CHAPTER 8
But Grandma Lucy doesn’t shut up, much as I want her to. Much as I need her to. She’s going on now about this person in mourning, this person in such need of comfort. I don’t think she means me, but I’m not sure anymore. It wouldn’t make any sense. I’ve never met this woman before. Never talked to her. At least I don’t think I have. But why does it feel like I should recognize her? She was sitting ten rows ahead of me in church all morning, so it’s not like she even had that entire hour and a half to study my body language and come up with clues about me.
About my family.
She’s moved on. She’s carrying on about the disciples now. But I’m not paying attention to that. I’m still fixating on the part about refusing to be comforted. Because I’ve been there. I was there four months
