living room.” “I’m here too, Nana.” “Me too!” “Matt and Abigail came too! What did I do to deserve such a plethora of visitors?” Mom paused in the wide opening to the living room, slamming one high-heeled shoe into the hardwood floor as she jammed her hands against her waist. “You tripped over that mutt of yours and nearly killed yourself, Mother. That’s what you did.” “Phsssh,” said Nana, waving her off. “Oh, Lauren came along as well. How nice.” “Hi, Nana,” said Lauren, not bothering to glance up from her phone. “I hope your ankle doesn’t hurt too much.” “It will be fine. Eventually.”
