CHAPTER EIGHT
FOUR MONTHS LATER, on a crisp spring morning, Grant and his mother sat at her kitchen table, locked in a battle of wills.
“I don’t want to leave you up here by yourself, Mom. I’ve got plenty of space at my house. Why can’t you just come live with me?” Grant said in exasperation.
“Because I’m a grown woman, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” came the sharp retort. “I’m fifty-nine, not ninety-nine, and I’m healthy as a horse.”
He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I know you can take care of yourself, Mom. I just... I don’t like being two hours away from you. What if you need me?”
“Honey, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Bernice chided, her voice softening a bit. “Whatever happens is going to happen, whether we’re two minutes or two hours
