Grandma held my urn and rode the bus back to the countryside. I floated beside her, watching the scenery blur past the window, watching her aged profile, the deep lines at the corners of her eyes, and the grief living inside them, bottomless and still.
By the time we reached Grandma's old house in the country, it was dark.
She lit a kerosene lamp. Its warm, amber glow filled the small, worn room. She set my urn on the table in the front room, straightened it carefully, then lit three memorial candles and placed them in a cracked incense holder. Thin curls of smoke rose into the air, drifting through the dim light.
Grandma stood before the urn for a long time. Then she turned and looked directly toward where I was floating.
"Claire," she said softly.
I went still.
"Grandma..." The wor
