“Go sit in the car.”
He looked at her as if she had spoken another language.
“Excuse me?”
“Go.”
“You don’t tell me—”
“GO!”
Her scream echoed down the street.
Grant looked from her to me to Ruth.
Then he turned, marched toward the SUV, slammed the door, and sat behind the wheel.
Melissa stayed by the gate.
For a while, she said nothing.
Then:
“Are you really never coming back?”
“No.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Not even if I ask you to?”
“No.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Noah misses you.”
That hurt.
More than the money.
More than the supermarket.
More than Grant.
My grandson had done nothing wrong.
I reached into my purse and touched the little astronaut keychain.
“I want to see Noah.”
