CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Anna Forester was folding her husband’s jeans when it occurred to her that in about a week or so, her daughter would be folding little onesies. Anna could barely remember what it was like to wash those tiny little baby clothes and part of her badly missed it. She decided right then and there that she was going to be one of those grandmothers who spoiled the absolute hell out of her grandchildren.
As she set the jeans on her husband’s pile of clothes and reached for one of her blouses, the piano tuner spoke up from the other room. Anna supposed it was her fault; she had been overly chatty at first and now he seemed to not want to shut up.
“They got any names picked out for your grandchild?”
“None yet,” she answered, having to raise her voice to a near shout to be hea
