Across the aisle, my grandson Toby stood stiff in his polished shoes, trying to look older than he really was.
“Grandma, are you okay?” he asked quietly. “Do you need anything?”
I squeezed his hand. “I’ve handled worse,” I said, forcing a small smile. “Your grandfather would have hated all this attention.”
Toby glanced down at his shoes with a shy grin. “He’d say they’re too shiny.”
“He would,” I replied warmly.
For a moment I almost reached beside me out of habit, expecting to feel Walter’s hand there.
As the service ended and people began leaving, Ruth touched my arm.
“Mama, do you want to step outside for some air?”
“Not yet,” I said.
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