e, someone was going to leave her without a home.
My grandmother looked at her son and asked in a voice that was nearly broken:
“Where were you planning to send me, Raymond?”
And he opened his mouth to say something no one in that room was prepared to hear.
My father took several seconds to respond. The kitchen was so quiet you could hear the hum of the old refrigerator.
He finally said:
“It was a nice place, Mom. You weren’t going to be out on the street.”
My grandmother looked at him as if she were seeing a stranger.
“You were going to sell my house and lock me away?”
“Don’t say it like that,” Sandra cut in. “It was for your own good. You’re getting older.”
